Greener Pastures

"I would like to propose an arrangement between us," said Divna, "It seems I have neglected my own flock. Would you be open to shearing them for me? They were impressed with your technique."

"If it needs done, then I can find the time," he said, "Just send them my way."

"Oh, you are sweet. Not even a bit of haggling."

"I have my fill of that selling my wool. And I know better than to turn away such a request when you have been so courteous."

Divna laughed again and it was pure and simple music. A string symphony with golden threads woven through the veins, and it all came down to a single instant of time that lasted years.

Divna slowly sank down, back into the water, yes just above the water like a crocodile, still smiling in the stars. A slender hand broke the surface and waved goodbye. Conor bowed again and took his leave. The forest was still lit up with the fey lights and moon motes. He was back home in his bed, fast asleep in a handful of steps.

---

"I don't know Conor," said Dammon, rubbing his bald scalp, "This feels less than the normal amount."

"Dammon, don't do this to me," he said, "It's the same amount. If anything, it's more. But I'm not asking for more. Just the same amount as I always ask. And your wife needs thread to spin. You need me. I need you. We don't have to play this game as hard as we do."

"I'm just trying to look out for me and mine. We both want a fair deal. It's just a shame I have to fight for it."

And the only thing that kept the fight for a fair deal getting fists involved was the unspoken threat that came from swinging a hammer all day. Dammon could throw a better punch, that was a fact. If it went down to grappling, maybe Conor could sneak out a win, but the recovery would put him out for a good long while.

"If you're that concerned about it," Conor sighed, "Bring Jill out here and have her count. We'll get a third party and she's the one spinning the damn things anyways. I really should be talking to her."

"I know wool. Not as well as her, and honestly not as well as you, but I can count. But fine. I'll bring her out here and have her decide. It's going to be a few days, though. She's got a lot of work to do and I don't want to take her away from that."

"Fine, Dammon, fine. I can hold onto this. Just get her here when you can and we'll get this taken care of."

The sheep baaed in their pen. They wanted out. Wide open plains with luscious clovers and grasses and so many delicious blossoms, and this bald man was keeping them inside. Conor wanted them free, but responsibility was just a much a pen as wooden fence. Even Divna's newest gift only strayed as far as Dammon's cart. There looked to be few sprouts worth tasting that aways. The mule out in front seemed lonely as well. Dammon threw up his hands in a semi defeated shrug and stomped away. The sheep were happy enough.

"Dammit all," shouted Dammon, "Conor what did you do to my cart?"

"Not a damn thing and you know it," Conor sighed, "I've been with you since you rolled up."

"The damn wheel's fallen off. I just took it Maurice. Ever since he took over the shop, I swear, things just aren't the way they used to be."

"Calm down, Dammon. I have some tools. Just let me get them."

"Alright fine. If you help me fix the cart, I'll give you what you asked for."

Dammon went back to raging at his cart, the mule completely indifferent to the world. The sheep followed. The grass sprouting up was not to its standards.

"I appreciate it," Conor whispered to the sheep, "but don't do that again. I wanted him gone as soon as possible."

The sheep shrugged as best it could. It did nothing wrong.

---

The night was cold, but pleasantly so. Jill's new sweaters were incredible. The fibers responded to the world, cinching up to the cold, relaxing to the heat, and just generally keeping tight to his body in the best way. The added neck cowl was a nice touch. Apparently the idea came for the last caravan to come trapsing through. He missed that one. Divna was taking up more of his time with he special guests and the night time visits. Such a terrible thing, working all day, spending all night entertaining and then having to sleep on the job. At least Lily was still on the ball. Everything was in line and up to code. She barked at him when he left. He ignored her. He could deal with Lily's wrath with a handful of treats and a few belly scratches. Divna's anger was a bit more elusive. He had not seen it, so he did not know how to counter.

But the glade was his alone for the moment. It was a beautiful night. Most nights were beautiful if he could just stay awake to witness them. Stars, so many stars, scattered across the sky, each one shining brilliantly without a care in the world, ever color, every shade every shadow everything his mind made in his dreams coming out to rain down upon him. He gazed up, until his neck hurt. He drew his hands inside his sleeves to keep them from the chill. Numb fingers were not a shepherd's friend. The wind laughed at him and his tourist gawking.

"The stars are beautiful," he said to the wind, "I don't think acknowledging that is anything to be ashamed of."

"It is when I've been dancing around you naked for the past hour," Divna tittered.

"I have not been here for an hour."

'You have. You've been here for hours and hours. And you haven't even looked at me at all. But I've looked at you. And you look nice.

"Thank you. Jill has been raving about the wool."

"And you didn't' get anything for me? I'm jealous."

"As far as anyone else knows, I have been blessed with a generation of incredible sheep. I'll ask for a scarf for you. You don't seem to like the heavier things."

She didn't. she didn't like much over anything on her body, except the longer glances that Conor had to fight off. All of her was alabaster smooth and pearl white. She looked at him and his silver sweater. To his harms his shoulders and he tried to keep everything respectful. But her chest was there. Her chest, full and round and heavy, was there. Just waiting out in the open and begging for a hand to hold and swallow. He gave it nothing. There were curls of bouncy white hair that were obviously much more interesting. Even when Divna took a forearm under her bust and made them rise and jostle for his attention again.

Then a hand pushed him in the chest. The threads kept almost, but not quite, all of the cold out. It did muffle his pounding heart and the rising panic. It was not quite strong enough to push him over, but it was close.

"You're it," Divna said.

"I'm sorry?" he stammered.

"You're it. You have to chase me now. That's the game. If you can tag me, then I'm it. Good luck."

And she was off with a rolling breeze and a lingering laugh. The grass goaded her after image and taunted Conor with his baffled stillness.

It took a moment. Then it took another. But Conor was supposed to run after the wind, put it in a bottle. So, he did. Stumbling at first, snagging reeds and sucking mud on his boots, but he ran. One foot then another, so fast the cold couldn't catch up to him. Fireflies, or star motes, tricks of his sleep addled mind, danced against the pond. He looked to the trees for a lingering streak of moonlight to follow. It was marked on the trees with sharp claws and rending teeth. He followed. The tracks screamed at him to flee, but he followed.

His strides were long and free, running through the trees and brambles, all the spikes refusing to mark his skin. He was drifting into the veil, body not quite all the way there. His mind ran faster and faster, catching the light before it landed. He was laughing. His throat was too light to hold anything back. Laughter, pure and simple, running through the woods, echoing back to him and echoing out to the trees. Bouncing and singing, song from the dreams and nightmares of his mind. Body smeared through and steps and thoughts not quite matching what they should be. A fox, a deer, a nestled beehive along the bath, they all rattled and shook at the twin will-o-wisps playing chase.

Conoro could not keep pup. The light could not shine away the fac that he was tired. Dead of night, a full day's work behind him, an unruly attempt at a stampede simply won out over the forever dancing laughter. He slowed. The flight went back to the pond. The sprint slowed to a run, and the run tumbled and fell into a gasping crawl. The body did not care for the lights and the endless speed. It wanted food and sleep and a cozy bed.

The laugh came back with its gentle prodding and a mocking poke in his ribs. He was too tired to care. But he was smiling.

"You win," he huffed.

"I did. Good job me. You really need to try harder in the future," Divna said.

"Do I need to? I'm honestly feeling good right here. The flowers are soft."

Divna took her weight back from the stars and sat down next to him. He didn't feel the hand on his chest. He was already asleep.

---

The next sheep trotted up to the stall and patiently wanted for Conor to sharpen his shears and work out the aches from his hands. The weather was on the brink of being summer. The mountains fought that progress with a never-ending snow melt. The water was still cold. The wind through the valley still carried the sent of ice and snow. The open glades were more open to the idea of warmth and sunshine. All it did to the shepherd was force him to take his shirt off and wipe his forehead in between every animal.

The sheep gently butted its head against his thigh.

"I'm working on it," he said, "Give me a second. You're not the only one that gets hot.'

The head did not stop prodding him to go faster. It was a rough effort to get the shears down, but he got it better.He'd give it the care and attention it needed later.

"Go to your spot," he said, "and I'll be right there."

That finally got the sheep to relent, its pure silver wool already clean and unknotted. That made the work easier than it should be. He worked. He slowly peeled off heavy wool in large drifting clouds. The fibers stuck to his skin, matted with sweat, but the pile by his side grew and grew with every stroke of the metal. The animal cooperated, bending and turning so that Conor did not have to work too hard. The shears tickled. The sheep pressed into his body as the fresh air danced across its skin. It was work. It was practiced work with a steady hand. And everything that came from it was worth in the end. A simple task to a simple end, done well. All of the unpleasantness fell way. A chore done well is its own reward. Sweeping the floor, thatching the roof, pulling weeds, all terrible things before they began and even during the act, but the end was where it became worth it.

That was the last one. This gift was a lot more patient than the others, even with the prodding headbutts. Piles of wool up to his shoulders, baking in the hot sun, and every ounce of breeze danced through the flock. Light, carefree, even frolicking in their newfound nakedness. Conor left his flock to their revelry. He pulled a bucket from his well and rinsed the work from his body. The water was cold, almost ice, and his body tensed. He hissed through his teeth and simply let go with another cold rinse. All of him was done. The sheep were fed and shorn. The garden was blossoming. Dammon would come by with his wife so she could actually see the silver wool he's started to produce. She said it contains wonders, so light and easy to spin it was almost made of stars. He just shrugged. He was good to the sheep and the sheep were good to him.

Divna's sheep had not left his side. They were picky things when they came up to his care. Only drank fresh well water, liked to sleep on fresh hay bales, enjoyed almost constant head pats and belly scritches. Greedy, needy little things that he was more than happy to accommodate.

"You can go play now," he said after a long draught of well water, "I don't have anything more for you. We'll graze tomorrow.'

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. He got another headbutt to his thighs and if the geometry was a bit different, he'd be tumbling into the well. He glared at the sheep and the sheep did not say anything. It was a sheep. It could do nothing wrong. He set down a fresh bucket of water. The sheep drank its fill and trotted back to a shady spot. The shepherd was tired. There was a shady spot just for him. The sheep had the right idea.

Conor collapsed next to the sheep in the shade of a chestnut tree on his land. One of the few trees outside of the forest, and it was one of his favorites. Divna's sheep moved for him and set its head on his lap. A mindless hand moved and started petting. The sheep closed its eyes and Conor saw the promise of that. It would be a little while longer before he could slip into that in full.

The flock milled and settled too. There was not much else to do in the heat. They found what space and shade they could and settled for an afternoon of rest.

"Do you like spending out time here," he asked the peaceful sheep.

It nodded. Maybe. A shift of the head and that meant yes. These sheep were smarter than his and it seemed right for them to be that way. A bird should fly. A fish should swim. And this particular breed with silver wool responded to simple questions, acted out small bits of sabotage and generally followed orders just a bit too well. But they were soft and friendly and deserving of all that affection.

"Divna wants to see me tonight, doesn't she," he asked the sheep. Again, the sheep nodded as best it could.

"Figured. It's a new moon tonight."

---

Darkness, soothing and complete pushed him forward through the forest undergrowth. Just like the last time, just like the time before that, and just like the time before that, the exhaustion that came after the work was simply not there. Tossing and tuning as he waited for the witching around to consume the world. There was a knock at his door and that same silver pale sheep placidly waiting for him. This one pushed him on. Almost tossing him onto its back and carrying him away like a horse. The leverage never worked. The leaves opened for him and he had a carpet of wild blooms to follow. Just a wraith, a wind on his heels that made him light and ethereal, all of him lost to the night.

He came to the open glade once again. The flowers were different than the last time. Different colors reflected in the stars, but they held the same glow of not quite firelight, not quite sunlight, not quite moonlight, but some cosmological confluence of all of them. His fingers danced across the petals. They felt soft and natural, just like flowers should be. He knelt in the dirt and felt the grass between his toes. Everything was fresh and alive and vibrant. The sheep disappeared beyond the veil. He smiled when the crystal song laugh flittered away up into the night.

"Not even a glance," Divna said, "You're making me jealous. Are flowers really that nice?"

"They can be," said Conor, "And I thought I would afford you some modesty at first. I'm a gentleman at heart."

"Oh no, no you are not. You are a humble shepherd who wrestles sheep all day. All the tact and charm has been beaten out of you by endless days of work. I'm surprised you can actually talk."

"Baa."

"Exactly. I knew it. Such an uncultured thing. You should be grateful that I have decided to elevate you."

"All I do is shear a set of exceedingly well behaved sheep. I don't think that counts as any sort of elevation."

"I am such a balm to your soul and you know it. Tell me, are sheep nearly as pleasant on the eyes as me?"

Conor admitted defeat with that simple question. Sheep were cute, bordering on adorable in some cases. But they were not creatures of the fey wild, draped in translucent clouds, hanging on threads of starlight and circling his mind again and again and again.

She was beautiful. Removed from the moonlight and the dancing motes, there were horizons of fair skin and swelling curves. Wide hips, bountiful chest, stomach and arms and thighs all soft and inviting. They followed her movements just a hair after they stopped. There was strength there as, a little harder to pinpoint with the way she floated through the world, but it was there, adding to the slope of her horizon. The outside world had a way of shaping things that lived in it. He had a similar effect on his body, just poured into a different mold. And her deciding that nudity suited her best did a lot to draw his attention. Even better, it was the correct decision.

Divna settled next to him in the grass. The flowers took her in as well. The blossoms were beautiful in the moonlight. She kept stealing glances at him. He kept stealing glances at her. They never quite met, but they could feel the other's eyes do what they could.

Conor was scared, plain and simple. Not terrified, but cautious. Dealings with the side of the veil were always contentious. Gentle agreement and an arm's length were the way to go. The world on that side was alien and strange. Not that they would mean harm, but they could turn and twist and change everything with a thought. And he was the same to her. Heavier, more physical, a stone on the wind, always in contact, but never quite understood. Divna shuffled clo ser.

"You are always so timid around me," she said, picking at a flower and letting the petals scatter the wind.

"We have stories of the lady in the wood, witches, fey, fiends, so many other things that may or may nor mean us harm," he said, "and that has made me cautious. I don't know the ways of bone weaving, or weather whispering, or even flower song."

"But you do know the ways of sheep."

"I do. And that is a manner of witchcraft, according to Dammon. They're all stupid animals that bring bad luck. And could you talk to you and yours about that? I've told them to stop. I appreciate it, but it just makes Dammon hang around longer."

"I'll see what I can do, but they don't listen to me either. Especially since you've been spoiling them."

"They make a good case as to why I should. Mostly by headbutting me."

"Like this?"

And Divna took her forehead and pressed it against his shoulder. Her hair carried the scent of clover and mounting wind, the sharp undercurrent of thunderstorms just barely noticed. Conor stiffened. The moment would pass and they would break. The distance would come back and the urge would quiet down. Even as her breasts pressed into his arm and beckoned for his touch.

"Not quite," he said, "But close."

"Good. You deserve some affection for all your hard work. I never could shear the things the way they liked. They say you have very good hands. Strong hands. But gentle. Kind of makes me curious."

Conor took a deep breath through his nose. Clover, endless seas of bright green clover, rolling over hills and meadows, those prickly white blooms beading sweet nectar and promising honey in the end.

"You are so cagey about all this," Divna hummed, "Am I really so intimidating?"

"Yes. As I've said., there are stories," said Conor, "Children snatched from baskets, milk and crops turned sour, time moving beyond what it should and leaving travelers as strangers in their homes."

"And only most of them are true. Maybe. I'm not sure. The child one sounds interesting. How does that work?'

"Don't know. Never actually saw any of it happen. But all stories are in the end. Stuff that happened to people you don't know and you can never truly verify. That said, please don't steal any hypothetical future children of mine. I imagine that I would be fond of them."

"Oh fine. You're no fun. Not even a little? I don't even want your firstborn. Second or third, even, and just for a week. Maybe two. No three."

"We'll see."

"You are so good to me. What did I do to deserve you?'

"No clue. As far as I know, you lay around in a pond and ignore your sheep."