From Something

Shepherd

Gazing up at the hazy clouds painted across the bird egg blue sky I tried to turn their abstract shapes into something I knew. The cloud to the far right had the shape of a lion, or maybe a large snake, or a fat salamander. The one that just peaked across the horizon was a fish, no idea what kind, it just had a fishy shape. Most say clouds look like sheep. I'd disagree, sheep don't have the grace of a cloud, the aimless dignity of floating through the skies without purpose, without goal. Sheep wander, they are aimless but aloof. Ignorant to the world. They would wander to a bush of thorns or a patch of thistle without hesitation. Walk headfirst into doom without any realization. A cloud faces no danger. There are no thistle bushes in the heavens. No dangers to wander into or towards. Sheep, ignorant and aimless, clouds, whimsical and non thinking. The same but completely different. I'm thinking about all this still as I see a figure crossing the overlapping golden grassy hills. Hastily they move through the tall grass, crushing the amber waves under them with every step. Closer they come and with the distance waning I see they're walking towards me and my flock. The sheep still graze and trot, barely aware of the newcomer. I stand, vaguely aware of the coolness on my back, left there from the dewy grass I had laid on, and go to greet this person who I've never seen before. I'm wary at first, not sure if they've come to steal my sheep or cause havoc. People get bored. Often. Shepherds tend to be the butt of people's boredom as well. They must think, "Oh, the humble shepherd, dumb and careless, horribly lonely, isolated from all but his sheep and the unforgiving wilderness, is the perfect man, and will always be the perfect man for us and those like us to screw over." So it is with these past experiences in my mind that I go to greet the stranger. As I get closer I can safely assume he is a man. Though I still am not entirely sure, hes drowning in shawls and robes. I see no weapons in his hands, though he may be hiding them. Most don't give me the courtesy of a greeting without a weapon in hand though. I consider all this as he gets closer. I've stopped but he hasn't. He's walking towards me and not my sheep though one of the lambs has approached him and is bounding around him and bumping his legs. I would laugh at this if the situation wasn't so tense. He ignores the lamb after pausing to spare it a glance. The he looks at me. I can see his eyes through the loll of his shawls. They are a soft amber. The color as if someone had dipped wheat in honey. Intense but soft they looked at me. I am stirred to call out to him. So I do. "Who are you?" I asked and then quickly added, "And why have you come here?" Breaking our eye contact he looked out among the ever fluttering shrubbery and answered "I just wanted to see who was the watchman of these wonderful sheep." he looked down as if finally noticing the lamb still prancing about him. "Ah! This one is particularly wonderful isn't it?" He was a terrible liar. "Of course." I replied after a beat. I had no idea what he really wanted but found myself humoring him. "That one was just born a month ago, she has quite a bit of energy doesn't she?" "Absolutely!" He said. " She's a real bundle of joy, do you name them?" "The sheep you mean?" I replied with a question. "Yes, like this one, she seems like a Miriam to me, maybe an Adah." "She certainly isn't a Miriam." I found myself thinking, "Though the name Adah seems fitting for her." I don't say this of course, I don't want to look like a fool to this man of unknown motive and origin. "No I have not given any of them names." I say. The man turns once again to me. This time with a glimmer in his eyes. "Why I'd certainly help you start," He takes a step towards me. "Though I'd be interested in hearing about you first." I laugh at this. "You come to meet me and ask of me? You have not even begun to introduce yourself? Your origins? Your name? Your father?" "Oh? You're right, that was rude wasn't it?" He grabs the shawl that is covering his head. "I am terribly sorry, my name is Lilith of the house of Magdalena." He pulls off the shawl and reveals a rather pale but still tawny face with a hint of cheekbones, messy hair the color of darkened sandalwood, and a charming smile. "You are a woman?" I ask, already knowing the answer. He makes a face at this. "No, in name yes but..." he pauses, "Mother had already decided on a woman's name before I had been born. She was stubborn she was, stubborn enough even to get father to let her both choose my name and actually give me that name." He smiled as he finished. "She was a good mother, good person in fact." I nodded. He looked at me. "So, I've told you mine, tell me yours." "My name is Miciah." I said. "Wonderful name you have." He told me and smiled again. I had never met someone who smiled so genuinely so often. "Well," he started, raising his arms to gesture to the fields and sheep around us, "shall we get started?"

I kept a close eye on him as we moved through the fields together. I still did not trust him but he hadn't pulled any sort of trickery, nor, more importantly, a weapon on me. We fell into a system naturally after some minutes had passed. I would walk to a sheep and point it out to him. He would take a pause, sometimes knitting together his brows in thought, and then point to the sheep and say aloud the name he had decided for it. We had gone through half the herd when the sun began to nestle into the trees on the horizon. Soft chirping filled the air and even the wind that had begun to blow softly across the linen field which burned of amber in the setting sun could only barely cut through the humid air that surrounded us and filled our lungs. As the humidity settled on my skin I asked Lilith, "Have you a place to stay?" He paused and looked at me. "It actually happens I don't." "Stay with me then." I replied. I still didn't completely trust him. He didn't strike me as dangerous though, aloof as he was he looked weak. When he pointed out into the grass I could see no callus on his knuckles, no rough patches of skin, it was as if he had never worked a day in his life. Those hands had never held a weapon. If they had they wouldn't know how to use it. Still people are conniving, cunning, weapon or not this man could be dangerous. Still, I wasn't the kind of person to turn someone away if they had nowhere else to go but the frigid cold of the night. The air was already turning. Getting less and less pleasant to breathe with every passing breath. Lungs turned cold with the damp chill around us. His hands shifted to under his shawl. "Well, shall we get going? It's turned cold quite quickly hasn't it?" "It has." I reached down to pick up my staff. "Right," I muttered, "Follow me."