Bright red and gold rays shot out from the bold globe of fire, covering the hillside in the final warmth of day as the cold darkness of night fought to control the world. At the base of the hill, the cold river ran angrily on its set course towards the ocean miles away. A small flock of sheep lazily ate the grass by its shore and drank from it at will, their white coats glittering in the last part of the night as the shadows descended upon them making them to appear as ghosts. Yet they did not notice or care, they had a shepherd that would protect and care for them.

Turning from the beautiful sight, Joseph looked toward the town. He could see the smoke rising from the roofs of the huts. From this distant, he could still hear the vague bark of the dogs and the mothers calling in the men for dinner. They would be eating the last of the winter stores, and for a few of them, they would be into their spring harvest. Of all the places, he has gone these past few months this is the only place that feels right. Like a distant reminder tugging his shoulder, he has felt guided to this place.

AAAAAAWWWWOOOOOOOO!!!

Jerked from his thoughts, Joseph’s stomach jumped into his throat. That wolf call was too close. Gripping his staff, he sprints down the hill with all haste shouting at the sheep, calling them all by their names, trying to make enough noise to scare off the wolves. As he reaches the first sheep, he guides its head toward the town and smacks it in the ass. The animal starts on a hard charge straight for the town. Going down the line, Joseph goes and gets every sheep and does to them all as he did to the first. Finishing on getting the last one moving to town, he spins around to face a pair of bright, yellow eyes. Looking to the left is another pair. He assumes there are more to the right and the back due too to the sounds of the growling. A sharp bark comes out from the one in front of him. Raising his staff, setting his feet, thinks for a plan to survive.

The wolves begin to circle around him, looking for the right moment to jump their prey. Slowly bending down, he runs his hand on the ground, picking up a rock. Setting it firmly in the palm of his hand, he sets himself over his knees, feet slightly staggered but still tight. The staff gripped loosely in one hand, yet able to be used in a second. Not liking his chances of rushing the wolves he waits for their attack not moving his mind or his eyes from them and their constant circling.