A Fractured Land (Working Title)

Part 1

It was the damned sheep.

The incident was not out of the ordinary, though the day had started more altruistic than most, with a particularly clear sky and slight breeze descending from the mountains to the East. Such a breeze generally heralded a storm in the near future, but I saw no heavy clouds nor heard distant rumblings from beyond the peaks, and took the brisk air as an opportunity to venture a bit further than the flock was accustomed. For some time now, I had been testing a few hypotheses on the sheep, seeing how far they would be willing to travel before growing tired and lagging behind as I prodded them along. The younger group always managed to pull to the front, but the older batch tended to linger, though their determination impressed me as they always managed to catch up as I brought the rest of the flock to a halt, albeit breathing vigorously. Dumb as a post, they were, but there are benefits to a hive mentality.

The incident in reference surrounds one of my more troublesome specimens. I tended to refrain from naming the animals, as the circle of life continued in an observable fashion daily, but a single member of the flock had a habit of wandering. She was a headstrong ewe, something you didn't see often and I'd named her Drevyn. My name is also Drevyn. I wouldn't consider myself outstandingly headstrong, but I do have a bad habit of wandering. So I named a sheep after me.

It was soon after we reached the tree line at the base of one of the taller hills that I realized she was missing. She was the first I looked for each time I brought the flock to a halt, and once a day, I'd find myself riding off in search of her, shouting my own name as I did, and today was no different. Even Cleetus, the only animal on the farm dumber than the sheep, and the horse I happened to inherit, recognizes her name. He breaks nearly into a full gallop if I call her out, and occasionally I find myself trying to explain to a horse what a pulled hamstring is. Callum, my older brother, used to get a kick out of that.

Trusting that the rest of the sheep had no intention of straying from the herd, and having no predator scares in months, I ventured into the forest to find the stupid animal I'd named after myself.

"Drevyn?" I called, as if I was going to receive an answer. I pulled the reigns back on Cleetus and dismounted, handing him an apple I was saving for the end of the day. He munched it joyously, leaving some of his horse slobber on my hand. I wiped it on his jaw in retribution. "Stay here." It wasn't a command of any kind; I'd been trying to teach Cleetus verbal commands for years. If I had a smart horse, I wouldn't name it "Cleetus."

I scanned the surrounding area, and despite the trees, I had a pretty clear line of sight in most directions, with the exception of a sizeable boulder a dozen yards to my left. I took a few steps forward to see if the boulder could potentially be hiding a wandering sheep. As I took my last planned step, I witnessed a tuft of dirty white fur bristle and shake for the briefest moment.

"Drevyn." I muttered to myself, moving toward the boulder, and peering around it to see the blank eyes of my nemesis. I knelt down before the animal and quickly checked for bumps, bruises, or cuts. She was all good. I swear I could feel her smirking at me. "You're lucky I like you, because I hate you so much in this moment."

As I was about to stand up and take Drevyn back to the flock, she knelt down and thumped her head on the ground, staring to the left, toward the boulder.

"Why do you do this?" It was a genuine question. "Why do you make my life hard?"

Drevyn gave me the silent treatment.

I sighed and tried to wrap my arms around her belly and lift her up, as I normally did when she was in one of her stubborn fits, but she wouldn't budge. Instead, she pushed her head further to the left on the ground. I dropped her and contemplated cussing her out. The only reason I didn't was because I was afraid Cleetus would hear. When you spend as much time with these animals as I do, you have to be conscientious.