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Second Contact
Sharp biting wind slipped through the forest, winding around bare rocks and blasted branches and dashing through wooly coats to carry off the precious heat. Above the hillside, blue moonlit clouds slid across the sky like shards of ice in a deep black sea, and the stars in the sky formed no constellations, for that word did not exist yet, and would not for many thousands of years.
The small group huddled together to shelter as best they could and share their warmth, their breath fogging into wisps that were instantly carried off in the merciless wind. They had been running all day, fleeing from one terror to another, and they were all now exhausted in mind and distraught of spirit, unable to mourn those they had lost, for the flock had been cruelly thinned.. Some were wounded and the stench of blood also rose from them, whisked into the wind and away from the wolves, or so they could hope.
Emeia, the oldest ewe, could yet feel the presence of her precious lamb, just born yesterday, pressing against her udders to drink what milk she had to give… A lamb torn from her side so soon that he had not even been given his name yet. She ached all over, deep in her womb and in her swollen teats as the yearning filled her heart, a yearning that could never now be quieted. She longed to nurse her lamb, and she had nothing, worse than nothing, just rock and withered grass under her and the empty air and the moon gazing down at her like one relentless round eye. A demon eye.
She nudged her head against Chrahk, the dominant ram, who was gazing blankly over the treeline as it descended the hillside, and out over the moonlit lands below. The hills carried on towards the horizon, and the rim of one of them was outlined with orange light and wisps of smoke rose from it. Hell lay in that direction, as they all knew.
Chrahk turned his scarred and battered head to her, one of his horns was cracked almost to the base and it slightly unbalanced his head. He had sired the lamb she had lost, but she could not read his deeper emotions as she looked into the black lines of his pupils.
“Cannot you rest, Emeia? We shall need all our strength to outpace the wolves tomorrow.” He returned her nudge roughly, years of butting heads with other rams had worn away his ability to be subtle.
“I cannot. Chrahk… we are worn away. It used to be that our flocks were larger, so my mother told me as hers had told her. It was not such a hard thing to lose the stragglers to the wolves. But it is harder now.” She nuzzled his side. “We are few and they are without pity. They will chase us into the ground and gnaw all our bones, and we shall vanish from the world entirely.”
Chrahk huffed, sending curls of fogged breath into the wind. “We shall keep searching. There must be more meadows beyond the hills, someplace where we can recover our numbers, given just a bite of time.”
“I do not think we have it. We teeter at the edge. In addition to my dear lamb, Boriya was swollen with two lambs, and we have lost her and them along with her. We have been shredded. Chrahk… What good is it to flee between dangers, and wear ourselves away? We are beset with enemies on all sides, all roads lead to death.
“Last night, I had a dream. I dreamed that we went beyond the hill, the hill that glows…”
“To the demons?!” growled Chrahk. “They slay us wherever they find us. Do you mean that we should all give up?” He butted her side hard enough to disturb the other sheep, who turned their heads.
“Let me finish. The demons… they keep the wolves away, do you see? They have much grass upon their territory, ungrazed. In my dream, they looked at us as our whole flock went to them, and they led us to a pasture, that they had all hedged around with thorns, and we could stay there. They gave us food, shelter from the wind…”
“And they would kill us whenever they pleased!”
“We face that wherever we go, however far we run, and we cannot escape that fate. But the demons… in my dream, they had restraint, which the wolves lack. They took sacrifices from us, but did not slay all of us. And our flock grew with them, until sheep filled the whole pasture. When the wolves came to harm us, they drove the wolves away.” She closed her eyes and felt the emptiness inside her again, and heard the screams of her lamb as canine fangs sunk into its throat and the flock fled in terror.
“Madness,” grunted Chrahk. “Pure Moon madness.”
“We are beset by danger all around us,” continued Emeia. “It is bound to us and wraps us up as if it were our own wool. It runs through our blood and its flavor is in every stalk of grass we eat. But if we go to the demons…”
“I see it,” spoke another ewe. “It terrifies me, but I see it. If we give ourselves to the demons, they will fight to defend what is theirs. They will fight our other enemies… they will fight to protect us. And if they take a few of us in exchange for that, we would be no worse off in that respect than we are now.”
“It is deeper than that,” continued Emeia. “In my dream, they took us into their territory. They regarded us as their property. And that meant… it meant they wanted our flock to grow bigger. They wanted us to be well fed and healthy, for it worked to their advantage as well.”
There was a murmuring among the flock as they chewed over the thought.
Chrahk leapt to his feet. “This is foolish talk, and I forbid it! We all must rest well, and this chatter will only divide and distract us! We will be left to the mercy of the wolves!”
Emeia drew herself up as well, the moonlight outlining her curly coat in curves of silver. “We know the wolves have no mercy. The demons may. Chrahk, I am decided that I at least will go to find out. And if you will not lead us there… Then I will select Tarmedh, and let him take the lead!”
Tarmedh, a younger ram who bore the scars of his many lost challenges, mostly inflicted by Chrahk, almost bounced up. “Say the word, Emeia, and I shall be happy to guide you, though we travel to Hell itself!” His spirit leapt with a cheering flame and an almost impossible hope.
Chrahk snorted and pawed the ground. “Stop this nonsense now! I am your only leader, and if I have to crack Tarmedh’s head open again and spread his brains down the hillside, I will. Emeia, lie back down and sleep off this vision, your reason will return after you get some rest!”
The flock hung uncertain as Chrahk advanced and Tarmedh readied himself to make the choice to flee to his recurring shame, or fight Chrahk and almost certainly lose again. But Emeia was suddenly between them, facing Chrahk, pawing the ground herself.
Chrahk blinked and shook his head, one did not headbutt a ewe. But ewes were never supposed to take a challenge stance, either.
Emeia pawed again, looking Chrahk straight in the eyes as the rest of the flock stood silent and Tarmedh stared in wonder behind her. “I see I was in error, to suggest we split; we are all weakened and tired. But Chrahk, look to me, you know me well, you and I are sire and dam to many here. I can tell you I burn inside now with what my vision inspired in me. You are our leader, your bravery and power have kept our flock going. I do beseech you, have also the courage to trust me. You know I have always advised you well.”
He gazed at her flatly, his head cocked slightly to the weight of his massive single horn. “That you have; you have always had the best words and a sharp eye. I trust you at least that much. But what you ask could slay us all.” He looked about the flock; most avoided his gaze but many cast glances at Emeia. “I say this then, we shall rest for now, and depart before sunrise, and draw close enough to the demons to see what matches your vision. Should the signs remain true... I suppose we shall see what comes of madness.”
The man woke in darkness, sitting up and scratching at his head, for his dreams had been puzzling and disturbing. There were stars like dust, that he had reached out to put into his pocket as if they were sand grains. And then he had started to blaze with light.
He shrugged and rolled out of his bedskins, and stood naked in the cold wind for a time as his body fully wakened. He dressed quietly, donning a tunic sewed from rabbit skins. No one else was awake yet and he left the hut in perfect solitude.
Outside, the sky was bright with stars; the moon had set, and the horizon was limned with the distant light of dawn. He yawned again as he walked past the ashes of last night’s fire. He knelt to poke around it, and found a scapula bone that still had shreds of meat on it. He picked it clean as he walked further, out past other huts full of snoring people. He hummed a quiet song to himself, a little chant to protect him from bears and other fell spirits of the night. As the rhythm of his song captured his mind and his blood flowed strongly in him, he knew he was ready for his morning ritual and prayer.
He meandered to a small field at the edge of the village, one that was partly lined by the pole fence, and seated himself on a small mound as he prepared to face the rising sun, rehearsing the chants that would bring good fortune to the tribe, and great rewards from the hunt tomorrow. His fogging breath carried ghosts of his words from his lips as he practiced, and he rocked gently back and forth to the rhythm of his inner music.
He paused suddenly, for there were ghostly shapes in the dim light.
His heart thudded as he chanted with greater fervor, the comforting words that had always proved lucky in the past, as the shapes grew nearer. Soon he recognized them, it was a small flock of sheep. He had never seen any such sight before; his views of sheep was always of the animals fleeing him and the other hunters with vigor. This was a complete inversion of nature. Continuing his chant, he watched as they approached him. There was an old one-horned ram in front, and after him an equally aged ewe, and these two came towards the man with gentle, fearless steps. Behind them was a younger ram who seemed not quite as confident, and after them came the hesitant hoofed steps of the remaining flock.
The man smelled their oily wool and the stink of old blood and sweat, and wondered. They were mostly looking thin but were not starving. What was making them do this? Was this the reward of the hunt, delivered to him as an impossible gift? He laughed nervously, muttering an apologetic charm to ward off ill consequences of such a presumptive thought.
The two sheep in front closed in on him, and he leaned forward. The ewe’s eyes caught his own, and he stared at her quietly, wondering to see an emotion other than fear in those slitted alien eyes. He reached out with one hand to stroke her muzzle, and she accepted the contact, pressing her nose against his hand.
With his other hand, he reached to his belt and drew out his flint knife.
She watched him with curiosity as he brought his other hand up, pressing the point to her neck. Still he stared at her, and still those placid but piercing alien eyes returned his gaze calmly.
His shoulders sagged, and he returned his knife to his belt. More and more of the flock surrounded him, pressing cold wet noses to his skin and sniffing him, and he reached to touch them as well, feeling their coarse uncombed and slightly greasy wool. They were forming a circle around him.
He wanted to run to the others and share the impossible news, but he feared to disturb the circle. As they lay down all around him and began to rest, he felt the night catching up with him again, and laid down with them as well.
As the dawn rose, the sun’s rays fell on the circle of sheep, and the first shepherd.
The small group huddled together to shelter as best they could and share their warmth, their breath fogging into wisps that were instantly carried off in the merciless wind. They had been running all day, fleeing from one terror to another, and they were all now exhausted in mind and distraught of spirit, unable to mourn those they had lost, for the flock had been cruelly thinned.. Some were wounded and the stench of blood also rose from them, whisked into the wind and away from the wolves, or so they could hope.
Emeia, the oldest ewe, could yet feel the presence of her precious lamb, just born yesterday, pressing against her udders to drink what milk she had to give… A lamb torn from her side so soon that he had not even been given his name yet. She ached all over, deep in her womb and in her swollen teats as the yearning filled her heart, a yearning that could never now be quieted. She longed to nurse her lamb, and she had nothing, worse than nothing, just rock and withered grass under her and the empty air and the moon gazing down at her like one relentless round eye. A demon eye.
She nudged her head against Chrahk, the dominant ram, who was gazing blankly over the treeline as it descended the hillside, and out over the moonlit lands below. The hills carried on towards the horizon, and the rim of one of them was outlined with orange light and wisps of smoke rose from it. Hell lay in that direction, as they all knew.
Chrahk turned his scarred and battered head to her, one of his horns was cracked almost to the base and it slightly unbalanced his head. He had sired the lamb she had lost, but she could not read his deeper emotions as she looked into the black lines of his pupils.
“Cannot you rest, Emeia? We shall need all our strength to outpace the wolves tomorrow.” He returned her nudge roughly, years of butting heads with other rams had worn away his ability to be subtle.
“I cannot. Chrahk… we are worn away. It used to be that our flocks were larger, so my mother told me as hers had told her. It was not such a hard thing to lose the stragglers to the wolves. But it is harder now.” She nuzzled his side. “We are few and they are without pity. They will chase us into the ground and gnaw all our bones, and we shall vanish from the world entirely.”
Chrahk huffed, sending curls of fogged breath into the wind. “We shall keep searching. There must be more meadows beyond the hills, someplace where we can recover our numbers, given just a bite of time.”
“I do not think we have it. We teeter at the edge. In addition to my dear lamb, Boriya was swollen with two lambs, and we have lost her and them along with her. We have been shredded. Chrahk… What good is it to flee between dangers, and wear ourselves away? We are beset with enemies on all sides, all roads lead to death.
“Last night, I had a dream. I dreamed that we went beyond the hill, the hill that glows…”
“To the demons?!” growled Chrahk. “They slay us wherever they find us. Do you mean that we should all give up?” He butted her side hard enough to disturb the other sheep, who turned their heads.
“Let me finish. The demons… they keep the wolves away, do you see? They have much grass upon their territory, ungrazed. In my dream, they looked at us as our whole flock went to them, and they led us to a pasture, that they had all hedged around with thorns, and we could stay there. They gave us food, shelter from the wind…”
“And they would kill us whenever they pleased!”
“We face that wherever we go, however far we run, and we cannot escape that fate. But the demons… in my dream, they had restraint, which the wolves lack. They took sacrifices from us, but did not slay all of us. And our flock grew with them, until sheep filled the whole pasture. When the wolves came to harm us, they drove the wolves away.” She closed her eyes and felt the emptiness inside her again, and heard the screams of her lamb as canine fangs sunk into its throat and the flock fled in terror.
“Madness,” grunted Chrahk. “Pure Moon madness.”
“We are beset by danger all around us,” continued Emeia. “It is bound to us and wraps us up as if it were our own wool. It runs through our blood and its flavor is in every stalk of grass we eat. But if we go to the demons…”
“I see it,” spoke another ewe. “It terrifies me, but I see it. If we give ourselves to the demons, they will fight to defend what is theirs. They will fight our other enemies… they will fight to protect us. And if they take a few of us in exchange for that, we would be no worse off in that respect than we are now.”
“It is deeper than that,” continued Emeia. “In my dream, they took us into their territory. They regarded us as their property. And that meant… it meant they wanted our flock to grow bigger. They wanted us to be well fed and healthy, for it worked to their advantage as well.”
There was a murmuring among the flock as they chewed over the thought.
Chrahk leapt to his feet. “This is foolish talk, and I forbid it! We all must rest well, and this chatter will only divide and distract us! We will be left to the mercy of the wolves!”
Emeia drew herself up as well, the moonlight outlining her curly coat in curves of silver. “We know the wolves have no mercy. The demons may. Chrahk, I am decided that I at least will go to find out. And if you will not lead us there… Then I will select Tarmedh, and let him take the lead!”
Tarmedh, a younger ram who bore the scars of his many lost challenges, mostly inflicted by Chrahk, almost bounced up. “Say the word, Emeia, and I shall be happy to guide you, though we travel to Hell itself!” His spirit leapt with a cheering flame and an almost impossible hope.
Chrahk snorted and pawed the ground. “Stop this nonsense now! I am your only leader, and if I have to crack Tarmedh’s head open again and spread his brains down the hillside, I will. Emeia, lie back down and sleep off this vision, your reason will return after you get some rest!”
The flock hung uncertain as Chrahk advanced and Tarmedh readied himself to make the choice to flee to his recurring shame, or fight Chrahk and almost certainly lose again. But Emeia was suddenly between them, facing Chrahk, pawing the ground herself.
Chrahk blinked and shook his head, one did not headbutt a ewe. But ewes were never supposed to take a challenge stance, either.
Emeia pawed again, looking Chrahk straight in the eyes as the rest of the flock stood silent and Tarmedh stared in wonder behind her. “I see I was in error, to suggest we split; we are all weakened and tired. But Chrahk, look to me, you know me well, you and I are sire and dam to many here. I can tell you I burn inside now with what my vision inspired in me. You are our leader, your bravery and power have kept our flock going. I do beseech you, have also the courage to trust me. You know I have always advised you well.”
He gazed at her flatly, his head cocked slightly to the weight of his massive single horn. “That you have; you have always had the best words and a sharp eye. I trust you at least that much. But what you ask could slay us all.” He looked about the flock; most avoided his gaze but many cast glances at Emeia. “I say this then, we shall rest for now, and depart before sunrise, and draw close enough to the demons to see what matches your vision. Should the signs remain true... I suppose we shall see what comes of madness.”
The man woke in darkness, sitting up and scratching at his head, for his dreams had been puzzling and disturbing. There were stars like dust, that he had reached out to put into his pocket as if they were sand grains. And then he had started to blaze with light.
He shrugged and rolled out of his bedskins, and stood naked in the cold wind for a time as his body fully wakened. He dressed quietly, donning a tunic sewed from rabbit skins. No one else was awake yet and he left the hut in perfect solitude.
Outside, the sky was bright with stars; the moon had set, and the horizon was limned with the distant light of dawn. He yawned again as he walked past the ashes of last night’s fire. He knelt to poke around it, and found a scapula bone that still had shreds of meat on it. He picked it clean as he walked further, out past other huts full of snoring people. He hummed a quiet song to himself, a little chant to protect him from bears and other fell spirits of the night. As the rhythm of his song captured his mind and his blood flowed strongly in him, he knew he was ready for his morning ritual and prayer.
He meandered to a small field at the edge of the village, one that was partly lined by the pole fence, and seated himself on a small mound as he prepared to face the rising sun, rehearsing the chants that would bring good fortune to the tribe, and great rewards from the hunt tomorrow. His fogging breath carried ghosts of his words from his lips as he practiced, and he rocked gently back and forth to the rhythm of his inner music.
He paused suddenly, for there were ghostly shapes in the dim light.
His heart thudded as he chanted with greater fervor, the comforting words that had always proved lucky in the past, as the shapes grew nearer. Soon he recognized them, it was a small flock of sheep. He had never seen any such sight before; his views of sheep was always of the animals fleeing him and the other hunters with vigor. This was a complete inversion of nature. Continuing his chant, he watched as they approached him. There was an old one-horned ram in front, and after him an equally aged ewe, and these two came towards the man with gentle, fearless steps. Behind them was a younger ram who seemed not quite as confident, and after them came the hesitant hoofed steps of the remaining flock.
The man smelled their oily wool and the stink of old blood and sweat, and wondered. They were mostly looking thin but were not starving. What was making them do this? Was this the reward of the hunt, delivered to him as an impossible gift? He laughed nervously, muttering an apologetic charm to ward off ill consequences of such a presumptive thought.
The two sheep in front closed in on him, and he leaned forward. The ewe’s eyes caught his own, and he stared at her quietly, wondering to see an emotion other than fear in those slitted alien eyes. He reached out with one hand to stroke her muzzle, and she accepted the contact, pressing her nose against his hand.
With his other hand, he reached to his belt and drew out his flint knife.
She watched him with curiosity as he brought his other hand up, pressing the point to her neck. Still he stared at her, and still those placid but piercing alien eyes returned his gaze calmly.
His shoulders sagged, and he returned his knife to his belt. More and more of the flock surrounded him, pressing cold wet noses to his skin and sniffing him, and he reached to touch them as well, feeling their coarse uncombed and slightly greasy wool. They were forming a circle around him.
He wanted to run to the others and share the impossible news, but he feared to disturb the circle. As they lay down all around him and began to rest, he felt the night catching up with him again, and laid down with them as well.
As the dawn rose, the sun’s rays fell on the circle of sheep, and the first shepherd.
Pics
A couple of thoughts right from the beginning. One, you start with what I've seen called a "weather report opening," They're so common as to be ubiquitous, and doing so isn't a good way to make your story stand out. It makes it seem like you couldn't think of anything more original to write, which sets a bad first impression. If the weather is that important to the plot, it can sometimes work, as long as you make that immediately clear.
Two, you mention they won't have the concept or even a word for constellations for thousands of years. Yet the story itself seems to contradict that. You're using a limited narrator (look at the way it trails off just in the third paragraph and seems to speak the ewe's thoughts for her), so it's a dichotomy that the ewe herself would know the word to say they don't have it. But why wouldn't they? She explicitly has the concept of giving her child a name, and it's a pretty minor leap from that to finding patterns in the stars. They both speak to very sentient creatures, and their dialogue uses rather advanced construction and vocabulary.
Grammatically, there are a fair number of comma splices.
This feels more like a fable than anything, which isn't a bad thing. It does have uneven pacing, though. It's obvious early on what the hell and demons they speak of are, and they just go through the usual arguments of what advantages it would give them, plus having it be based on a dream rather than direct observation (of how the humans would treat other animals, I guess, since the point is they've never tended sheep before) makes it seem less likely (and more plot-convenient) that everyone is so easy to convince. As short as the story is, you don't have the space for it, but there is still space in the word count limit to have less of a direct line drawn from problem to solution. It just makes for a better narrative arc when there are setbacks and false steps, but I'm guessing you were up against the time limit as well.
Two, you mention they won't have the concept or even a word for constellations for thousands of years. Yet the story itself seems to contradict that. You're using a limited narrator (look at the way it trails off just in the third paragraph and seems to speak the ewe's thoughts for her), so it's a dichotomy that the ewe herself would know the word to say they don't have it. But why wouldn't they? She explicitly has the concept of giving her child a name, and it's a pretty minor leap from that to finding patterns in the stars. They both speak to very sentient creatures, and their dialogue uses rather advanced construction and vocabulary.
Grammatically, there are a fair number of comma splices.
This feels more like a fable than anything, which isn't a bad thing. It does have uneven pacing, though. It's obvious early on what the hell and demons they speak of are, and they just go through the usual arguments of what advantages it would give them, plus having it be based on a dream rather than direct observation (of how the humans would treat other animals, I guess, since the point is they've never tended sheep before) makes it seem less likely (and more plot-convenient) that everyone is so easy to convince. As short as the story is, you don't have the space for it, but there is still space in the word count limit to have less of a direct line drawn from problem to solution. It just makes for a better narrative arc when there are setbacks and false steps, but I'm guessing you were up against the time limit as well.
I'm a big fan of shepherds and story how the first one got his flock interests me. Don't give shit about the grammar errors that much because they don't slap me in the face. Like the dialog and don't mind that I figured out who the demons were in three seconds. Story made sense enough with animals that could talk to each other.
Them just giving themselves up the demons for protection doesn't really fit in with the theme "The World Wants to Be Fooled." The shepherd did no work on getting these creatures. No coaxing, no promises of safety in exchange for services most foul or anything. The sheep had all the agency in this transaction. Funny thing to me is generation later is some men are going to domesticate some wolves, and turn them into dogs. The dogs that used to hunt the sheep will now help protect them.
Them just giving themselves up the demons for protection doesn't really fit in with the theme "The World Wants to Be Fooled." The shepherd did no work on getting these creatures. No coaxing, no promises of safety in exchange for services most foul or anything. The sheep had all the agency in this transaction. Funny thing to me is generation later is some men are going to domesticate some wolves, and turn them into dogs. The dogs that used to hunt the sheep will now help protect them.