A Shepherd’s Tale

Chapter One: The Beginning

“Day, O’ Glorious Day, which hath wrought a plentiful harvest on this, our fair season. Blessed are the crops from which your sunlight hath grown…”

The preacher’s voice was loud, over everyone’s  cheer and celebration. I honestly couldn’t hear much else, except for Jacob and Millie’s constant bickering, most likely over who got the last sweetroll. Anymore, it was a hard guess, but considering the feast? Food had to be the topic of choice.

I’m getting ahead of myself, though. My name’s John. John Sunson. My dad runs one of the local farms that helped provide for the big get-together we’re having. Which we wouldn’t be having if it weren’t some sort of holiday. Which it is. The end of the Harvest Season is always a time for everyone to relax, and quit worrying about running around, a lot like a rooster with its head cut off.

As for me? I like to relax. In fact, I like to relax enough that I usually end up getting very un-relaxed over it. It’s a really confusing thing, honestly. Seems like most of the town doesn’t appreciate toiling endlessly to survive when I’m out in the fields, watching over livestock. Oh, yeah: I’m a shepherd. Pretty good at it, too – I’ve only lost three sheep in five years. Not bad for a seventeen year old son-of-a-farmer.

I’ll tell you what, though. It’s not been all fun, games, and lazing about this year. Gods no. This year has been one of the most “interesting” years I’ve ever seen. And by “interesting” I mean “Oh my god we’re going to die.” But hey, who cares? Big feast, kids bickering, preacher-man being loud (as usual)… All’s happy-go-lucky, right?

Wrong. See, here in about two years, things are going to go down the outhouse again, and we’ll have a brand new set of worries to, well, worry about. It all started about twenty one or so years ago, when my dad was about my age. Every three years, we’ve had to deal with some big crisis or disaster that, inevitably, will lead to our total and inescapable downfall. Unless one of us goes out and does something about it, anyway. And last year? That someone was me.