Work Text:
Long ago, so long ago, when the sky was blue and the grass was green, and the world was endless, there lived a shepherd.
On a plain of grass that stretched from end to end, there lived a shepherd.
On a plain of grass, where the only border was the dark, whispering woods that bracketed it, there lived a shepherd.
A shepherd who was as beautiful, as bright and as burning, as the morning sun that bathed their little world.
A shepherd who loved their sheep so dearly and fiercely, who cared and doted and adored with their whole being.
The first of their sheep, with wool as white as snow, was a frisky, friendly thing. For all its mischief, it was always so very gentle with the town children when they ran their fingers over its soft head.
The second of their sheep, with eyes the colour of a setting sun, was a shy, skittish thing. A task as it was to gain its trust, its closest companions seemed the fish in the pond and the snakes in the grass.
The third, with wool that seemed almost yellow in colour, was a serene, incredibly intelligent thing. Calm and not easily startled, it enjoyed spending its days listening to the shepherd read aloud or following the barn cats on their daily routes.
The fourth and smallest of the lot, was a creature you'd expect to only have stepped out of a picture book, as perfect as it was - a little cloud with legs and the need to always be the center of attention.
The largest of the sheep could have almost been mistaken for a rather woolly cow, with massive horns that made one question its ability to hold its equally massive head up. A gentle giant though it was, content to quietly exist amongst its flock.
The sixth of the sheep, was a quiet thing. And the woolliest of them all. Found usually napping under the shade of a tree or cuddled next to one of the others, it looked like by its side would provide the best sleep of one's existence.
The last of the sheep no longer existed. She was ripped apart, neck torn and entrails scattered, dragged back into the woods by golden eyed wolves.
The shepherd who lived on the plain was tall, tall and cold, with eyes the colour of fresh blood, and a face that laid all your failures, all your losses, all your disappointments at your feet. That asked you to repent but offered no forgiveness.
The first of the sheep will steal. Your keys, your wallet, your belt buckles and your buttons. Cash from your pocket. And rings from your hand. It'll steal and steal. Anything that shines, anything that glitters. What once was yours, is now its.
The second is shy. The second is skittish. The second does not like being approached. It will panic and it will kick, it will panic and it will thrash. It will run to the one place where it feels safest and it will drag you along with it. And you will find yourself in a pond deeper and darker than you ever thought possible.
The third was temperamental. It had rage in its eyes and a fire in its blood, and the desire to break and tear and rend apart anything that dared to earn its ire, anything that dared to stand in its way. What made it so dangerous, so terrifying was the simple fact that you could never tell. You could never know, when it would snap, when it would switch, why it would snap, what turned that serene, intelligent creature into a beast that hungered for your pain.
The fourth lusted in a way no creature before or after ever has or ever will. Anything that moved, anything that breathed was a potential mate it was entitled to, a potential source of the reverence and attention it deserved. Deprivation of what should rightly be its, will make it burn and boil with a different kind of lust: with bloodlust.
The fifth ate. And ate. And ate. What once were grassy fields became plains of mud and dirt, grass roots torn from the ground. And it didn’t stop. Grass and hay and fruit. Birds that lingered on the ground for a little too long. Barn cats that were not fast enough. Fingers of the townspeople who ventured a little too close to the shepherd’s property.
The sixth had watched. Had seen blood and entrails, and the sixth remembered. Remembered enough to gore all wayward dogs and their wayward owners on its horns. Remembered enough to spill blood and entrails in its wake.
On the plain lived a sheep dog, boundless energy and the drive to work. A large, swift tornado of lolling tongue and wagging tail and fluff. It weaved its way between the sheep, keeping them away from the golden eyed, howling woods. It had only ever known six sheep, it didn’t know of blood and entrails, but it knew the woods were dangerous, the sheep were to be protected, the shepherd was to be obeyed if not also lightly nipped at, the townspeople were friends until proven otherwise.
It knew the first needed a playmate and the second needed a friend.
The third needed to be calmed down and the fourth needed to be reined in.
The fifth needed to be herded away to fresh patches of grass when it ate too close to the dirt.
The sixth.
It remembered its own blood. Staining its fur and staining the grass. Coating sharp horns. It bore these reminders in patches of fur that never grew back, in the scars on the shepherd’s arms from when he had dragged the sixth away.
It remembered days in a white room and limbs too heavy to move. It remembered a large hand gently carding through its fur.
And then it was back in the plains, lolling tongue and wagging tail and the drive to work.
The sixth. It knew the sixth needed to be approached slowly. It knew not to jump the fence into the lone paddock where the shepherd had kept the sixth. It knew in time it would be cuddled under the shade of a tree, napping with the sixth.
On the plain lived a sheep dog. It bounded after the shepherd, weaving between his legs to trip him up. It was quick to dash after the sheep following the sound of a shrill whistle. It prowled the borders of the plains, back hunched and teeth bared. It was friendly to the wayward townspeople and their wayward dogs, tail a flurry of motion, always happy to make a new friend.
But careful, its ears are pricked and its teeth are sharp.
But careful, it’s a working dog first and a friendly dog second.
But careful, that dog has wolf eyes.