Chapter 6
At midday, as thick clouds made their way through the sky, a shepherd from the fields to Founsel’s southeast hurried into town. He’d been in before to procure supplies from the general store, and he made his way there again. The shepherd swung the front door open, stepped into the shade, and caught his breath.
The store owner came around his counter and walked over to the shepherd. “I know I’ve seen you before here, but, for the life of me, I can’t seem to place you.” He stroked his beard with thought. “You’ll be forgiving me, I hope.”
“I’m a shepherd,” he began. “I have a flock in the Low Fields.”
“Ah, yes, of course, of course.” The proprietor went to back to his counter and brought a pitcher of water out from underneath. “May I interest you in some water?”
The shepherd nodded, then said. “I’m ruined.”
The proprietor filled a glass from the pitcher and brought it to the shepherd. “Here, drink up. Now, why are you saying that?”
The shepherd took the glass and shook his head, exasperated. “My flock was ravaged and scattered last night. A wolf. A damn wolf. A damn huge wolf.”
“You’ll be waiting here, I hope, as I go fetch some others.” The proprietor rushed out of his store, leaving the shepherd with a sweating glass in hand.
After the night passed with no attack, the town had resumed its normal activities. Founsel’s main business was woodcutting, which meant many were in the west forest, felling trees. Near the shore line, Hantle stopped a wagon load of logs and handed the reins off to another who would unload them. He started home to eat a lunch with his wife when the proprietor stopped him in the street.
“I know, Hantle, you’ve searched twice for that wolf that’s attacked us. And last night you and your group kept him away.”
Hantle grimly nodded. “What of it? My wife is waiting.”
“A shepherd,” the store owner said. “A shepherd is in my store saying he’s had a run in with the wolf. You’ll be wanting to hear his story, I think.”
“How did he escape alive?” Hantle asked.
The proprietor lead Hantle toward the store and gathered a few others in town: the carpenter, doctor, blacksmith, school teacher, and distiller. The small crowd entered his store again, where he introduced the party to the shepherd.
The blacksmith, still wearing her apron, looked to the shepherd. “So you’ve run into that wolf, eh?”
The shepherd leaned against the counter and set down his empty water glass. “Last night, well after dark, I heard the sheep moving around. They don’t much stir after night’s fell, and it seemed strange. I poked my head from my little shack and couldn’t see much at first. Then the moon comes out from behind a cloud, right? I can see the spotted grey fur of something. Then my sheep scatter. I grab my musket and before I’m back out the sheep are bleating like mad. At first I thought it was a bear, but we’ve got no white bears here, right? I get a better glimpse and it’s the shape of a wolf. But this thing is larger than any damn wolf I’ve seen. Two sheep tall, at least.
“I got three sheep dogs. They do a fine job of herding. Quite protective, right? They hear the noises too and come bolting from the shack. Ran right up to that wolf, barking and growling and darting around. The wolf lets go of one of the sheep — he’d eaten most of it now — and walks towards the dogs. Around it lies other sheep he’d gotten his teeth into.
“That wolf lowers his head and walks closer to the dogs. Teeth bared; I could see the moon shining off them. I raise my musket, but with the sheep running and the dogs, I couldn’t get any shot, right? I’ve had my largest dog, Sep, for the longest too. She’s fierce when she wants, and she wasn’t taking anything from this wolf. She starts barking louder, and inching in as she swings around. Wanted to go for the flank, right? It’s an instinct. The two other dogs aren’t as fierce, but they’re barking their heads off too.
“Guess who sat right back on his haunches? That wolf. Lets up this howl that scared me, all right. Sure gave the dogs a fright too. They stopped barking for a minute, and backed up some. I thought I’d have a shot, right, but then the wolf makes one swift motion and he’s got poor Sep in his jaws, shaking her about as he jerks his head from side to side. Sep there got torn to shreds. The other two dogs were barking again, but they got frighted and took off. The sheep started bleating again and most of them were running off toward the forest to the south of the fields.
“I saw what he did to faithful Sep and stepped back in the shack, closed the door, and turned out my lantern. My musket probably wouldn’t poke a hole through his coat. I don’t fancy being eaten like that either, right? Figured to lay low until he gets out.
“I end up falling asleep and woke up after the sun’s up. Quiet as can be in the fields out there. I poke my head out of my shack again and make sure the wolf is long gone. I go out to see the damage. There’s this huge tree standing naked in the field. Been dead as long as I had my flock there. Right up in the branches I see something. The heads and spines of eight of my sheep. Eight of them! Some of their wool is scattered about too, right, from the wolf’s eating them.
“There’s blood all over the ground, and then I see my two coward dogs slinking toward me from the forest. Granted, I’m glad they didn’t get eaten too, but poor Sep was the best sheepdog I’ve seen. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I saw her body at all. As soon as I saw all those bones and blood, I made for the forest to look for my sheep but they must have kept on running.
“So I made my way to Founsel here, right? To beg for help finding my flock. Without them I’ll be ruined.” The shepherd’s eyes were wide with plea, and he looked across the room.
The group in the store had listened quietly. They took the opportunity to talk about the story.
The proprietor walked from where he stood beside the door to lay his hand on the shepherd’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll be able to help you. I’m thinking Founsel’s a good town. Right, all?” He turned to the others.
Hantle said, “Aye, we’ll look for your flock.” The group nodded in agreement.
The school teacher added, “You’re lucky the wolf only took the sheep.” He told the shepherd of how the town had been attacked two nights in a row. To finish his recount, he added, “We lit up the town and posted a watch last night, which seemed to have kept him away.”
Hantle looked down to the ground while he thought.
“It seems that way, doesn’t it?” The shepherd said.
Looking back up, Hantle said, “In protecting our town, we put your life at risk. We will help make amends.”
The proprietor spoke up. “We’ll be heading towards the Low Fields now, I hope?”
The group funneled out of the store and people made arrangements to head out. The school teacher posted a sign on the door to his house, which served as the school building, that class was canceled the rest of the day. The search party reconvened in the street and made their way south along the road.
Shortly past the southernmost houses in Founsel, the road’s cobblestone ended and turned to dirt. As Hantle stepped across that threshold, he asked the shepherd, “Which way did you say your flock had run?”
The shepherd, leading the group, turned to answer. “To the south of the Low Fields. Thick with trees there, but it thins out a bit further in.”
The road swung to the southeast a mile beyond the village on its way to nearby towns, the largest of which was Harsenth. A mile and a half past the bend, the shepherd stopped and motioned toward both sides of the road. “The Low Fields are north from here a few hundred yards. The sheep could have run here, over the road, and kept on going south, right? Any of you good on tracking?”
The proprietor stepped forward. “I haven’t tracked in a while, but the sheep should not be difficult. We should head to the fields, I’m thinking. There, the trail will be easiest to find.”
Minutes later, they stepped out of the forest into the clearing of the Low Fields. Grass brushed their shins and a breeze turned their view into a shimmering, green expanse. With a whistle, the shepherd’s dogs ran to his side. The store owner followed the tree line and spotted where the sheep had trampled the vegetation as they ran.
Once in the forest again, the ground turned harder and the proprietor lost the trail. They kept on in that same direction. The trees thinned out and the ground became softer; put a spring in their steps. Here, the proprietor found the trail of the sheep again and the group trailed him.
They passed back over the dirt road, following the tracks further south. Several more times, rocky and packed dirt obscured the trail. On each occasion, the group spread out and rediscovered it quickly.
They came upon a small river, flowing back toward the road. Tracks sat in the mud along the creek, and the proprietor noted that the animals, by the time they had passed through here, had slowed to a walking pace. As the group came up a small escarpment, down which water tumbled, they saw the first of the sheep. Many others stood beyond, grazing. Grasses grew between thick tree roots. A low hung cave was the source of the stream. Just inside the cave were several more of the flock.
Hantle and the blacksmith drew the sheep from the cave, where the dogs took over and herded them together. They counted the flock at twenty-four.
Hantle asked, “How many had you started with?”
“Thirty-seven,” the shepherd recalled.
After accounting for the eight eaten the prior night, five sheep were missing. The group scoured the surrounding area, but found no additional sheep or trails of their whereabouts. They were miles from the Low Fields. Miles over which those sheep could have splintered off.
The thought of covering that amount of land was daunting, but Hantle offered to continue the search. “I feel responsible for the harm that’s come to you and your flock.”
“I appreciate the offer muchly,” the shepherd said, “but we could be days looking for the remaining ones. And still not find them. The loss will hurt a while, but I’ll count my luck we found this many.”
He was eager to get moving. At his command, the dogs herded the flock north. This was the first time many of the Founsel folk had seen a shepherd and his dogs at work.
They made good time back to the dirt road, what with no trail to lose. As they stepped out from the forest, the sun rode low in the sky.
“You’ll be heading to Founsel now, I hope,” the proprietor said.
The shepherd shook his head. “Staying in Founsel would draw the wolf in. The sheep are easy prey, right? I can’t make you a target like that. Especially after you found my flock.
“I’ll move my herd further east, at least until the menace has passed.”
Hantle spoke up. “Our watch last night was quite impressive. The entire town lit up and patrolled. I bet you’d be safest there with us.”
The proprietor nodded in agreement, proud of the lanterns he had donated to the cause. “We can put the flock in the town square, where they’d be best guarded.”
The shepherd shook his head again. The ferocity he’d seen in the moonlight was terrifying. He doubted the strength of the town’s watch against the wolf over the next few nights. I’d be foolish to stay, he thought, but he could not bring himself to say as much to such kind people.
The shepherd politely declined. “I have family in the foothills near Bansuth. The sheep will do well in the rolling land there, particularly this time of year when the rivers are still high from snow melt.”
He waved to the search party. “I owe you my life and my livelihood. Thank you.” With a signal to his dogs, he and the flock started east along the road.