“Sorry it’s burned,” said the Shepherd. “I probably should have left it raw because I’m not much of a cook.”
“Well, I can help you with that,” the Wolf replied. “Or at least I could have.”
“You can still talk me through it. That is, if you want to.”
That was all the invitation the Wolf needed.
He fell into the Shepherd’s routine as if he’d been part of his flock for years. He helped gather the sheep, running after those that roamed too far.
They also worked well together with hunting. The Wolf honed his sense of smell and hearing to track animals and chase them out of hiding to the Shepherd waiting with his rifle.
As he promised, the Wolf taught him how to cook, then how to forage.
The Shepherd was lavish in his praise, swearing he’d never eaten so well in his life as he had since the Wolf joined him.
The Wolf insisted the honor was his and he meant it.
Nobody since his grandfather inspired his awe until now.
The grace in which he was received would be the first of many times when the Wolf saw the Shepherd treat others with a dignity that was rare.
He was stunned when he realized his new friend had a need for solitude, often distancing himself to be alone for a few hours.
The Shepherd possessed a serenity the Wolf had never seen in a human being, a quality he attributed to the divinity of a master.
He was certain because his hollow stopped throbbing from the time he joined his flock, and he hadn’t suffered the vile of rage and hatred since the night he unburdened his soul.
The Shepherd was amused by the Wolf’s exalted view of him.
“I think gratitude may be clouding your judgment,” he said. “I’m no more than a creature of my way of life.”
“I’ve met many shepherds in my travels. And I’ve never met any like you.”
His friend shrugged and the Wolf dropped the subject.
But the more he came to know the Shepherd, the more he admired him.
The Wolf was more than a touch envious when he discovered the Shepherd was a learned man, able to read, write, and do basic math.
He could also play the violin, which he traded for his fiddle.
When he wasn’t playing music, the Shepherd loved to draw. Parchment and pencils were his only luxuries and he indulged every day.
He sketched memories from his past as well as images from the present, his eyes glazed over and the pencil capturing forever a cherished moment with sharp realism.
“How did you learn all this?” the Wolf asked one morning while his friend drew him.
“A retired governess was on my route about twenty years ago.”
The Shepherd sounded vague when he answered, eyes shifting between the Wolf and the paper, brushing his pencil without rest.
“Winters were mild in her village, the time of year I passed through. Since travel was arduous, I often stayed as long as I could. One day, she suggested we barter lessons and lodging for sheep. So I stayed with her every winter and gave her three sheep when I left. After ten years, I learned everything I wanted to know and she had a nice flock of her own.”
The Shepherd trailed off, making the final strokes to his sketch and displaying his work with a flourish.
“So how do you like it?”
The Wolf stared at the likeness and wondered how that could be him.
The animal in the drawing seemed so powerful, lying upright with forelegs stretched out. The details were exquisite, the mass of black on black vivid. Even the eyes could be distinguished from the fur.
“Do I really look like this?” he whispered.
“Of course you do.”
“You are such a good man,” the Wolf blurted. “Why didn’t you ever marry?”
The Shepherd grew still, peering at him for a moment before he spoke.
“What a strange question you ask. This is no life for a woman and children.”
“That’s absurd. I met families of herders, three or four generations that traveled all year.”
“I have over a hundred sheep,” the Shepherd replied. “That’s all the family I need.”
“That’s not the same as a wife and little ones. Have you never fallen in love?”
Again the Shepherd didn’t answer right away, frowning and looking intently at the Wolf for a few minutes.
“I have loved once. However, nothing that was destined to last.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But the Shepherd would say nothing more, just held up his hand and turned away.
