Shaymus the Shepherd

Was she dreaming, or had Amber really just passed by that highly illusive sheep boy she had heard whispers of? She turned and took a breath.

"Aren't you Shaymus the Shepherd?" she called to him as he continued to walk in the opposite direction. The boy stopped. He turned and stared at her daftly for a moment before smiling.

"Ah, I do have one of those faces, don't I? Sorry, you must have me confused with another Shaymus." Amber frowned.

"But you have to be the one! When we were at the market—"

"We?"

"Oh—me and a boy I met recently, Peter Osamu." His doe-brown eyes suddenly widened.

"Peter Osamu was escorting you around the markets?"

Well, it's a small dragon world after all, she thought.

“So you actually know him!”

“I know of him, yes. But then, who doesn’t in this town? Though it’s not like he knows me.”

Amber was itching to press the topic further, but it was getting late, and Peter had thoroughly instructed her not to be outside after sundown.

"Well anyway, at the market an old couple was telling me that there was a mysterious sheep herder named Shaymus who wandered around the hillside.

"How did they describe this mysterious sheep herder exactly?" He asked.

"They said he was tall—"

"Dwarvenly challenged, yes."

"And wore a sheep's skin—"

"The pinnacle of fashion I've heard!"

"And was crazy—"

"That's subjective."

"Umm, eats grass?"

"Great for the digestion, you should try it."

"And lures people into his home, hypnotizes them into dressing like flowers, and then throws them into a simmering pot where he serves them as stew to his goat deity?"

"Well now that's just ridiculous. Clearly you'd want to bring your pot to a high boil or else the meat won't fall off the bones properly." Amber blinked. Either he was mocking her or those rumors she'd heard were at least another twenty percent true. The sheep boy took a few steps, adjusting the basket strap around his shoulders.

"I wouldn't worry though, I'm sure this other Shaymus you're seeking isn't as bad as he's made out to be."

"Well, if he was here"—Amber chose her words carefully. "I'd tell him I didn't believe that last part. About the simmering and the goat thing." A waning beam of sunlight suddenly peeked from behind a tall tree that had been shielding it. It blanketed Shaymus's face gracefully, revealing a flicker of mischief in his irises and a few scattered freckles. Despite the conversation he looked content; despite the heavy basket on his shoulders, despite the rumors brought against him, despite probably sweating to death in that sheep hood—

"I imagine he probably has a heart of gold beneath all that sweat and—fluff," Amber said quietly.

"Oh it isn't my fluff though, it's my mother's."

"Excuse me?"

"His mother's."

"His?"

"The other Shaymus. Slip of the tongue."

"I see. So his mother used to wear that sheepskin before he did?"

"Well now I believe...if I recall correctly—the sheepskin is his mother.”

Was,” he corrected. “She is sadly deceased, God bless her."

At this point Amber had stopped being surprised.

"So what you're saying," Amber regained, "is that your mother, who was in fact a sheep, died, and now you're wearing her skin?"

"His mother, but yes."

"Yours!" Amber persisted. We both know you’ve just been talking about yourself this whole time."

"Well now, why humor me then?" He leaned forward into her causing the basket of turnips on his back to shake, spilling a few.

"Uh-ho, ok, back it up, fluffy. And I don't know—" she knelt to pick them off the ground. Amber took a moment to study one of the turnips in her hand; it was plump, somewhat balmy. The thought of it bubbling in a pot of golden broth made her stomach growl. "What's your deal? You're smarter than you let on; that's what the old folks at the market said. Smart, a bit eccentric, and possibly one of the greatest herbalists in the world."

The boy eased himself down to scoop up a few of the turnips that had fallen closer to him. “The world, huh?” He stared at one briefly as if the vegetable was a small planet. For a moment he seemed sad he had let it hit the ground. “The couple that spoke of me. They must have been the Devonsons. They’re the ones that get their livelihood from peddling rumors onto people they think are newcomers. And the woman who said I was great—must have been Mrs. Finnegan. I treated her granddaughter for pneumonia six months ago.” Amber watched Shaymus thoughtfully. As the blanket of sunlight had left them and wandered farther down the dirt path, so it seemed Shaymus's crackpot zeal had wandered away with it. This “third” Shaymus that knelt in front of her radiated something defeated. Lonely. Amber felt inclined to soften her voice towards him.

“It sounds like you do a lot of good for the town. How come people make up such terrible rumors about you? Is it really just because you live alone?”

“Alone? No. That’s putting it too kindly. I’m isolated. There’s a difference.”

The question of "if he had to be" danced at the tip of her tongue; if isolation was a choice, he certainly didn't look happy about it. Amber swallowed her questions before they had a chance to escape. By now she was certain he could sense her unease. She hadn’t expected the conversation to take such a dampening turn. Neither had Amber expected to still be on the same dirt road. The sunlight bore it’s dying hue against the clouds; it’s struggle marred by only a few pink claw marks in the sky. Shaymus didn't bring up any other topics. Instead, he commented on the dark and asked her if she could make it home okay.

“I’ll be fine. It isn’t too far from here.”

“It'll be farther on an injury.”

Amber winced. He knew? She had gone through great pains to keep it hidden. Quite literally, the cockatrice scars that had been carved into her only a few days before still burned. Especially with the humidity that her new "dracian-appropriate" clothing, trapped around her legs.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure it seems strange that I can tell, but you’d be surprised how many people travel around Cresswoven hiding these things.” Amber was relieved to see his tension ease up a little as he got into the topic. “I’ve trained myself how to read discomfort when people are either too proud or cautious to show it. Not saying that’s the case with you!” he added quickly. “I’m—grateful for you talking to me. Is what I just wanted to say.” He continued hesitantly. “If it helps, I could take a look at it for you.” Amber had figured that was where he was going with it. He seemed calm again. The sheep boy was a whole three course dinner of emotions, wasn’t he?

“Thank you, Shaymus. I really appreciate it, I just have to get back though. I mentioned Peter was with me before. It’s because I’m staying with him,” she confessed. “To be truthful, I don’t think I can tell you why. But it’s not safe for me to spend too much time with anyone—other than him, it seems.” Amber hated to have to leave him in such a vague and awkward way. More than that, she didn’t want to see him sad again. In the end the sheep herded didn’t press her about it. All he said was “If you ever need me for anything, please come and find me.” He remained on the path with his heavy basket until he was certain he could imagine the lights in Peter Osamu’s window lit for Amber’s safe return.