literature

The Source of Life

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"The Source of Life"
What would a sheep, standing on a hill looking at the village full of people down below, be thinking about, wondered Herbert, the sheep, as he stood on the hill looking at the village full of people down below.  He sat for a long time pondering the question, until he decided there was nothing to think about.  And anyways, he hated humans.  All they did was wake up, eat, work, eat, sleep, and wake up again.  They could do whatever they wanted, and yet they inevitably chose a life of consistent repetition, the same cycle each day.  Rather like sheep, except that sheep don't work so much.  And people don't have shepherds.  Or did they?  If a sheep's shepherd is a human, what would a human's shepherd even look like?  He supposed it didn't really concern him, and wandered off to the other side of the hill where the other sheep were grazing.  He didn't really want to join them, but he didn't like the idea of looking at the humans any longer, either.
They took for granted everything he wished for.
The other side of the hill wasn't terribly interesting.  He passed by the Shepherd – the Shepherd had no name, they just called him the Shepherd – who sat on a rock outcropping whence he could see his entire flock.  He was reading a book.  From the summit Herbert could see the mountains in the distance, below them a forest, and below the forest the rest of the flock huddled in a circle down the hill.  Most of them were bent munching on greens.  Sherley stood at the focus.  She was talking to Sherman, who hadn't noticed Herbert had even gone away.  But Sherley noticed.  Sherley always noticed.  He saw her notice his return as he stood atop the hill bemoaning wasted life.  He saw her hurry the conversation to a close, and work her way through the crowd and out into the free, open air offering only a quick greeting to Shester and Shelly, who both tried converse with her.  She climbed the hill and stopped only a few feet from Herbert.  "Hey, there Shep," she said.
"It's Herbert," he replied.
"Are you still on about that?"
"I'm not a Shep."
"What do you mean?  That's what the Shepherd calls you."
"Yeah, but he was wrong.  I'm not a Shep."
"You're weird."
"Thanks."
She laughed.
"Anything interesting over there?"
"The village."
"You like the village?"
"Not really."
"Oh, okay."
Herbert looked away at the sinking sun, wondering what it would be like to be a color.
"So are you going to come eat something?"
"I'm not really hungry."
"Come on, of course you are!  A sheep is always hungry!"
"Yeah, well I'm not."
"Hungry?"
"A sheep."
She laughed.  "You're funny."
"Thanks."  Her turned away.
She sighed and circled around back to the rest of the flock, brushing his white coat as she passed.  She knew he wouldn't like if everyone came around him because she was there, and they were already starting to head in his direction.  Herbert sighed.  She used to be his friend.  They used to play together, when they were lambs. The Shepherd would play with them, too, and the other sheep would listen to them, and they pretended they were human.  But gradually she started to grow up into one of them, the sheep, the flock.  She got so much attention that she'd forgotten about important things.  They used to sit out under the stars and talk about another life.  Being human.  Being a bird.  Maybe they'd be shepherds and have sheep of their own.  Now all she did was talk to the rest of the flock.  She never talked to him anymore, not like she used to.
Herbert wandered off behind a boulder to eat something before the sun set and everyone went to sleep.  As he wandered out of sight, the Shepherd called out to him, "Shep, Shep!"  Herbert knew the name meant sheep.  He wasn't stupid.
"It's Herbert," he cried back, as if the Shepherd cared.  But he stopped wandering.  He already knew what the flock would say when he came back that night.  Hey, there Shep!  Wandering off were we?  Better stay close to the flock, Shep, the Shepherd will be worried.  Golly, Shep, that the third time this month!  Hey, Shep, this ground is soft!  Of course nobody would mean anything by it.  Sheep rarely mean things when they speak.  It's just not a sheep-like.  They do what they're told and they say what they've heard, and they always agree with everyone because, while the words differ, everyone says the same thing.  Nothing.
He munched a few blades and then began his descent to rejoin the flock as the last slivers of the orange sun sank below the horizon, casting rays across the sky through the clouds.  Herbert stopped as far from the flock as he dared, which was closer than he wanted, knowing that any further and the Shepherd would force him into the center, and he would have to sleep next to Snoring Shendel, or Sleep-Talking Shelby, or worse, Sherley.  Sherly would try to talk to him all night, and he wouldn't sleep.  And then there would be the talk the next day, What did you say to Sherley last night?  Are you and Sherley a thing now?  Oh, I think Sherley and Shep would make a great couple!  Try these dandelions!  He hated that.
Night came, and the sheep and the Shepherd and Herbert slept.  Herbert slept and dreamed of being a butterfly.  He had great colorful wings, and could flap them and go anywhere.  He flew high above the ground, and everything was beautiful from so far away.
Herbert awoke from his dream when something landed him.
"Oh, sorry, there, old boy," said the small green creature.
"Hey, what are you?"  Asked Herbert, squinting in the darkness to better understand the shape of his guest.
"Me, wot?  I'm a Frog.  What the devil are you, then?"
"I'm a sheep."
"A sheep then?!"
Herbert sighed, "Yeah."
The frog decided to move on, and took another jump, this time away from Herbert.
"Wait," said Herbert, moving to catch up to the Frog.  "Where are you going?"
"Me, wot?  Oh, I'm going to the pond, there, old boy.  Lots of fresh water and bugs."
"Fresh water?"
"Well, yeah, I mean it's got a stream flowin' into it then, isn't it?"
"That means it's fresh water?"
"Well, yeah!  I mean there's two kinds of ponds, then.  You've got your fresh water and your stale water."  Herbert followed along beside the frog.  "Now the fresh water, them's the ones what have a stream or the like flowin' into 'em.  And the stale ones, them's the ones what don't have a stream or some such flowin' in."
"But why does that make it fresh?"
"But why, he says?  Well, I suppose it don't matter much, eh wot?  Just one's got streams and ones' got none; and I was up about after some bugs I hear up here on the hill, but there weren't nothing but a bunch o' snozzing... whatsit you say you were again?  Heaps?"
"Sheep."
"Yeah, just a bunch o' snozzing, sleepy Sheeps lying around.  So now I'm goin' back to what where there's fresh water comin' from the stream."
Herbert paused and listened listened.  He could hear the stream ahead.  He started walking toward it, careful not to make sounds that might wake the Shepherd.  The Frog called after him, "Oy!  If you're goin' on ahead, tell the missus I went but didn't find nothing but a bunch of snozzing Sheepies!"
Herbert didn't pay attention to the Frog.  He had a new idea.  A stream turns a pond into fresh water!  He'd never before thought it, but all the water they ever stopped to drink somehow came from a stream.  Herbert started walking faster toward the sound of the stream.  If streams made ponds into fresh water, then maybe whatever made the stream could make a sheep into something less stagnant!  He reached the stream, and started to follow along side it, toward where the the water was coming.  The source of life.
The stream led him into a nearby forest.  He imagined that he might be the first sheep ever to look for this source of life, and he wondered if it would change him into a human or a bird, or if it would tell him where he could go to find other like-minded animals.  Perhaps he could take the whole flock there to drink from the source of life and then they would see things the way he saw them.  The way they were.  Sure, it would be hard for everyone to realize how stupid and unfulfilled their lives had been, but once they got over that, they could all live wonderfully happy together, discussing existence and humanity and the sun and stars, and birds and other worlds!
After a while the sun breached the horizon.  Herbert couldn't see it come up, but he knew it was there because lit everything up, and he saw all sorts of trees and insects and animals he'd never met before.  Most of them didn't say anything to him, and he guessed that they'd never seen a sheep before.  His stomach started to rumble, but he didn't care.  He had more important things to do than eat blades of grass.  He was a crusader!  A missionary! Herbert the hero continued, a feckless, white ball of wool lumbering along the stream against the current, all the way up until he found the source:  A large, grayish-brown lump of rock protruding obtusely from the ground ahead.  From underneath the large grayish-brown lump there flowed a steady stream of cool, clean, clear water which flowed out of the forest toward the pond, near which there would be sheep now awake asking pointless questions, Where'd Shep go?  Is the Shepherd off after him, then?  Isn't this grass lovely?  Herbert paused, mouth open, staring up to the top of the boulder.  Standing there.  Looking up at the boulder.
What does a sheep, in search of the source of life, think about when he finds out it's just a boulder in the middle of the forest?
Herbert looked to either side of the boulder.  Walking around to one side he saw that there were some more boulders, and even a soft grassy hill which led up and over the water-giving rock.  He climbed the slope to get a better look at his surroundings.  There were trees.  Lots of them.  And birds.  Behind the boulder, he could now see the mountains off in the distance, with great white peaks and purple crags, jutting up out of the forest in the distance, reaching into the sky.  Herbert wondered what those mountains thought about, and if they ever watched people with jealousy.
From atop the boulder, whence flowed life-giving water, Herbert spied another animal moving behind the trees, in the shadows.  "Hello, there!"  He shouted.  The creature remained motionless.  "Hello," Herbert called again.
The creature looked at him and stepped from behind the trees out into the stream, it's gray fur matted and dirty.
"Ah, good!  Hello.  My name's Herbert.  Do you know about this place?"
"Sure," replied the creature, its long, gray nose wrinkling as it took in air.
"Excellent.  What can you tell me about this boulder?"
"What do you mean?"  The creature's long, nappy tail twitched from side to side as its paws disturbed the flow of water in the stream below.  The creature breathed.
"Well, for instance, how does the rock make water?"
"Racks don't make water," said the creature, folding its ears back, bowing its long snout to the stream and lapping up some of the cool liquid.
"Well, then how is it that there's water coming out from under the stone?"
"The stream continues on up underneath the ground, toward the mountains."
"You mean there's water under the ground?"
"Not under.  It's inside the ground," said the creature, stepping now slowly out of the stream.  It shook its mangy gray paws as it continued up the slope around the boulder.
"Inside?"
"Yeah.  Water's smaller than ground, see?  So it fits nicely inside it.  Like when it rains, the water doesn't stay on top of the ground, right?"
"Sometimes it does."
"Okay, sometimes, but not always.  It's because the water goes in the ground, between the ground."  The creature walked up to Herbert, yellow eyes moving quickly across his soft white features.  "So this water comes from the ground behind the boulder."
"But where does it come from before the ground?"
"The mountains," said the creature, moving to Herbert's other side, eyes jumping from erratically.
"The mountains?  You mean way up there?"  Herbert turned behind him to see.
"Yeah, sure.  Say, why're you so interested in the water, anyway?"
"Well, I think if I find out where the water comes from, can change the world."
"You can't change the world, kid."
"I think if I find the water, I'll be able to find what keeps ponds from growing stale, and then I can show my whole flock, and they can all learn what life is about."
The creature laughed, and just stared at Herbert, eyes gleaming.
"What?"
"You don't know what I am, do you?"
"Well, you seem to know a lot about the forest, and water..."
"Yeah, but you don't know what it is that I do...  Do you."
"Well, I imagine it's not all that different from what I do.  We're not exactly people after all."
"That's true.  We're not people."
"So what do you do?"
"I'm a Wolf."
Herbert paused.  He knew the word.  The Shepherd often said it, always with fear.  Herbert wondered why the Shepherd feared the Wolf.  "So.  What do Wolfs do?"
"Well, mostly we just sleep, and eat things," said the Wolf, now lying down, eyes trained on the white fluff before him.
"Things like sheep?"
"Yeah, things like sheep."
Herbert looked up at the mountains.  His source of life.  He knew that they must be far.  Sheep wandered the countryside, but the mountains never changed.  Never got closer.  Never farther.  Just mountains.  He looked back at the Wolf.  "Are you going to eat me?"
"Nah.  I'm not really hungry.  I just ate."
"A sheep?"
"A deer.  Don't get much sheep around here, see?"
Herbert thought about returning empty-handed to the flock, and the pointless things the others would say, Hey, there stranger!  Get lost Shep?  Stranger Shep.  My, isn't this water just heavenly?  "You might kill me now and eat me later when you're hungry."
"What, do you want to die or something?"
Herbert looked up at the mountain again.
"Anyway, no can do.  Meat – that's you – goes bad if you leave it dead for too long before you eat it.  It's best when it's still warm and fresh."
"You sure know a lot about things."
"It comes from growing up in the forest.  You can learn a lot in here."
"Do you think I can make it to the mountains?"
"With that coat?  Sure you can."
Herbert let out a deep breath.  "Thank you, Mister Wolf, for telling me about water, and ground, and Wolfs."
"Anytime, buddy."  The Wolf laughed.
Herbert turned his back to the stream and the way he'd come, and started walking toward the mountains.  No going back until he had what he needed.  He just couldn't do it.
The Wolf watched him for a while, finally calling out, "Hey, you'd better hurry up!  I think I hear your Shepherd calling!"  And he started laughing.  A cold, howling, piercing laugh, that echoed into the trees.  Herbert sped up, afraid that the Wolf had lied to him, and would really kill him now if he didn't hurry.
Herbert ran through tree after tree, into areas dense with trees, and into light meadows, always keeping his eyes up, focused on the lofty mountains in the distance.  The sun lowered, and he felt he'd gotten somehow closer.  He found an open meadow and grazed for a while as the last rays of the sun lit up behind the treetops and went to rest on the other side of the world.  As he knelt down, Herbert could still hear the Wolf's laughs echoing through the night.

Herbert awoke the next morning, grazed for a short time, and continued toward the mountains.  They were definitely closer, and he started feeling more confident.  This wasn't so hard.  He rushed along, a white spot in the shadow of the trees.
After a while, Herbert realized he'd lost the sun.  It was dark, not like night, but he couldn't see the sun anymore.  He looked up and there were only tall trees and the green canopy overhead.  No sun.  No mountains.  He turned around, shifting to see what was around him.  Ground.  Dead leaves. Bark.  Branches.  No animals, and no food.  His stomach rumbled.  Running uses a lot of energy.  He'd been running hadn't he?
What does a sheep, having gotten lost in the forest, think about?
Better to move on.  Just keep going. Herbert turned back to where he was facing before he stopped, but couldn't find it.  He turned again.  Looked at the trees, walked around the trees, smelled their bark.  Nothing worked.  He had no idea where he was, or where he was heading anymore.  Herbert cried out, a long, rumbling sound that resonated through the trees and pulsed back to him, leaving the forest even more silent and empty than he'd though it before. He was suddenly afraid.
Something shifted in the distance and he turned to look.  A rustle further off and the air was suddenly electrified with something Herbert couldn't identify.  He heard a voice yell something in the distance and hoof-steps speeding toward him.  Herbert stood frozen when a large brown creature streaked across vision, followed by a sudden eruption in the forest of cries and screaming.
"Run!  Wolf!  Run!"
Herbert ran, following the brown creature as best he could, but the creature leapt and bound ahead, gracefully dodging trunks and boulders and felled trees.  Herbert could only waddle awkwardly from side to side as he struggled to move his legs more rapidly.  Rabbits scurried past him and birds flew noisily through the sky overhead.  Mice crossed his path as all ran from the great gray beast.  Herbert didn't look back, but thought he felt the gray beast's breath behind him for a moment.  Eventually the world slowed.  Animals slowed down, and soon no animals ran anymore, save one frightened sheep named Herbert.  
"Shush," came a voice from Herbert's side.
Herbert stumbled over himself landing sideways on the leaf-covered ground, but silenced himself as soon as possible.  The great brown creature stood with pride, ears twitching, head resting on its long neck.  It stood almost as tall as the Shepherd, and great branches grew from its head.
"Okay," said the creature at last, "it's gone.  It got a rabbit."  The creature turned to look at Herbert.  "What on earth are you?  You don't smell like one of them..."
"One of who?"  Herbert stood up slowly, afraid of every cracking sound he made in the dead leaves.  Afraid it would reawakening whatever had frightened he forest into frantic rush.
"One of the meat-eaters.  You smell of plants."
"I'm a sheep.  We eat greens."
"Well, then!  I don't know where you came from, mate, but I'm glad you're not one of them."
"I could be lying to you."
"Yeah, but you're not."
"How do you know?"
"I grew up in this forest.  I know danger when I see it."
Herbert tried to shake some of the dead foliage and brown dirt from his white coat.
"You say you eat grass?  Come with me.  There's a nice spot nearby."
Herbert turned to follow the brown creature.  "What are you, anyway?"
"I'm a Deer."
A Deer.
"Wolves eat us, you know."
"I know."  Herbert looked back the way they came.  "They eat rabbits and sheep, too."
They continued on in silence, Herbert afraid, but the Deer composed and graceful.  How could something so beautiful exist in such a terrible place as the forest?
When they stepped out into the clearing the sun was beginning to set, and the sky was aflame with orange clouds and yellow rays of the burning disc as it sank to its resting place on the other side of the world.  "Here you are," said the Deer.  "Eat up!  We'll see about getting you home tomorrow after we've slept.  A nice run like that always makes a fellow tired."  Herbert ate, but said nothing until he was full.
"You ready to go?"  asked the Deer.
"No," said Herbert.
"Come again?"
"I'm not going home.  Not yet."
"Listen, mate, I dunno how you got out here, but I hear tell of your folk from the birds, and they're an awful longs ways out.  Plus there's a man's been following you ever since you came in here."
"You know all that?"
"Yeah, I hear the birds talking about you."
"I never really listened to birds."
"You gotta know what sorts of things they say.  Otherwise it's just singing."
Herbert listened, he could sort of make out a talk amongst the the chirps in the canopy.
"So let's get you going, then."
"No."
The Deer turned and looked at Herbert.
"I have to get to the mountains.  I have to find what makes the water in the stream."
"You gotta what?"
"That's why I'm here, and I can't go back until I find the source of life."
"The source of life...  Well, suit yourself.  Me, I'm going to sleep.  You can follow me if you want.  It's safe there."
Herbert looked up into the darkening sky and saw the mountains, now closer and larger than he'd imagined they could ever be.  "No, I think I have to keep going," he said.
The Deer said nothing, but walked away.
"Thank you for the food, and the warning," Herbert offered, but the Deer had already moved on.  Herbert turned toward the mountains and started walking.
He walked until the stars came out, and beyond.  He saw the moon rise, shining an pale light over the forest, but it was enough to see.  Herbert walked straight, and could sometimes see the pure white of the snow on the mountains, reflected in the moonlight, drawing him closer and closer.  Herbert walked until he forgot that he was walking.  His mind wandered back to memories. Watching people in a village, talking to Sherley as a child, looking up to the stars, talking about other lives.  Being birds, and singing songs only each other and the Deer could understand.  Herbert walked until he forgot about the mountain.  Until he forgot about walking.
He walked out of the forest.
He stopped.
He looked around.  There was grass in front of him, and the slightest hint of morning in the eastern sky.  Further ahead lay steep, rocky hills, and beyond them sharp cliffs–walls of rock–holding back the white snow of the mountains. Higher up, the mountains jutted heavenward near forever.  Herbert just stood there.  Mouth open.  Standing there.
"Whoo?" cooed a voice from behind him.
"...Herbert," he said, mouth barely moving to form the sound of his name.
"Hoo?"
Herbert turned around.  Nothing was there.
"Hoo," came the sound again, but this time Herbert saw it.  A large bird in a tree at the edge of the forest.
"I'm Herbert, a sheep.  Who are you?"
"I'm and Owl."
"A bird?"
"An Owl."
"What do you do?"
"I fly, and eat."
"So you are a bird."
"I'm an Owl."
"Well, what are you doing?"
"Watching you.  What are you doing?"
"Well, I was trying to get to the top of the mountains."
The Owl cocked its head.
"That's where the water comes from.  The mountain.  The source of life."
The Owl laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"Water doesn't come from mountains."
"But it has to.  It comes from the mountains, and through the ground, and out from under rocks and down into ponds, where it makes life out of stagnation."
"Whoo told you that?"
"The Wolf told me."
The Owl laughed again.  "Then the Wolf didn't tell you the whole truth," it said, and stretched its wings.
Herbert looked up at the Owl.  "What do you mean?"
"That's what Wolves do.  They tell you truth, but only as much as they want you to know."
"So then I should have never listened."  Herbert drooped his head.
"It's no crime to listen to truth," said the Owl, "you just have to know your source.  If your source of truth is a Wolf, you should know you're not getting all of it."
"So what is the whole truth?"
"Well now that would take an awfully long time to explain, and it's almost morning.  What do you think?"
Herbert looked up at the mountains, snow sitting serenely around the tops thereof.  "I think that there's a lot of snow on these mountains, and that snow melts into water in spring..."
"Well that's something."
"...But I don't see how that snow can become water if it's always on the mountains."
"What if I told you that the snow doesn't stay on the mountains, that it slowly flows down, and every time it rains on you, the snow at the very tops is renewed?"
"Well, then the snow could be melting all the time!"  Herbert looked quickly at the Owl, who was looking into the grass in the field beside him.  "And that means that the water of the stream comes from the snow in the mountains?"
"Well done!"
"And the snow on the mountains comes from the sky, like the rain."
"How observant."
"But how does the snow get into the sky?"
"Where does the rain on a rock go when the sun comes out?"
Herbert paused.  The rain, the rock, the sun, the sky, the snow, the stream, the pond, the sun, the sky, the snow...  "So then.. ultimately the life-giving water comes from... itself?"
"Well put," said the Owl, who suddenly plunged from the branch into the grass, and in a grand display of wings and scuffling, launch back up as quickly as it descended, and casually soared back around to its tree branch, Mouse in claw.
Herbert watched as the Owl carefully killed the struggling Mouse and ate it, then looked back at him, a sheep out of place at the foot of the mountains.
"The Mouse told me that your Shepherd is near.  Walk along these trees until you cross a rock outcropping, and then head straight in and you will find him soon enough."
"The Mouse told you that?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing can understand its own purpose, but sometimes, if you are wise, you can divine the purpose of others.  The Mouse running out here was a link in a long chain of events which leads all the way back to your Shepherd in the forest."
"Then what is my purpose, Owl?"
"It is not for you to know, and if I told you, if I knew, you wouldn't understand.  The only thing a creature can do is strive hard for its best.  Only then can its purpose be realized."
"What about water?  If it comes from itself, then what is the source of life?"
"We are not so different from the water, you and I."  The Owl opened its wings, leaned forward, and thrust himself into morning sky, away and then back over the forest.  Herbert watched as long as he could see the strange bird.
We are not so different from water, it had said.  Herbert thought of that as he walked along the path indicated by the Owl.  He contemplated continuing the journey, but felt disheartened knowing the truth of the water.  Something told him that his journey was not meant to end with melting snow and evaporating lakes.  He walked until the sun was nearly high in the blue sky above before he saw a large rock outcropping.  Grayish-brown boulders jutted up and leaned against each other.  He knew that this must have been where the Owl meant for him to turn into the forest.  Straight in, the Owl had said.  Herbert peered into the trees, the sun's light shining in rays through the leaves, until not so far in, where everything was tree trunks and nothing could be seen anymore.  The Shepherd was in there, looking for him this whole time, and Herbert had failed before he'd even set out.
Herbert thought of the things the sheep of the flock would say, The Shepherd gone for days in search of you!  Carless, Shep.  You should be more careful, Shep.  Anyway, have you smelled the air, Shep?  It's clean and wonderful!  Herbert didn't have the source of life to give everyone.  He felt a darkness settle over him.  What if the wolf had left the forest while the Shepherd was looking for him, and found the flock?  What if the wolf had found Sherley?  Herbert swallowed and nodded to himself.  Breathed one last time the outside, open air, and plunged headfirst in amongst the trees.
He ran as far as he could before stopping for breath, but faced the same direction.  He would not be turned around again.  He was going back to the Shepherd, and nothing would get in his way.  He knelt down in the soft dead leaves for a minute.  No way to know how far out the Shepherd would be, but the mouse had said he was nearby, before it was eaten. Herbert closed his eyes for a moment.
Moments became hours, and Herbert was awakened by a loud howling laugh behind him. He jumped to his feet and turned toward the sound.  Pale light shone down in a slanted pillar from the sun now low in the sky breaking through the canopy above.  Behind the pillar of light sat a familiar gray, mangy figure.
"Wolf," said Herbert.
"Sheep.  Sleeping in a place like this?  You must be very tired."
"I ran all night and day."
"Of course you did.  Did you get to your mountain so soon?"  The Wolf circled, disappearing behind trees, reappearing on the other side.
"No.  But I figured out where the water comes from."
"That's too bad.  I had rather hoped to hear of the lone Sheep, went up to the mountain in search of life, only to find the end of his."
"Yes, I heard that about you.  You told me the life-giving water comes from the mountain."
"Doesn't it?"
"In a manner of speaking."
"Well isn't that what you wanted?  A quest?  A cause?"
Herbert backed into the fading pillar of light as the Wolf continued slowly around.
"Come on!  I gave you a great adventure!  I even didn't eat you when I was chasing the deer.  Isn't that what you wanted?  A great story?  And I gave you that."
"You gave me half truths.  You made me go farther in and the Shepherd has been searching for me this whole time."
"Has he now?"  The Wolf laughed.  "And who told you that?"
"An Owl, who learned it from a field mouse."
"Ah, the wizened owl.  Why do animals always trust the words of owls?  They've nothing to gain by telling truths, you know.  They could easily lie about anything at all."
Nothing can understand its own purpose.
"And what did you learn, then, that you want now to come back for your Shepherd?"
"We are not so different from the water."
"What's that supposed to mean?  Of course we are!  The water flows, and we are solid."
Herbert was shaking.
"The water becomes air, and we become the ground.  The water comes from the snow and the sky, and we come from the generation before.  I think that I am nothing like the water."  The wolf stopped beside Herbert, staring at him.  "But what do you think?"
herbert didn't know yet, but he found himself speaking.  "We come from our parents.  And when we die, we become the ground–"
"Or food for some other animal," the Wolf said, and laughed, leaning closer.
"And that food becomes ground as well."
"Elegantly put."  Herbert felt the wolf's breath across his face.
"And the dirt becomes plants," he continued.
"Does it?  I never really paid much attention to plants."
"It comes from growing up in the fields.  You can learn a lot out there."
The Wolf laughed so close that Herbert heard the gargle of saliva in the its mouth.
"And sheep and other creatures eat the plants, and make more sheep and other creatures."  Herbert laughed aloud when he realized he'd found the connection.
"Ooh, you're the smart one," said the Wolf, now walking around in front of Herbert, facing him.  "I like smart ones."
"Do you?"
"Yes, because for all your smarts, you're still incredibly stupid."
Herbert's eyes flashed at the Wolf.  His knees weakening with every passing moment.  "I have my truth," he said bravely.  "I have found the source of life."
"Good for you."
"Water comes from itself.  Life, then, comes from other life."
"And death."
"And death is just another part of life."
The Wolf laughed.  "So it is.  But you still haven't noticed, smart boy."
Herbert stared at the Wolf.  Somehow his knees firmed, and his quaking body calmed.
"Your precious Shepherd..." said the Wolf.
Herbert looked away, suddenly searching the trees for sight or sound of his Shepherd.
The Wolf stepped in close to the Herbert, right next to him, drooling mouth to delicate ear.  "...Is nowhere to be found."
Herbert froze, and the Wolf toppled him to the ground, biting and clawing at his white fleece coat.  Herbert struggled and kicked and screamed.  "Shepherd!"  he called out.
And then all was dark.

Herbert opened his eyes, and he was floating.  Trees passed by, and he could feel the air ruffle his fur as he moved slowly through what looked like a forest around him.  His vision blurred, and he thought to himself, I've died and become a bird.

Herbert woke up again, and it was dark.  There was a fire nearby, warm and glowing.  He wasn't floating anymore, but lying in a patch of dark, dead leaves.  He tried to stand, but a shrieking pain in his side held him still.
"Whoa, there, Shep," said a soothing, familiar voice.  His Shepherd.  "Easy there.  I've been all over looking for you, fellow.  It's okay.  Just rest now."  The Shepherd touched Herbert's face, and he closed his eyes and rested.

Herbert was floating again, but he sensed the Shepherd nearby, arms wrapped around his small fleece-covered frame.  He was not a bird, but the Shepherd was holding him.  Carrying him home to the flock.  And he closed his eyes and rested.

It was several days after they returned before Herbert felt like getting up and walking around.  Everyone left him alone in the meantime.  Once he could walk he had stayed back, grazing on his own until one day he felt like talking to someone.  He looked into the flock and saw his old friend, Sherley, grazing in the middle and talking occasionally to those around her.  She looked up at him, but turned away quickly when she saw he was looking.  He walked toward the flock, and then in to where she was standing nervously at his approached.
"Hey, Herbert," said Sherley.
"Hi."
"How are you?"
"I'm okay, now.  I feel better."
"That's good."
Herbert stood there not looking at her.
She didn't look at him, either, but spoke.  "So um.  We can go out away from everyone to talk if you want."
"No, here's fine,"  he said.  All around were listening, but nobody looked at them.  Herbert looked up at the sky.
"So what did you see while you were in the forest?"
"I saw a Deer.  And an Owl.  And some rabbits and mice.  And a Wolf."
Sherley nodded, looking back down a the grass below.
"It's okay.  I'm okay.  I don't think I'm going to leave anymore."
"Hey, um...  I'm really sorry about–"
"No, it's okay,"  he said.  "It wasn't you."
She looked at him.
He watched a bird flying overhead.
She looked up and saw the same bird, circling in the sky.
"Hey, Shep–  I mean, Herbert?"
"Shep is fine."
"What?"
"You can call me Shep if you like."
"But you–"
"It's what the Shepherd calls me," he said, and looked at her.
"Doesn't it just mean sheep, though?"
"Sure, it does," he said.  Nothing can understand its own purpose, but sometimes, if you are wise, you can divine the purpose of others.  "But if it's good enough for the Shepherd, I think maybe it's good enough for me."  He smiled at her.
She smiled and laughed.  "You're weird," she said.
"Yeah, thanks," he replied, and leaned down to graze.  And they ate together as the sun reached its peak and started a slow descent toward sunset.
From the author:

This story came about almost exactly as it starts. I was thinking random thoughts, and the word "sheep" came to mind, and the rest, I'm sure, can be deduced from the story. I liked this story. After a story about a girl murdering her boyfriend, I really wanted something light and simple to write, and this one just delivered. I included my own mark of rebellion in the main character, otherwise I'm sure a tale of sheep would leave the reader wanting. But in writing this story I received everything it had promised and more, as it grew into an epic adventure. I was glad to follow it as it took up a more active pace in later revisions, and I never tired of revisiting it and playing with it to get things more right.
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