The Shepherd and the Stranger Girl

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay 

The girl stood at the edge of his flock. 

Up close, the Shepherd saw she was about his age, which caught him off guard. She still had blood caked around her mouth and chin, her skirts stained where she must have wiped her hands.

“Are you all right, Miss?” he asked, relieved he sounded calm. “May I help you?”

The girl tilted her head to one side.

“Perhaps you can, Shepherd,” she replied. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice his trembling. “I just stopped to feed and water my flock.  We have a long distance to travel tonight.”

She nodded slowly. 

Then she bent down and picked up the youngest lamb, the tiny animal struggling against her. But her hold was firm and she gripped its throat with her fingers.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please, Miss. I just want to go with my sheep.”

The girl didn’t answer right away. 

His heart roared in his ears when the Shepherd stared into her eyes, chips of ice in the light of the moon. 

She finally let go of the throat and stroked the lamb along its back. But she never looked away from him.

“Shepherd, come to me.”

She almost sounded gentle, but her low voice sent tremors along his flesh. 

The Shepherd wondered if he’d stepped outside himself. 

Part of him detached to bear witness to something that didn’t seem real, even as he pushed through his flock to go to her. 

The lamb in her arms was the only thing between them when he stopped. 

The girl locked the Shepherd inside her gaze and dropped the animal to the ground. 

Without warning, she grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him to her, pressing her ear against his chest. 

The illusion of separation disappeared and the Shepherd was back in his skin, his limbs shaking. 

He’d never been this close to a woman in his life. 

The softness of the girl took his breath away.

“I can feel your heart,” she said.  “It’s beating really fast.”

She leaned her head back and stared up at him. 

The Shepherd could neither move nor speak, trapped between the warmth of her body and the chill of her eyes.       

“You’re afraid, aren’t you, Shepherd You saw me kill the Sorcerer.”

The girl paused. 

“Didn’t you?”

In his mind, the Shepherd saw a shroud held out for him by the Angel of Death. 

For a moment, he felt like he’d turned to stone.

Then his knees buckled. The Shepherd collapsed to the ground and started to cry.

The girl ran her fingers through his hair. 

He found the gesture terrifying and soothing at once, leaving him no words to plead for mercy and his heart pounding. 

The girl came down and knelt before the Shepherd, holding his face and wiping his tears. 

Then she lay back upon the ground and pulled him with her, resting his head against her breast. 

She kept stroking his hair, his scalp tingling from the brush of her fingers, the vibration of her voice against his cheek.

“So, tell me Shepherd, what do you feel?  What do you hear?”

His heart stopped beating for an instant when he realized that all he heard inside the girl was silence. 

The Shepherd pulled his head up and stared at her. 

“Nothing, Miss.”

“That’s right,” she murmured. “I’m a girl who can live without her heart.”  

Then she pushed him to the ground and rolled him on his back. 

Nestling along his side, she laid her head on his chest and sighed, her breath seeping into him. 

The Shepherd didn’t resist when the girl took his hand and brought it to his neck, pressing his fingers into the groove where his heart echoed. His pulse beat into the tips of his fingers and reverberated through him. 

When the girl spoke again, her whisper felt like a caress.

“Listen to your heart,” she said. 

 

****

The Shepherd trailed off, his eyes glazed over looking back on that long ago night. 

The Wolf rested on his belly, his forelegs stretched out, blinking when the story came to its close. He shifted his weight and found his limbs were stiff, but the Shepherd remained lost in reverie.   

“So then what happened?” the Wolf asked.

The Shepherd started and glanced at him with an expression of mild surprise. Then he shook his head, pausing for another moment before he spoke.

“I must have fallen asleep.  Next thing I remember I woke up and she was gone.”

Friendship Saves the Lone Wolf

Image by Anja🤗#helpinghands #solidarity#stays healthy🙏 from Pixabay 

“Sorry it’s burned,” said the Shepherd. “I probably should have left it raw because I’m not much of a cook.”

“Well, I can help you with that,” the Wolf replied. “Or at least I could have.”

“You can still talk me through it. That is, if you want to.”

That was all the invitation the Wolf needed. 

He fell into the Shepherd’s routine as if he’d been part of his flock for years. He helped gather the sheep, running after those that roamed too far. 

They also worked well together with hunting. The Wolf honed his sense of smell and hearing to track animals and chase them out of hiding to the Shepherd waiting with his rifle. 

As he promised, the Wolf taught him how to cook, then how to forage. 

The Shepherd was lavish in his praise, swearing he’d never eaten so well in his life as he had since the Wolf joined him.

The Wolf insisted the honor was his and he meant it. 

Nobody since his grandfather inspired his awe until now.  

The grace in which he was received would be the first of many times when the Wolf saw the Shepherd treat others with a dignity that was rare. 

He was stunned when he realized his new friend had a need for solitude, often distancing himself to be alone for a few hours. 

The Shepherd possessed a serenity the Wolf had never seen in a human being, a quality he attributed to the divinity of a master. 

He was certain because his hollow stopped throbbing from the time he joined his flock, and he hadn’t suffered the vile of rage and hatred since the night he unburdened his soul. 

The Shepherd was amused by the Wolf’s exalted view of him.

“I think gratitude may be clouding your judgment,” he said. “I’m no more than a creature of my way of life.”

“I’ve met many shepherds in my travels. And I’ve never met any like you.”

His friend shrugged and the Wolf dropped the subject. 

But the more he came to know the Shepherd, the more he admired him. 

The Wolf was more than a touch envious when he discovered the Shepherd was a learned man, able to read, write, and do basic math. 

He could also play the violin, which he traded for his fiddle. 

When he wasn’t playing music, the Shepherd loved to draw. Parchment and pencils were his only luxuries and he indulged every day. 

He sketched memories from his past as well as images from the present, his eyes glazed over and the pencil capturing forever a cherished moment with sharp realism. 

“How did you learn all this?” the Wolf asked one morning while his friend drew him.

“A retired governess was on my route about twenty years ago.”

The Shepherd sounded vague when he answered, eyes shifting between the Wolf and the paper, brushing his pencil without rest.   

“Winters were mild in her village, the time of year I passed through. Since travel was arduous, I often stayed as long as I could. One day, she suggested we barter lessons and lodging for sheep. So I stayed with her every winter and gave her three sheep when I left. After ten years, I learned everything I wanted to know and she had a nice flock of her own.”   

The Shepherd trailed off, making the final strokes to his sketch and displaying his work with a flourish.

“So how do you like it?”   

The Wolf stared at the likeness and wondered how that could be him. 

The animal in the drawing seemed so powerful, lying upright with forelegs stretched out. The details were exquisite, the mass of black on black vivid. Even the eyes could be distinguished from the fur. 

“Do I really look like this?” he whispered. 

“Of course you do.”

“You are such a good man,” the Wolf blurted. “Why didn’t you ever marry?”

The Shepherd grew still, peering at him for a moment before he spoke.

“What a strange question you ask. This is no life for a woman and children.”

“That’s absurd. I met families of herders, three or four generations that traveled all year.”

“I have over a hundred sheep,” the Shepherd replied. “That’s all the family I need.”

“That’s not the same as a wife and little ones. Have you never fallen in love?”

Again the Shepherd didn’t answer right away, frowning and looking intently at the Wolf for a few minutes.

“I have loved once. However, nothing that was destined to last.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

But the Shepherd would say nothing more, just held up his hand and turned away.