“Sheph, how many sheep?” The elder looked tense as he asked.

  “One hundred, Mason. One hundred.” Sheph’s tone dropped deep and heavy, his eyes fixed on the flock ahead. But why the gloomy faces? Is it really that tough to be a shepherd? They look like they’re mourning me or something.

  “Are we really doing this? Can’t he be spared?” the elder's voice sounded rough but worried.

  “You know how it was for us, and everyone else,” Sheph replied, still facing the sheep. “He’s just like us. A replacement.”

  A replacement? The word sat strange in my chest. I felt like I was missing half the story. “Hey, Sheph,” I spoke up. “What do you mean by a replacement?”

  Sheph didn’t flinch, didn’t even turn. “Shall I tell him now, Mason? Or…”

  “No. Let it be the usual way. We’re not the ones to decide, after all,” the elder cut in, quick but steady, his face a mix of gloom and fatigue.

  Wait... did he just say Mason? That’s the elder’s name? I never even asked!

  “So... you’re Mason?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  He looked at me, surprised, then nodded slightly in agreement.

  “Well, you third old fool,” Mason said, his tone soft but carrying weight, “take care of him.”

  And with that, he turned and walked away toward home.

  “Taseen, was it?” Sheph finally asked.

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  He started walking toward the flock and said, “Follow me.”

  I started following him for about ten, maybe fifteen steps. It wasn’t far; just a short walk forward, since the sheep were grazing close by. Leaving the banyan behind, the open field stretched for meters and meters until, far ahead, a faint border wall appeared like a thin thread wrapped around the land. I guess that’s the border between the capital and this village.

  From here, I can see faint silhouettes. Tall, repeating patterns that could only belong to the government vicinity of the capital. It’s the pattern itself that gives it away; the shapes are too far to tell apart, but that iconic repeating pattern of government buildings is only one in existence.

  “Already want to go back under oppression?” Sheph’s voice echoed behind me.

  “That’s a graveyard waiting to be paved,” he added, looking back at me with his usual smile, the kind that could reassure almost anyone.

  “By you… if you’re not the same, as he says”, he continued, voice cryptic and calm.

  “I… uhh… okay,” I replied, since I couldn’t make sense of whatever that meant.

  He crouched down, resting on his left knee and right foot, and reached out to pat a sheep’s head. The sheep didn’t even flinch, almost like it was waiting for his touch. Then another came closer, and another, until all of them began surrounding him, pressing their heads near his hands and legs.

  In a matter of seconds, he was encircled by them. Dozens of soft white bodies in the golden morning light. My jaw dropped. The way they trusted him, it was… magnificent. The air felt gentle, the sun warm but not harsh, and his calm breathing blended with the rustle of wool and grass.

  “So this is the trust I have to acquire?”, words murmured beneath my breath, I watched him and wondered what my role in this world truly is.

  “Try to pat them,” Sheph said, standing up as if it were the most ordinary instruction in the world. He looked at me with that casual, calm face; like he was telling me to brush my teeth or tie my shoes.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I did as I was told, walking slowly toward the flock, hand out, trying to look harmless. But the moment I got close, every single one of them shuffled away, like I carried some kind of bad intensity. Not even a single sheep stayed.

  Man, that stung more than it should’ve. I felt… weirdly lonely. Like I wasn’t even worth the attention of a bunch of sheep.

  Behind me, Sheph’s laugh burst out. Low, rough, and completely unrestrained.

  “Damn all these old fools”, I thought to myself, feeling my face heat up. They’re deliberately making me suffer.

  “Hahaha. So this is how it feels to see newbies suffer,” Sheph cackled, unable to hold it in.

  My face probably went red. Angry heat crowded my face and ears; my jaw locked so hard it ached. I probably looked like I was laughing, but it was all frustration reaching peak.

  “What’s with that face of yours?” Sheph laughed again, like a man who’d found a private joke. If he didn’t stop, I was halfway to kicking him.

  “What's wrong, Sheph? Why are they ignoring me like that?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  He sucked in a breath, smoothed himself out, and put on that ridiculous serious look, half grandstanding, half actor, then stared off at the sky like he’d been rehearsing the line for years. “Well,” he said, “would you trust a stranger to come near you and put his hands toward your neck?”

  It hit me then. The pieces fell into place. “So they think I’ll kill them or something?” I asked, needing the confirmation.

  “Exactly. As they should.” He shrugged, voice rough. “Frankly, you shouldn’t trust us this easily just because you feel safe.” He reached out and patted a sheep again, gentle and practiced.

  “You’re joining us in exchange for death on command… remember that,” he added, casually, like he was reminding me to tie my shoelaces before a run.

  The words landed like a cold stone. My stomach tightened. The sheep pressed their heads more firmly against Sheph as if to emphasize the point: trust here was slow, earned, and sharp-edged.

  “Being a shepherd is easy… but being a source of trust…” Sheph slowed, as if the next words needed room to breathe. “is only for the patient.” He stopped patting and stood up.

  He walked back toward the banyan, came back holding a staff with a rounded top, and tossed it to me softly shouting, “Catch.”

  It landed in my hands like it belonged. The staff was thick, heavy enough to mean business, the upper end nicely rounded. It reached about sixty–five percent of my height. A thought came to mind that I could probably use this to latch onto someone’s neck and pull them. Then I remembered where I was. I swallowed it down.

  “So… how do I use this?” I asked. “I’m guessing it’s not to beat them up?”

  Sheph smirked, but there was something soft in it. “You’re the fascinating type, I see. It’s to keep them together. Gently. You push their belly to guide them. Not force. Guide.” He pointed to the hundred sheep scattered in loose groups across the field. “Go. Give it a shot.”

  Flock? I looked again. There was no army of ordered animals. It’s just a mass of heads and wool bumping against grass and each other. No unity at all. Ugh.

  I planted the staff into the ground to steady myself and moved slowly toward the nearest group. My palms sweated on the wood. Up close, their wool smelled like warm oat and sun-dried hay. One sheep glanced at me with a blank, patient eye and went back to chewing. Another wandered off.

  I lifted the staff, testing the motion Sheph had shown: a soft press at the belly, an angle to suggest direction rather than demand. I tapped lightly at a sheep’s belly. It jolted and shifted away, but only a little. I tried again, but gentler this time, and added a quiet “Come on” that came out half-hopeful, half-embarrassed.

  Slowly, awkwardly, one sheep turned and moved the way I indicated. Then another. My confidence wobbled and steadied like the staff in my hand. The hundred-headed confusion began to narrow into a path. A small and crooked line. Sheph watched me with a half-smile. “No mockery now, huh?”, I thought to myself.

  I pushed the staff at on a sheep, softer than I thought I’d ever be capable of, and felt the strange, small victory of being followed.

  Trust, I thought. It didn’t bloom all at once. It seems my training is going to be boringly tuff.

  “Yes, Taseen. Just like that,” Sheph said, his voice carrying a note of approval that felt strangely satisfying. I’d managed to guide a few of them, even if it was clumsy and slow.

  “They can’t be fed propaganda like us humans,” he continued, stepping closer. “They follow their survival instincts, to trust a leader, to trust a feeder, to trust a hand going towards their neck to be patted on. Be like them. Be the sheep within you when trusting others. And be the Shepherd within you when gaining trust.”

  The way he said it, with that quiet, dramatic weight, made the air around us feel still for a second. The words sank deep. It was oddly poetic, maybe even a little eerie.

  “Be the sheep within myself? Be the shepherd within myself?” I repeated, half under my breath, turning the phrase over in my head. For some reason, it fascinated me. It didn’t sound like simple advice. It sounded like something more, like a truth I wasn’t meant to understand just yet.