#you are shepherds of a flock sometimes the sheep need a knock on the head

[honey-and-fig]

Our priest using the homily last week to tell the parish that they *will* go to Confession if they’ve made uncharitable comments about either political side was pretty refreshing tbh

[mrsunderhill678]

The last one liners of 2020!! Let’s go!

“Discoveries of self are only grand so long as they give you a deeper meaning, but all mine have done is haunted me.” - Calliger Cougar

“Justice that harms the innocent is no justice after all.” - Calliger Cougar

“I fear I have yet to meet all of me, and if this sinful being is what I have met, I fear what I have not.” - Calliger Cougar

"I've spent life searching for a deeper purpose, only to realize, all I had to do, was be me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“It took so long to accept myself, so long, that I believed no one would ever accept me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“Life can beat you down and make you someone you don't like, but soar above that. See the stars, burn in the sun, become ash so long as it's you.” - Espekarla Killovitch

 “I am such a crime against myself.” - Duke Marston

“Loving me, I imagine, is a death sentence. Hold my heart only if you wish to place yourself on death row or the electric chair.” - Duke Marston

 “I am no brave little mouse, I am no Desperaux, it is as if I am Borticelli, a sewer rat, feasting on my grime, throwing the brave little mouse to the crowd, allowing them to cheer as the cat bats at him like yarn, watching him bleed, watching him fight, if only to keep my throne." - Duke Marston (If you get this reference I will fucking love you)

 How I yearn to be something other than this twisted creature, sitting upon a throne of other's blood and bone. But I never leave this throne, I never knock this life studded crown from my head. I guess that makes me haunted queen of the hill, fearing the descent yet staring down at the bottom, wondering what it would be like... To fall. But I fear my sister would catch me, deny this death wish of mine. She'd snag a cigarette from my lip if she knew it burnt my lungs. I fear myself, but she loves me, I'll never know why, I'm just a beast, a wicked creature of broken tusks and teeth. And my brother, he would carry the crucifix on his back and nail his palms to it's oak if he knew it'd spare me the trouble.” - Carlota Calico

“I am a cruel woman, my eyes glazed over with glossy regret, and yet all I do is weep the blood that I've spilled. I am a haunting of every grave I've dug, every life I took, and try as I may, it is never my blood I'll weep, but the blood of another.” - Carlota Calico

“My regret is spoken so much louder than my rage, it leaves me to wonder how my rage leaves more glasses shattered than my regret, when it's my hauntings that raise the decibels? They say to roll with life's punches, but what can a man do when the fists are his own?” - Max Tripp

“It was I who took my life and set it on fire. And everyone watched from the pyre as my ship sunk, and you know what? When this ship sinks, and I with it, I'll cheer along with those on the fucking pyre.” - Max Tripp

“I won't make it to heaven. I'd never pass the first step to the pearly gates, let alone a mile from the stairwell.” - Max Tripp

“I'm a gambling man, and I gambled this life of mine for a rusted lie and a nickel. Worth bout as much as me, I suppose.” - Max Tripp

“Raise a glass to the loveless man, raise a glass, for this shot of my tears and regret never runs dry.” - Max Tripp

“I'm tangled between my little flaws and my love for my children, I imagine my love for them heals me, I just... Wish it would heal, them.” Violetta Flint

 “Is the world, perhaps, just as self destructive as we are, causing pain to those who love it?” - Violetta Flint

“I wish I could've protected my boy, but life took him down the beaten path too soon. I was supposed to protect him from the thorns on the rose, but he gripped it before I could. He bled before I could bleed in his place.” - Violetta Flint

“Life can be so terribly cruel to the kindest of people, but don't let cruelty make you cruel. Remember that kindness is never forged from an easy life.” - Violetta Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't God damn afford, yet here I am, payin' the fuckin' price.” - Andraak Flint

“With a single snap 'a my fingers I killed the light that basked my soul, stepped on my own back ta reach heaven, just ta kill the man who claims himself a god above others. Oh he's above others alright, but when I meet him eye to fuckin' eye, sins on my wrist, with my rage and love he stole from my still tremblin' hands, he ain't gon' be nuthin' but below me.” - Andraak Flint

“You must inflict pain to know my wrath, and for a man that's inflicted more pain than the end 'a times, I reckon I ought to be more wrathful than the God that decided it fit for him ta live.” - Andraak Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't afford, because the price is this life I've lived and the corpse 'a the man I hunt. Ta pay the price, I got ta die, cause ain't no man damned as I am, seein' more sunrises than the devil he seeks. So be it, may the sun rise without me, so long as it rises without Quentin." - Andraak Flint

“Sometimes, crime is survival, and you can condemn me all you want, but all I'm tryin' to do is stay on the topside of the concrete. An old friend always said his corpse had already dropped, that he was already buried beneath the skyscrapers and subways, that he was just another corpse of New York. And I agree. We're all just corpses of New York city, because this place in of itself is a corpse of dead concrete goliaths and lost souls once filled with hope.” - Angeles Vance

“We are the revolution, built of scars and corpses of New York, and maybe one day, they'll hear our battle cry and call us heroes. But it's more often than most that heroes are labeled lawless and cruel, before ever, they put an end to the very tyranny that labeled them, enemy of the world." - Angeles Vance

“Evil is often a torch, passed down from one ruler to the next, but I've found, that we only take the torch, for we fear he who holds it, only to fear our own hand, in the end.” - Theodore Malrosa

“All you'll ever need in a kill or be killed world is a six shooter and your sins on your sleeve.” - Theodore Malrosa

“I'm a ragged bone man, with fur drenched over my shoulders like a tattered cape, but in the shade, all they ever see is the silhouette of a hero's torn cape. Shade hides all, my friend, even the most damnable of offenses.” - Theodore Malrosa

“He who mocks the peasant will find himself bowing to his feet miles down the road, just ask the brother's of Joseph. For they mocked his dreams only to realize always was he a prophet, in all his glory, and his coat of every color only aggrandized his robe of dreams and prophecies to be.” - Theodore Malrosa

 “I could drown in holy water and still, I'd be damned, all the holy water would do is grant me a painful death of scalding flesh and boiled blood. I wear a cross round my neck if only to remind me, I was once holy. But he who is nailed to the crucifix is often bled dry before ever he is forgiven.” - Arrow Holloway

“I sling these bullet casin's like regrets and charms, never knowin' what it is I'll get from this chamber. There's a spark in my chest, and I's long since learned, the spark in me chest and revolver are one in the fucking same.” - Arrow Holloway

“I am a hail of bullets in the crossfire, hittin' every soldier, I am the blood spilled and the bodies that drop. I suppose I'm everything death every grew, if only to be reaped for my simple existence. But it ain't simple, is it? Never were I 'spose, always was this life complex and bloody.” - Arrow Holloway

“I could face myself in a draw fight and still I'd lose.” - Arrow Holloway

“Take this ride 'a mine as you will, one of a wicked outlaw or a deputy corrupted by crimson burnin' justice, either way you spin the tale, you get blood spilled and bullets flyin', so I spose it don't matter which path ya take. It all ends the same. No matter what road you go down, there's a cliffside, a steeple or a river, and ain't none of em leadin' you ta salvation. Cause the biggest lie the preacher ever told is, "You're forgiven." - Arrow Holloway

“What is hope, really, but a single shared delusion of the human race? We cling to it so desperately, but it was never there, we were always battling ourselves and callin' a damn peace treaty. Cause when we fire against our selves, what do we call it? Freedom or murder of the highest degree?” Elliot Terminus

“We're either lambs or wolves, and only those with stained teeth'll make it through. We're already in hell, my friend, the demons are huntin' the angels and the sheep are bein' led to the slaughter. Ain't no sheep makin' it out with a white coat.” - Elliot Terminus

 “I'd gladly wash myself in the blood of the lamb if it meant soakin' the fields.” - Elliot Terminus

“You think the flock is safe just cuz there's a shepherd? He's as mortal as the sheep and he who protects the weak should be weary of the strong.” - Elliot Terminus

“This crucifix of secrets on my back weighs me down like the thought of my casket, I fear I shall carry this weight on my back for miles, only for none of it to ever matter in the end.” - Mason White

“It's often secrets lurk in those who have been silenced. These days, you can't cut off a man's tongue to prevent the truth from spilling out, but threatening all he loves does the same damn thing. When a man dares silence you, shout to the heavens, maybe God will listen and smite him down, render him speechless. No man can disarm you of your voice, it's the strongest weapon you've got.” - Mason White

 “For all who come for my sorry hide, tomorrow's an empty promise at best, and a threat at it's worst, cuz steppin' up to me is a losin' fuckin' battle. You wanna step up ta this plate? Then prepare for them pearly gates, cause ya meet the lord today, and ya don't got time for a fuckin' confession.” - Rafe Linton

“Honor ain't nuthin but a lie soldiers use ta steal the advantage, I'd rather cheat than die, and I'd rather scarper on my mah knees than be the poor sod bein' shot at point blank range for sins deemed worthy 'a death.” - Rafe Linton

“A man offers ta count ta three, shoot him at two.” - Rafe Linton

“Steppin' up ta me is a losin' fuckin' battle because I cheat, I lie, friend, only truthful word that ever come from my mouth is, I'm alive. I'd light a match and tell ya it's cold, I'd shoot a man six times in the chest and say he's breathin' just fine. The pearly gates await ya because you choke on all your truths, when a lie's the only thing that'll save you, these days.” - Rafe Linton

“The act of raisin' the dead is a simple act 'a redeemin' a man who's coffin lid is nailed shut. Yet for a man like me, it's complex as can got damn be.” - Alaric Alistair

“There was a time I believed the good guy always caught the thief, and the sun always rose, but look at me now, sittin' in the dark.” - Alaric Alistair

 “You could cut me down and I imagine I'd laugh, cause I can't imagine sumthin' darker than my life other than the end 'a it.” - Alaric Alistair

“I'm just roadkill on the highway that's risen, my antlers are broken, my fur matted and bloody, and I'm just fated ta pretend I'm still breathin'. But the breath from my lungs is stained from the blood on my teeth.” - Alaric Alistair

“In the end, it don't matter who ya were, what ya did, cause hell don't exist and devils were only myths of us.” - Alaric Alistair

“All I ever do is follow orders. I bark when told ta, I bite when aggravated or let off my leash, but the sad thing is, even the leash stabs inta me. The bruises and scars round my neck tell the sorrowed tale of a barkin' dog forced ta bite. This blood on my teeth tells the pain soaked tale of a dog, skinny and starvin', all because he bites, if only ta put another down." - Alaric Alistair

“For a man who's lost everything, I sure got a lot. My whole life I been swallowed by the fires yet remaining un-scorched, because all my life I've had love. For my wife, for my sons, for the lord, and even if many I knew are now nuthin' but a memory, I still find light in the intricacies of their smiles, cause I see em in my own.” - Balthazar Pennington

“We're beautiful creatures, really, holdin' one another ta show love, speakin' in languages so complex that not a word has ta be spoken to say, "I love you." - Balthazar Pennington

"Go on, kill us, kill us by the fucking dozens, Mr. De Niro. But you will find that the human resolve is a helluva lot stronger than your God damn conscious." - Cody Scarrow

"Oh I don't need savin' from me, brother. I may not be perfect, hell, I ain't even decent. But I can be damn proud of the fact, that I ain't you, and I never God damn will be." - Cody Scarrow

[nightqueendany]

The Original Final Season 7 - Episode 2: Greywater Watch

ON DRAGONSTONE 

The episode opens much the same way it opened in 7x02 (though there is no storm raging outside, no conversation about a storm), with Melisandre arriving and speaking with Dany about Jon Snow 

However, this is now the same meeting where Dany is planning her conquest of Westeros with all her allies - Olenna, Ellaria, and Yara. 

Dany’s allies convince her to listen to Melisandre and summon Jon Snow and hold off battle plans until he arrives - the Riverlands/Vale are in prime position to take Casterly Rock/the Capital so would be better to wait and see what the North can bring to the table

Varys informs Dany and co that Melisandre used to advise Stannis but Olenna reminds everyone that they all once served someone else so it shouldn’t be held against Mel

In private, Olenna and Melisandre warn Dany against Varys, Olenna saying that he is a “clever man” and she’s outlived clever men by ignoring them

Mel echoes these sentiments, reminding Dany that Varys served Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters and tried to have Dany killed several times, etc. 

Dany argues in Varys’ defense, saying he might not be loyal to monarchs but that he’s loyal to the realm and he’s exactly the kind of person the realm needs

Mel and Olenna are skeptical, Mel says that the realm is like a flock, they need a shepherd, not a spider, to keep them together - the shepherd being Dany. Olenna’s advice to Dany is much more blunt. She accuses the Lords of Westeros of being sheep. Is Dany a sheep? No, she’s a dragon. Be a dragon. Mel can’t disagree with that.

On Dany’s orders, Tyrion sends word to Jon about coming to treat with Dany on Dragonstone

IN WINTERFELL 

Arya arrives and reunites with Jon, Sansa, and Bran 

Arya informs Jon of Edmure’s allegiance

After Jon receives Tyrion’s raven about Daenerys, Baelish brings up the possibility of a marriage alliance and, though Jon doesn’t trust Baelish in particular, Davos agrees it may be a good option in order to gain armies, weapons, and dragons in order to fight the Army of the Dead - even with the Riverlands’ allegiance, they still don’t have enough fighting men to take on the AOTD without assistance

Baelish tries to plant ideas into Sansa’s head about Jon and Dany marrying, naming her their heir until they are to have one of their own, meaning if somehow they both die in the wars to come, she would become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms (much like the “if Robert were to die- When Robert dies” from the books), Sansa doesn’t have much to say to this, is more focused on one of Dany’s allies being the Greyjoys

The Hound, noticing Baelish’s scheming and weaselly ways, threatens him to stay away from Sansa (like Jon’s “touch my sister, I’ll kill you myself”)

When Baelish accuses Sandor of being just like him (i.e. wanting Sansa sexually/romantically), Sandor corrects him and says he’s only ever wanted to protect her and Arya and he will do so, even if it kills him

Sometime after his encounter with Sandor, Baelish finagles his way into an invite to accompany Jon and Davos to Dragonstone - it’s more central to all the action, right where Baelish likes to be

IN OLDTOWN 

Sam cures Ser Jorah of his greyscale

AT CASTLE BLACK: 

Edd and the other Black Brothers/few Free Folk who are hanging out there (not Tormund) discuss the Horn Edd found, some of the Free Folk believe it has the power to bring down the Wall, Mance had been trying to find it as opposed to battling the Night’s Watchmen 

Edd orders no one to touch it or go near it

IN KING’S LANDING: 

Cersei, in celebration of her pregnancy, commissions the courtyard ground painted with a map of Westeros, telling Jaime, “our child will rule Westeros, a dynasty that will last 1k years, what father had trained us for since we were children...”

She and Jaime also talk about allies and enemies - Enemies to the East, West, North, and South, Jaime asks “where are our allies?”...

Euron Greyjoy shows up in King’s Landing

Even with the news of the baby, Jaime is still distant with Cersei due to her behavior, constantly whispering to Qyburn, obsessing over news of her “enemies” - smallfolk in the city talking shit about her (like the guy in S6 who claimed he showed her his cock during her Walk of Atonement and got his skull crushed by the Mountain)

Euron tries to get Cersei into bed and though she rebuffs him, she tells Jaime she can’t do so for long, she’ll need to claim he’s the father of her child, further shutting Jaime out

BACK IN THE NORTH: 

As Jon prepares to leave for Dragonstone, Bran finally tells Jon there’s something he needs to know but he’s not the one to tell him, that on his way to Dragonstone, Jon needs to stop by Greywater Watch - Meera will accompany him so she can be reunited with her family

Jon, Davos, Baelish, and Meera arrive at Greywater Watch, Howland Reed finally tells Jon (in private) about R+L=J, Howland gives Jon Rhaegar’s harp, which was in Lyanna’s possession when she died

While Howland is telling Jon about his parents, Bran is at the weirwood attempting to control his visions and get a handle on them, and he flashes back to Rhaegar and Lyanna as Howland tells Jon the story, how they fell in love, their secret marriage, and Jon’s real name, “Aegon Targaryen”

The title is obviously for House Reed’s ancestral seat to mark the first time it’s ever been seen in the show (and in the books for that matter). 

Episode 2 Inside the Episode: Greywater Watch

1) Now, first thing people are probably wondering is: why does Jon find out about RLJ in Episode 2?? Before he meets Daenerys??

And the simple answer is...because it shouldn’t make a difference for him to hear about it later in the season. Remember, this is the FINAL season. So there’s no cliffhanger to leave us on. This is it. Jon’s no longer heading for an “information bomb” in Season 8 because there is no Season 8. And, we all know the aunt/nephew incest won’t matter in the books - as avunculate marriages have been established in House Stark - so it shouldn’t matter in the show.

Plus, Jon knowing who he is as he’s falling for Dany will create a nice tension there because he hates lying, and holding back the truth from her will be difficult once he’s already in love with her. It will be a good conflict for Jon for the season - tell Dany the truth, or keep it to himself?

2) Baelish heading to Dragonstone with Jon:

Probably the most basic no-brainer in the entire season. That Baelish stayed with Sansa in the North in S7 was really idiotic. Baelish never stays in one place too long, even if it’s to be near Sansa. He dropped her off at Winterfell once before, with the Boltons, and headed back south because it benefitted him most. Baelish staying in Winterfell in S7 makes no sense because it doesn’t benefit him. 

Baelish’s Season 7 Winterfell plot did nothing to further his ambition and designs on the Iron Throne. Baelish heading to Dragonstone with Jon would. If he can get Jon and Dany to marry, knock off Cersei, and name Sansa their heir before dying *somehow* in the War for the Dawn...his job is essentially done, he just needs to persuade Sansa to marry him after, which as he would have helped name her Queen, shouldn’t be too hard to do.

3) Mel’s meeting with Dany on Dragonstone...

Melisandre coming in during Dany’s meeting with Olenna, Ellaria, and Yara and Theon makes so much sense. If she were to speak before Dany’s whole council and convince everyone of summoning Jon, it would fulfill the idea that D&D tried to pass off in 7x02 as a “feminist” moment with all these powerful women strategizing and making decisions. You know, as opposed to the scene we actually got where the women just went along with what Tyrion planned and had no say in battle strategy at all which was so fucking dumb. 

Also, many on Dany’s council know the Starks and would be better at convincing Dany to seek an alliance with Jon than just Mel (whom Dany doesn’t know) and Tyrion, who hasn’t seen either Jon or Sansa in years. Theon and Olenna could vouch for Jon and Sansa, adding their voices of support for this alliance. Also, Ellaria Sand, a fellow bastard, may be impressed with Jon being named King, admire that the North has taken a page out of Dorne’s book to throw out this prejudice against bastards and named someone King who they actually believed in, which would jibe with Dany’s approach of judging people on their merits rather than names, titles, and status. 

Basically, everyone in Dany’s council would get on the Jonerys train, as they should.

4) Not necessarily mentioned in the outline of the episode above but wanted to address this, The War for the Iron Throne:

Now, obviously this new strategy nixes several battles from Season 7 and you guys are probably wondering why. 

Well, if we think about the structure of prior seasons, big set piece battles, like the Greyjoys vs Greyjoys of 7x02, the sack of Casterly Rock of 7x03, and the Field of Fire of 7x04, are really uncommon in early episodes. We usually get ONE battle per season and that’s the “Episode 9” battle. So to have a season filled with battles is 1) not the GOT norm and 2) really unnecessary. Dany has been all about strategizing in the past, waiting for people to come to her, sitting and waiting to persuade people to her side, connecting with the people first before the high lords. That’s her MO. Going in guns blazing is not Dany’s way.

Yes, Dany’s allies sided with her because of the promise of Fire and Blood. And they’ll get it. But they are also the kind of allies to wait. Olenna plotting Joffrey’s murder to get Margaery a better husband that again, she’d have to wait for. Yara and Theon going all the way to Meereen to get Dany on their side. Ellaria waiting to align with Olenna and Dany before going to war with Cersei. Dany is patient and so are her allies. They understand the importance of well planned revenge. Waiting for Jon and seeing what he can bring to the table is much more on par with what we’ve seen from all of them the last few seasons.

5) And lastly, Howland Reed

Many of us predicted we would see Howland Reed this season (Season 8) and we were obviously wrong. Now, some people may think Howland Reed showing up in the story is unrealistic, but in my opinion, Season 6 set this up for us already. Rather than not name any of Ned’s companions at the Tower of Joy (which they could have done), the show specifically points out Howland, and mentions that he’s Jojen and Meera’s father. Why would we be shown Howland, and have it implied that he’s the only other living soul (without psychic powers like Bran) who knows who Jon really is, and then NEVER do anything with that information?

To me, this was such a bullshit move on the show’s part. I mean, there are a lot of those. But we were owed a Howland Reed scene. We needed to see him in the series. We even got Meera in S7 saying she needed to go be with her family and then we never saw the Reeds in S8 - did they pull a Cersei and sit out the War for the Dawn as well??? I mean, it just makes no sense. There was set up for this and no pay-off. 

So having Jon learn from Howland - who actually has a personal and first hand connection to this information - tell Jon the truth about who he is rather than Sam - who had no personal connection to this info - finally pays off what was set up in Season 6 and gives Jon and the audience this information in a much more satisfying way. 

Aaand that’s it for Episode 2!

Original Final Season 7: Preface Post

Season 7 Episode 1: Family, Duty, Honor

Season 7 Episode 2: Greywater Watch (Current episode)

Season 7 Episode 3: The Last of the Dragons

Season 7 Episode 4: Dragonglass

Season 7 Episode 5: The Storm

Season 7 Episode 6: Summerhall 

Season 7 Episode 7: A City Fit For A King

Season 7 Episode 8: Protectors of the Realm

Season 7 Episode 9: The Battle For The Dawn

Season 7 Episode 10: ?

Keep an eye out next Tuesday for Episode 3!

[theblindadventures]

David Blunkett on meeting his new Guide Dog

Former Home Secretary, Lord David Blunkett has been getting to know his new guide dog Barley.

The black retriever/German Shepherd cross is his seventh guide dog since he qualified with his first in 1969. His previous guide dog Cosby died in late 2017.

Lord Blunkett spoke about the experience of learning routes around Sheffield and London with his new companion and the feeling of independence he has regained.

He wrote: “Last November, my much-loved companion Cosby died unexpectedly from liver cancer. Until the final few days of his life, my wife Margaret and I had no idea he was ill. The first sign that anything was wrong came when he didn’t want his breakfast – not natural behaviour for any labrador-cross, and completely out of character for Cosby, who weighed more than seven stone. When the vet told us the cancer was inoperable, I was completely unprepared in many ways.

“Cosby was not yet eight years old, and though the only humane option was to have him put to sleep to save further suffering, my heart broke in the clinic as I held his head to comfort him.

“He was my sixth guide dog in almost 50 years, after Ruby, Teddy, Offa, Lucy and Sadie. On each previous occasion, there had been an overlap, a transition when I’d been able to get to know my new dog while still working with the old one. Sadie stayed at my side till she was 11, before going off to a well-earned rest with a loving foster family. But after Cosby died, I was left without a dog. It came as a shock to realise just how much I relied on my canine helpmate.

“I’ve rarely spoken about the challenges I face in public life without sight. I prefer to highlight what I have to offer, and I’m always conscious that everyone has their own problems, often hidden and sometimes very serious.

“But it might be helpful to readers facing difficulties of their own for me to explain the practical and emotional challenges that have taken me by surprise since losing Cosby.

“Some have been comical: it turns out that the Palace of Westminster is littered with chairs and stone pillars whose existence I never realised while I had my dog to steer me.

“One obstacle floored me, quite literally, when I tripped over it in a parliamentary corridor. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a mobility scooter. You have to laugh, though it was a relief to realise that I hadn’t suffered much harm other than bruises to my dignity.

“Other problems are more debilitating, and perhaps you have to experience them to appreciate how hard life can be with a disability. My friend Frank Gardner, the renowned security editor at the BBC, has spoken of the frustration he felt on landing at Heathrow recently, when his wheelchair was not brought to the cabin door of his plane, but was taken into the terminal.

“The need to depend on the patience and kindness of others evokes complicated emotions. I am grateful for people’s thoughtfulness, but it is also painful for me to acknowledge just how helpless I am without them.

“Friends and members of the public have been wonderful, yet their help served to reinforce my levels of temporary dependency. For me, as with so many blind people, a guide dog removes much of that reliance on others.

“I have great admiration for those proficient in using a long cane, as clearly a dog doesn’t suit everyone. It’s not enough to be blind – you must also be a dog-lover. A working dog is not a pet but it still needs your care, attention, time and love. If you can’t provide that, you shouldn’t take on the responsibility.

“Dogs thrive on routine, and I’m having to relearn some habits... such as going without a weekend lie-in, because Barley needs his breakfast and a chance to go outside. Even on wet and miserable days, a dog needs to be taken for walks. And because he’s not yet two years old, he needs plenty of play.

“It’s the play that’s wearing me out. Cosby liked a bit of fun but he didn’t have endless youthful energy to burn off. Neither do I, come to that. But Barley could chase tennis balls all day and night. He brings them back, but not often in one piece – the temptation to chew them to shreds is too strong.

“He loves a game of tug-of-war, too, with a rope or a toy. My arms and shoulders are sore from it. I’m getting used to him in other ways. Because Cosby was more like a small pony than a dog, I could reach down to pat his back without stretching or letting go of his harness. Sleek, black and handsome, Barley isn’t quite that tall, but he does love praise, even more than a scratch behind the ears.

“When I tell him he’s a ‘good boy’, his very long, bushy tail lashes away like a furry windscreen wiper. I worry about that tail, in fact – he’d better keep it tucked in when we go through revolving doors. He seems confident on escalators, and we are already getting used to using the London Underground together.

“In the capital with a guide dog, I’m constantly aware that we’ll need a convenient patch of grass several times a day. When meetings drag on, there’s always the thought in the back of my mind that the dog might be thirsty, or need exercise. This all has to be planned in advance. It’s not just a matter of putting on the harness and walking out of the door.

“Luckily, we have the Peak District countryside close by for weekend walks, which gives opportunities for Barley to relax and shake off the rigours of the working week. As yet, I wouldn’t trust Barley around sheep: if they scatter, his instinct would be to round them up, which would be dangerous.

“One of my dogs, Sadie, was trained to walk through a flock without distraction – and somehow the sheep understood this, and were not scared. I’ve never understood how that worked. If sheep are usually frightened of dogs, I’m the one who is wary of cattle. “About nine years ago, I was knocked over by an aggressive heifer, and suffered three cracked ribs. So while Barley and I plan to enjoy our country strolls, we’ll be staying well away from the larger livestock.

“Before he came to me, Barley spent more than a year with a very experienced puppy walker called Sue. She recognised at once there was something special about him – ‘He’s a bright boy, a quick learner who enjoys meeting people,’ she said. Apparently he befriended every bus driver in the town, as he practised using public transport.

“Of course, as far as Barley knows, I’m just the latest human in a succession of puppy walkers and professional trainers. It will take him a while to realise I’m sticking around. In that respect, he reminds me of a civil servant in a government department, who looks after a succession of Cabinet ministers and must transfer loyalty from one to the next. The difference is that owners have to clear up after their dogs – whereas ministers sometimes make a mess for the civil servants to deal with.

“As Barley and I get the measure of each other, he will be constantly learning about my routines. It’s a common misconception that guide dogs come with a built-in satnav, pre-programmed with every road map. In fact, they have to get to know their owners’ regular walks – where the street crossings are, the bus stops, the cafes and shops. On every new route, they have to use their initiative.

“A guide dog is trained not just to avoid obstacles, but to stay to the middle of the pavement, and to stop at kerbs and steps. A calm temperament is needed to cope with crowds and traffic, and of course obedience is essential – a dog should not turn a corner or step into the road, for instance, until the command is given.

“That requires exceptional training, but what always amazes me most is how the animal is able to judge height and width, so that I don’t bump my head or shoulder.

“If you see us out together, by all means give me friendly shout, but please don’t distract Barley. He’s got enough to do already. What might not be visible is how he reduces the stress of simply navigating everyday journeys for me. Wherever we go, a dog makes life so much easier than I knew, until I had to do without one.

“Yes, his youthful exuberance is tiring me out. And yes, I’m running out of tennis balls. But he is restoring my dignity and independence to me, and that is a blessing beyond price.”

Original link to website from Guide dogs https://www.guidedogs.org.uk/news/news/#barley

[cashmierathoughts]

Riley ‘Nem pt 10 Brian, 808′s & </3

I’d spent the night at Jake’s new start up after our date. We were curled up on his pull out when I was awakened by my church alarm blasting Marvin Sapp’s “He Saw The Best In Me”. All things aside, Jake certainly had gotten the best of me last night.

I looked to the left of me to see if my alarm had startled him but he was still sound asleep. Knocked out cold. Ha! Works every time.

I lie there contemplating whether or not I’d get up and go to church. It was a part of my weekly routine and I wasn’t worth shit without my routine. Ugh… I really didn’t want to go but after all that we did last night, I needed communion, two baptisms, and an alter call to wash my sins away.

Jake looked so peaceful; I didn’t want to wake him, plus I kind of wanted him to “wake up first” so he could see how pretty I slept and I couldn’t rob him of that sight, so I closed my eyes and angled my body towards his groin as I pretended to rest. About seven minutes into faking it, I remembered why I dropped theater in high school; I couldn’t fucking act. So I rolled over and gently kissed his neck then got up to search for my things. One shoe by the door, the other under the bed, and my gown tossed across the ottoman. I was frantically looking for my panties when I realized I hadn’t worn any the night before. It must’ve been me knocking over the brass wastebasket that had woken him up because as I was midway pulling my dress up over my butt, I heard Jake intentionally clear his throat.

J: “Well good morning”, he said through a half yawn and stretch. Unintentionally flexing his muscles as he sat up.

R: “Good morning!” I beamed.

J: “Were you sneaking out?”

R: “Sneaking? No. I didn’t want to break your sleep, but I gotta go to church… it’s kind of a part of my routine”.

J: “Ah…okay. Well, I was going to invite you to breakfast at least… it’s the least I could do.”

R: “The least? Ha, You’ve done more than enough but I am kind of hungry. Where did you want to go?”

J: “You ever been to Mama Joanne’s?”

R: “On 18th and Beaumont?”

J: “Yea, that’s the one. You like it?”

Shit. Keesha’s mama, aka my Aunt B’s nosey ass was co-owner of that place and worked every other Sunday and I’m praying this is her week off. Sometimes she’d ask Keesh to help out but she hardly ever would. She was the last person I wanted to run into. But I really didn’t have any other recommendations at the time, so I opted to be agreeable.

R: “Yea, I do... I feel a little overdressed though”, I admitted while still in the middle of pulling on my dress.

He chuckled and offered me some sweats and a Howard pullover that was twice my size. Great. Now I really looked like I just got fucked the night before.

As expected, the restaurant was packed. Nowhere to park and usually that would be my reason to leave, but Jake’s driver gave us the curbside treatment so there was no backing out now. The double doors were packed and customers were spilling out of the entrance and onto the sidewalk. I thought for sure that the crowd of hungry individuals waiting would defer Jake. Then out of nowhere, just as we were nearing the back of the line, I hear my name being called from the distance.

“Riley! Riley!”

I searched the swarm of people for a familiar face, but I didn’t see anyone I knew, so I kept my place and didn’t mention it to Jake.

They let in a party of five and about nine guests had exited, moving us up on the list. A few moments later and we were no longer waiting curbside; we leveled up to the foyer with about twelve equally hungry black folks. That’s when I heard it again.

“Riley!”

This time it was loud and precise enough for both Jake and I to discern. Our heads turned to the right at the same time to find Keesha in an apron waving for us to come towards the front.

K: “Hey, cuz!” She said as she gave me a sly smile and sized Jake up and down.

R: “Hey, Keesha”, I returned, less enthusiastic than her greeting. “This is Jake --”

K: “Of course it is…” She responded with stars in her eyes. “I remember.”

J: “Nice to meet you, Keesha”, Jake replied with a little burrow in his brow as he studied her face as if he were trying to remember her.

K: “I didn’t see y’all’s names on the list. Did you call mama and have her put you on the list?”

R: “Nope. I didn’t even think to do that.” I could feel Jake’s stare.

K: “Well, I got y’all. C’mon, our usual booth is about to get wiped down.”

R: “Thanks.”

We headed over to a comfy corner booth and sat down while Keesha went over the table again with a damp cloth.

K: “Y’all want some mimosas while you wait? Riley, I already know you want the usual.”

J: “The usual?” Jake innocently questioned.

R: “Oh yea, I’ve been here a few times before.”

K: “A few times?” Keesha interrupted as she came around the corner with a carafe of liquids. She collected my menu and poured us way more champagne than orange juice.  

There was an awkward silence that didn’t last more than a few seconds, followed by me giving Keesha a stare that told her to scram. It wasn’t like it was a huge secret or anything. I just didn’t like my family all up in my business. I was under constant scrutiny when the whole Brian thing blew up in my face and I just wanted to be more careful this time with whom I was dating. Once she left, Jake and I made small talk about the menu, the neighborhood, and other random shit that I couldn’t even concentrate on because every time his lips parted to speak, all I could see were those same lips caressing and tracing my body parts. I hope I don’t sound ridiculous but that might’ve been the best sex I’d ever had. “Fuck that pillow, I wanna hear you”, he would say as he deepened both his stroke and the arch in my back. I’d had good sex before, hell, I’d had great sex before; but none like this. It was like he was trying to torture and please me at the same time and when the torture was too much, I’d beg for pleasure and when the pleasure was excruciating, I’d want torture. My mind and body were all over the place. That night, my mind and body belonged to him and he had my whole world in his hands.

Our food came out pretty fast. I ordered my usual salmon patties and breakfast potatoes and Jake ordered the steak and eggs. Oddly enough, he ordered his eggs sunny side up and when our server slid his plate over to him, the yolks on the eggs trembled and shook reminding me of how my breasts were bouncing the night before.

What the fuck was wrong with me! Why did my mind keep trailing off to sex with him? I felt like a complete nymph.

I really needed to go to church. It was almost eleven when we left breakfast and there was another sermon going on at twelve that I was desperate to make.

Jake’s driver dropped me off at my apartment and before I got out of the backseat, Jake pressed his lips against mine and made me promise to call him after church to fill him in on the word.

I rushed to the fifth floor and into my shared apartment with Jordyn, neglecting to give her a proper greeting. I was too focused on getting in and out the shower as quickly as possible and make it to church by the time praise and worship was over. Once I was out, I turned on my gospel playlist as I strategically only put lotion on the parts of my body that the congregation would see. Hell, I didn’t have time to do my shea butter baby moisturizing routine. I slipped on a lilac pencil skirt and floral print shirt, grabbed my pumps, and headed for the door in my flip-flops.

“Bye Jordynnn!” I said as I scurried out the front door, half tripping over our stupid doormat.

I gotta get rid of that thing.    

I got to church right after praise and worship ended and just before the pastor and deacon board was about to start first Sunday baby dedications. I had forgotten all about that. Had I remembered, I could have made time to put lotion on my heels.

New parents flocked to the alter with their young like a herd of sheep flocking towards their shepherd. I watched as they all gathered down at the front to receive their blessings. As I was taking account of the members at the front, the shape of one of the father’s head looked painfully familiar. I squinted and tried to peer harder, tried to see if he would turn his head away for a split second so that I could make out his profile… and once he did, I felt my knees buckle and I eased back into my seat, unable to stand the sight.

It was Brian. What were the fucking odds– excuse me God – how the fu—dgeee. Fuck.

I hadn’t seen or talked to him in almost over year. The last time we’d talked, he half-assed confessed to having a baby on the way with another woman and everything he said to me afterwards went in one ear and out the other. All I could hear was a high-pitched ringing in my ears. He tried to say that she was lying and he was only telling me before she could because he wanted to be honest with me; all the shit people who lie for a living say.

And like a dumb ass, I chose to believe him. Believed that the other woman was lying. But to be completely honest, it was less about her being a liar and more about me not wanting to believe that what I’d been doing, who I’d been loving, was the lie.

The woman ended up being a fresh college graduate who tutored at Keesha’s school, which made things even worse because now, Keesha would potentially find out that the “happy” relationship that I had been flaunting was a fugazi. All it was going to take was for her to stumble across mine or Keesha’s Instagram and link us together.

Sure enough, that’s how it all went down.

Keesha called me in the middle of my workday, spouting off about how some young Asian girl at her job was asking about Brian and me. Saying that she’d met him at Nappyhead’s, OUR gym, and that they’d been together for two months. I tried to deflect and counter all of homegirl’s claims but it got to a point where I was talking myself in circles and started to sound like a broken record. I rushed Keesh off the phone, telling her that I had pressing work stuff to tend to and promised to call her back.

I had no intentions on calling her back and discussing my relationship with her. I always kept my relationship troubles to myself until I could figure out a best plan of action. Involving other people always made things messy and more complicated than they needed to be. Too many opinions; too many people with their own biases and heartbreaks weighing in on what I had going on. So I kept quiet and put my phone on automatic DND starting at 4:30pm every day for that next week. And like clockwork, Keesha was calling and texting every other day to see where my head was at.

Meanwhile, I confronted Brian about the new developments that had been dropped in my lap. Prior to us actually sitting down and me bringing this up, I had been trying to play it cool via text and phone calls. I couldn’t let him know what I knew, how I knew it, or how pissed or hurt I was; otherwise, I would have never gotten a face to face. That’s just how men were. If they knew you were upset, they’d rather avoid you than actually sit down and let you express and say what you needed to say, let alone actually get some sort of meaningful response from them. I refused to text this man paragraph on paragraph, only for him to respond to the parts he wanted to. That shit was infuriating.

R: “…AT KEESHA’S FUCKING SCHOOL, BRIAN?! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS, NIGGA!”

B: “Riley, she’s lying! I didn’t touch that girl! She wanted me!”

R: “Oh so you DO know her? I thought you didn’t even know who she was?”

And with that, I was done talking to him. I put him out of my crib, and blocked his black ass. I called Ricky over that night and got high as I could. We watched reruns of Hey Arnold and talked about how much of a stand up guy he was. A pillar in the community and was only in middle school. We loved that show growing up. On the lowest of keys, Arnold lived in the hood and that’s what made him so likeable. We were watching the episode where Helga wasn’t invited to Rhonda’s sleepover because she wasn’t “girly” enough and all the guys were teasing her about it so she slapped on a pound of makeup, plucked her unibrow, and traded in her kicks for a pair of shoes she couldn’t even walk in, all to prove to everyone that she could conform. I’m sure young feminists all over the world were throwing up in their mouths when they first saw that.

Ricky: “So you gone tell me why you had me come over here and smoke you out late night… on a school night?”

Riley: I tried to laugh him off, “A school night? What are we, twelve?”

Ricky: “Nigga don’t change the subject.”

Riley: “Aside from me just wanting to see my favorite brotherrr…” I paused then I sighed, “Brian got a baby on the way.” I tried to rush out the sentence as fast as I could, then took another drag of the wood.

Ricky sat up, eyes wide, and said, “Nigga, WHAT!”

Riley: “You look like that Jerry meme, from Tom and Jerry”; I tried to laugh it off.

Ricky: “Don’t do that, Riley. Don’t pretend like you ain't fucked up behind this shit.”

He fucking knew me like the back of his own hand.

Riley: “Yup. You heard it here first, straight from the horses’ mouth. Got some young Asian chick that goes to our gym AND works at Keesh’s school pregnant. Lied about it too, but I know she isn’t lying”, I said as my head sort of sunk down and my eyes began to well up.

Ricky: “So what you gone do, Ry?” His words trailed off and when I found myself back in present time, the families and their babies had returned to their seats and the pastor had taken his place at the podium.

Ultimately, I tried to give Brian every excuse, every benefit of the doubt, every way out; but the facts were the facts. He was lying and I could feel it. I could feel it when that nigga woke up in the morning and I could feel it when we were losing our connection too. I never had any contact with the mystery girl but I had heard through the grapevine that once it was out that Brian and I were no longer together, he had a kid on the way.

I don’t know what hurt more about that whole situation; the fact that for sixty plus days, this man was lying to my face and going behind my back, or the fact that he cheated on me with someone who was nothing like me. In shape, size, color. Like at what point did he realize that I wasn’t what he wanted anymore? At what point was I no longer enough? Did it not work because I wasn’t what he wanted or did he change what he wanted because of what I am? The questions were endless and I’d be lying if I said that the fact that he preferred someone “foreign” didn’t sting. But at this point, what black man in America didn’t?

I was gathering my things to pay my tithes and leave early, and as I was walking out to the lobby of the church, there he was, rocking a screaming baby back and forth in his arms trying to pacify it. He looked at me, I at him. Then, I just kept walking.

[fanwright]

Sokkla FMA AU

This one is pretty long. Click “read more” for the full story.

Resenbool never struck Azula as particularly significant place. 

As far as her eyes could see the rolling hills stretched out in all directions like a vast green sea, the tall grasses swaying gently in the spring sun, trees rustling in the breeze. She could almost pretend like the war never touched this place, if it weren’t for the occasional crater the farmers in the area worked their fields around.

The parking brake groaned as she pulled the lever up, killing the engine with the turn of a key as the harsh metallic chatter of the pistons died away. As Azula opened the door to her automoblie she could hear bells clatter in the distance as a lone shepherd rushed his flock along, sheep baying as they marched away. Quaint living. Green, innocent, and unmolested. The sands of Ishval seemed so far away, distant as a half-remembered dream. 

Azula sighed, breathing in the air as her gaze settled upon the portly old shepherd, the past echoing through her. If she could truly forget.

She didn’t miss the look in the old man’s eyes as he quickly turned away, waddling behind his flock. Disgust, fear, hatred, it didn’t matter. It was all the same to her. She wasn’t welcomed by most in Resenbool, but they would, under penalty of imprisonment or death, tolerate her presence. After all, a State Alchemist was backed by the central government’s authority - a living weapon, ready to be unchained and let loose upon Amestria’s enemies.

Just as they were let loose in Ishval.

Boots crunching against the dirt path up to the small cottage, Azula stopped in front of the door, just shy of knocking on the wood. Her automotive arm shook, joints grinding and chinking against steel plating. Little electrical pulses coursed through the wiring as her eye twitched painfully, grinding her teeth slowly as faces of the dead flashed through her mind.

She reigned herself in, pinching her eyes shut, clutching her metallic arm as she breathed through her nose, fighting the pain. 

A tune-up. She just needed a tune up. Faulty wiring, that was the problem. A quick fix and she was fit to go.

Her voice trembled for moment, “Don’t break.”

Looking up, she opened her eyes to the sun shining above. Listening to the trees sway in the wind, she took a deep breath, swiftly matted out the creases in her royal blue uniform, straightened her garrison cap, and in one decisive motion tapped her metal fingers against the door.

With a light grunt and a final turn of the screwdriver, Sokka tightened the last of the steel forearm plates, “Okay, that ought to do it. Try it out and move it around a bit.”

Azula swiftly spat out the piece of thick rubber she bit down on, rising from her seat beside the workbench, wiping the sweat trickling down her forehead, matting out the creases in her tank top,

She huffed, “Finally.”

Sokka narrowed his eyes, “’Finally’? You can’t rush this stuff you know.”

Rolling her shoulders, she stretched out the steel prosthetic, mechanical fingers grasping at the air, “You take your time while I sit in pain.”

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms, “You won’t take the anesthetic. I keep telling you there’s no shame in it. Just because you’ve got wires in that arm doesn’t mean you can’t feel anything. You know how careful I have to be installing that arm?”

A short pause. She stiffened her back and her metallic fingers cease to move. 

She turns to him with a sharp glare, “I’m aware.”

Sighing, Sokka threw his hands up, mimicking surrender, “Fine, whatever, you’re the State Alchemist, you obviously know more about the fine arts of mechanical engineering and surgical medicine than the guy who practices both.” 

Boot’s shifted against the worn floor boards as Azula took a stance, jabbing her mechanical arm at the air. Again she did it, falling into a practiced rhythm, testing for any tension in the joints, wary for any rogue electrical spark that might throw her off balance. 

Smooth and effortless, as if fresh off the assembly line. He certainly had the touch.

“Lucky for you I didn’t have to do a complete overhaul,” Sokka said, rising from his seat as he observed Azula, listening for squeaks or screeches in the joints, “Wires in the bicep and joint connecting it to the pneumatic actuator were worn out, so it was just a matter of replacing and hooking them back up to your nervous system.”

Folding his arms, he leaned against a wall and watched Azula deliver and uppercut to an invisible foe. She was already sweating, flaring her nostrils with each jab.

He smirked, practically talking to himself, “And then a routine oiling, a bit of polishing here and there. Oh, and I did have replace the steel plating near the shoulder joint with something lighter. Just so happened to have some new aluminum alloy plates lying around. Figure that would take some stress off the ball bearings in the shoulder joint.”

She stopped abruptly, looking at him through narrowed eyes, “Yes. It feels… different.”

“Well, good then! It should. I mean, the plates are from an M1911F model, but the good thing about that line is that you can practically jury-rig it to the earlier M1910 series models without anyone being the wiser.”

“Hm. Very resourceful of you.”

Sokka covered his mouth, feigning coquettishness, “Oh, stop it, you! You’re going to make me blush.”

She rolled her eyes, groaning, “Your sarcasm is as grating as ever.”

“I consider it a healthy sense of humor myself,” he said, lifting himself from the wall as he strolled into the kitchen the next room over, “I fix up people’s limbs for a living now, Azula, its messy work. Gotta laugh about something now and then!” 

Leaving her to freshen up and put on her coat, Sokka browsed the cupboards for a few clean drinking glasses. He hardly had any as it was and most of the dishes were in the sink, still dirty from the night before. Sighing, he took two from the top of the stack of dirty plates, slung a nearby dishrag over his shoulder, and rinsed out the glasses with some soap. Satisfied, he dried them off and set them on the nearby table. 

As he was rummaging through the cupboards again he heard Azula’s heavy footsteps against the creaking floorboards, taking her seat at one of the chairs near the small table.

“Hang on, I’ll find it,” he said, pushing aside cups and dishes, “Its here somewhere…”

He could feel her eyes on his back, judging him, “Don’t you remember where it is?”

“Sometimes? I mean, I like to switch it up from time to time, just to throw off any cops that might search my place. Ishval Whiskey is both rare, out of production, and illegal here. Resenbool is in a dry county after all.”

“No, you don’t need to ‘switch it up’, just keep it in place you will remember.”

He looked back at her, “I do remember where it is… I think.”

She shook her head derisively, “Ugh. Idiot. Its in the last cupboard on the right.”

Quirking and eyebrow, Sokka slowly made his way to the cupboard she specified. Rummaging through it and looking toward the back, sure enough, he found what he was looking for.

He blinked, “Oh. There it is.”

Azula merely inspected the metal digits on her automotive hand, causally clinking them together, “I told you so.”

“How did you know?”

“Because when I was here last week, you got a little too drunk. I set you on your bed and put the bottle there.”

He searched his memory, tilting his head to the side, “Ah. Right.”

“Indeed.”

Gently, she took hold of a nearby glass, teetering it from side to side, “Now lets have that drink shall we? I’m parched.”

Blinking, Sokka shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the dark blue bottle of whiskey from behind the stack of plates.

“I’ll get the snacks then.”

The sun had set over the horizon and the stars began glinting in the night sky just outside the cottage window. The candlelights caught in the empty whiskey bottle. The cheese and crackers had long since been eaten. Time had slipped away, the waning hours filled with drinks, stories, and laughter.

As the kitchen grew dim, the last light of the sun snuffed out over the hills, Sokka was content to share the silence with Azula. There was little to say, except what he feared would slip out in a sudden, drunken outburst.

His finger traced a circle over the rim of his empty glass, his mind swimming in warm bliss, frogs croaking outside his window. Not a bad way to spend an evening he supposed.

The chair Azula sat in creaked as she leaned back against it. She idly searched the pockets of her military coat and pulled out her silver pocket watch, flipping the lid open and checking the time. Even in the dim light Sokka could still make out the pentagram - the emblem - of the Amestrian State Alchemists carved over the surface.

She sighed as she tossed the watch on the table, her voice alien and harsh, eyes glued the half-empty glass in front of her, “ Do you remember it? Ishval?”

Sokka blinked, puzzled by her tone. She reached out and gently traced her metal fingers over the emblem on the watch.

“I… try not to. Its hard sometimes,” he said, clearing is throat.

She slowly nodded her head, “It keeps you up at night, doesn’t it?” 

He winced at her words, lips tightly pursed, “Volunteers like me had it rough too, Azula.”

“No doubt. Eight years of bloody attrition.”

“Eight years of dying. Fuck. If I’d had known what I signed up for I would have never joined the state army. I don’t know how a damn fool like me made through.”

She chuckled, without a hint of cheer or joy, running her hands through her neatly combed hair, “Of course you don’t. A little man like you, hunched in a ditch clutching his rifle, against the fanatical Ishvalans hordes. I wager you and your friends cheered as we Alchemists came in and cut them all down for you.”

His chest tightened painfully and a cold shiver snaked up his spine. The smell of cordite from spent shells thick in his nose, the course white sand blinding him, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. 

The sizzle and pop of burning flesh consumed by azure flames.

Sokka’s darted to the empty whiskey bottle, yearning for another drink. He looked to Azula instead, her gaze leveled at him, “… some of us did.”

Azula scoffed, “Did you?”

He gulped hard, as if trying to swallow a rock lodged in his throat, “I don’t remember really. Too busy keeping my head down or-”

The bone caved in as he bashed the bastard’s head in with the butt of his rifle, the sand turning red. Again and again and again and again and-

“-trying to survive.”

Sokka started to rub his hands together, feeling cold. He could still feel how his sweaty palms clenched the rifle, how the man squirmed under him, grasping at his uniform.

“You did what you had to do,” she heard him say.

He turned to the alchemist. Her eyes were still fixed on the silver pocket watch, her metal fingers resting over the smooth surface.

“Was that all though? Just… following orders? Kill them all before they kill us?”

She fixed him with glare through narrowed eyes, “Orders. Hmph. Orders are what got us stuck in that quagmire in the first place. Command sends recruits into the most barren place in Amestria over a few scuffles, thinking firepower and numbers will win the day, and then they send in the State Alchemists to fix their stupid mistake.”

Her mechanical fingers tighten over the pocket watch. Sokka’s eyes widened as the silver metal buckled under the pressure. He could hear the glass breaking and the little gears grind to a halt.

She spoke through gritted teeth, “And to fight what, Sokka? To kill what? A rabble of fucking civilians?”

He stared off into the shadows of the kitchen, trying to make sense of it all, looking for an answer, “I… I-I don’t-”

He leveled his sights on her as she clutched her father’s arm tightly, the old man’s head covered in bandages, both their faces pressed against the stone wall. 

God. No.

She looked like Katara.

“Aim!”

“For god sake, why!? Kill me, not them! I shot your friend, why should the rest die!”

His insides churned. The oldman’s voice rang in his ears. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to-

“Fire!” 

He choked on a single word, “… yes.”

And then It hit him. It hit him as hard as the bullet he put in the girl’s head. He felt sick all over again.

Sokka turned to Azula, “That’s exactly what we did. And now there’s nothing left of Ishval.”

Her eyes seemed to sear his soul, wrath drenched in grief. She started breathing through her nose and fixed a menacing glare on him. 

Without warning, she shot up from her seat, teeth clenched, the silver pocket watch clutched in her automotive hand, ready to throw it at him. He jumped from his chair as he shielded his face, falling to the floor, glasses cracking against the wood as they fell.

He expected fire to conjure from her hand at the flick of her wrist. She could do it easily - the transmutation circle etched into her glove allowed her to conjure flames at her leisure. He had seen so many die that way, a trail of ash and bone left in her wake, blue cinders carrying on the wind.

But there was nothing. No fire, no smoke, no seared flesh. Only the sound of steel splintering wood as the table shattered to pieces under Azula’s ferocious strength. Her eyes desperately searched the dim room, looking for a way out of the dark. She ambled about, finally collapsing to her knees, the drinks taking their toll on her. Gears and shards of silver fell through her steel fingers as she buried her face in her palms.

Sokka could barely hear Azula’s voice as her shoulders bucked violently, her body slouched forward, “Are… a-are we monsters?”

He stared at her as he laid there on the floor, unable to answer. His eyes stung and her words began to sink in.

“Murderers? W-Were-,” she tried feebly to rein herself in, “Were we soldiers or exterminators, Sokka?” 

In the dimness of the kitchen he could barely make out her form. Fighting back a painful headache as his vision blurred, he slowly got up and stumbled his way toward Azula, feet shuffling passed shards of glass.

He tried to speak, “I… want to believe we were soldiers, Azula.”

With one swift motion and a hard pull, his father ripped the medal from his uniform and threw it to the floor. The flimsy bronze metal bent and the colorful ribbon was rend from the pin.

For bravery - for mowing down dozens with a maxim gun in a single afternoon.

Katara held her mother as they looked on, their faces hard and unkind.

“Get out! I won’t have a murderer in this house!”

“Dad, wait, just let me-”

“I said get out!”

Kneeling down beside her, he wrapped his arms around her body, face nuzzled into the nape of her neck, “But its hard to pretend we were. Its hard to keep lying.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he pulled her in close. She was so warm and he felt so cold. The war only ever drained him of his strength, even after it was over, and it was a struggle just to keep it from his mind. He felt so selfish as he held her tight. He didn’t want to let go.

His eyes widened as Azula’s arms wrapped around his neck. He could feel her tears trickle down and touch his cheeks, her metal hand grasping tightly at the back of his head, the last pieces of the pocket watch falling between her fingers. She couldn’t hold back anymore. All he could do was hold her, knowing it was just a futile gesture.

Time slowly passed away as the silence of the night crept by. He stayed like that with her, but for how long he didn’t know. He just held her until the tears dried, until his grip around her waist slackened and their breathing calmed, the war heavy in their hearts.

Her voice was slow and measured, “I can still hear it. At night, when the crickets finally sleep.”

Sokka’s hand went to her head, gently running his fingers through her hair.

She breathed in his scent stared off into the darkness, “Howitzers when they shake the ground, bullets when they pass over your head. That horrendous, deafening noise when the maxim guns open up. It just won’t leave.”

His eyes twitched at the memory and he sighed into her hair. He could still feel the vibration of the gun, how it shook him to the bone like a buzz-saw through wood, how the muzzle flashes blinded him just before he tore men in half.

She continued, “… There was is this platoon trapped in the heart of the Old City. I remember passing you by when we took the minaret over looking El Zeyd Square. You waved at me.”

“… I remember. You didn’t wave back.”

“They we’re pinned down. Going to be overrun. A runner from the platoon managed to get through. Said they needed a State Alchemist. I rushed there as fast as I could.”

Sokka closed his eyes, rubbing her head, remembering the sun baked ruins of the Old City.

“Runner took a bullet as we rushed down an alley. Died before he hit the ground. Didn’t even hear where the shot came from with all the noise. I just kept running. I knew I was close.”

She paused, her body tensing up.

“Azula?” he asked.

“… I rushed into a building, choking on dust. Started to…” she gulped, clearing her throat, “to clear out the rooms. I could hear them, the Ishvalans, on the next floor above me.”

Another pause. Sokka didn’t press her. 

She soldered on regardless, “… They never saw me coming. Room by room, I burned them out. I didn’t stop, not even when I choked on the smoke. I just kept going, kept burning everything I saw. I can’t even remember how many I killed. Its all just a blur.”

His hands started to shake as a cold shiver coursed through him. The Azure Flame Alchemist. That’s what they called her. A walking, breathing flame-thrower.

“And in those flames I…” she stuttered, choking on her words, “I saw him. This little boy. Dancing. And screaming. Blue fire just… consuming him. Family burning up as he tried to escape.”

Sokka’s eyes widened. Her voice trembled as she continued, “He… rushed out of the room. Tackled me. I kicked him off with my boot and he… he hit his little head on the wall and started squirming. Crying…” 

She buried her head in in the crook of his neck. Sokka could feel warm tears trickle down his skin.

“Tried to put him out. Made a special transmutation circle on the floor as quick as I could. Made some water for him. He just… he just wouldn’t stop crying.” 

Azula’s arms recoiled from around his neck as her automotive hand started to shake violently. She slowly rung her hands, as if trying to wipe some stain off of them.

“I tried to drag him away. His little shirt crumbled to ash. His flesh just…” she shook her head, “… just peeled off. Could feel his bones in the palm of my hands as I lifted him up.”

Her voice cracked as she sniffed through her nose, “I ran with him in my arms. Left the platoon to die. Took him all the way back to our lines to a bivouac. He screamed the entire way. I laid him down in front of a medic, threatened him. Told him to save the kid.”

She ran her palms over her face and breathed, rage in place of sorrow, “… he didn’t even look at him. He just… called over a soldier and told him to ‘do it’. And he ended the boy. With one, two bashes to his head, right in front of me.” 

She looked at Sokka, searching for answers he couldn’t give, “I never did that again. I made sure I followed orders, made sure I didn’t crack, and they watched me just in case I would. That boy is my nightmare, Sokka. Reminds me that I’m a monster.” 

Her eyes were heavy and her head lolled from sheer exhaustion.

Azula looked away, “I’m so tired. So fucking tired. I just want a night where I don’t see him.”

Without thinking, with no words to reassure her, fatigue making him groggy, Sokka merely kissed her forehead. She barely registered the gesture.

“Stay here tonight. Got a spare cot,” he said, helping her up as he lifted off the floor.

Nodding, she staggered through the dark out of the kitchen door, turning the corner down a short hallway, Sokka close behind. She struggled to turn the door handle, cursing under her breath as it finally opened.

He felt there was something he could say, something to tell her that everything would be alright, that she wasn’t alone. His head began to swim, the whiskey playing hell on his thoughts, and the words just wouldn’t come out. It was a struggle just to stand straight.

As she entered the spare room, he bit his lower lip, desperately trying to say something.

But what could he say? How could he possibly help Azula and tell her that things would be okay if the same demons haunted his every thought? She wouldn’t believe him.

He slurred the only words he could think of, “G’night.”

Yet, just as he turned away, Sokka heard her call out to him.

“Stay.”

He pinched his eyes shut. He didn’t know what came over him. He just knew that a warm body beside him would make the cold nights a little bearable for a change. Keep the nightmares away. He felt so empty sleeping alone.

When he entered the room and closed the door Azula was already laying on the cot, her back toward him as she slept facing the wall. She didn’t bother taking off her boots or her uniform. That suited him fine. As he laid down beside her he left his clothes on as well. He was too tired to even unbutton his shirt. 

As he wrapped an arm around her waist she scooted in and arched her back to the curve of his chest, metallic fingers gliding across his forearm. They were surprisingly tender. He nuzzled his head in the nape of her neck, lips on her skin, arms holding her tight.

It was deep into the night before Sokka fell asleep. He listened to Azula softly breathe, fatigue finally claiming her, steel fingers twitching now and again against his arm. Her words still rang in his thoughts, keeping him awake.

Are we monsters?

He feared the answer. There was blood on his hands, on her hands, and nothing could wipe away the stains. 

He fell asleep, silently praying for an answer, hoping for a way to take it all back, to anyone above who would listen.

The last thing he heard was a lone cricket’s reply.

[racingtoaredlight]

Rams are total assholes

Got a mean ram?  You might be to blame...

***

Rams are extremely important and necessary ingredients in sheep production. For a new producer or a 4-H family moving up to a breeding operation, the selection of a ram means a new commitment or involvement in the industry. For most experienced or large producers, rams offer the main source of genetic improvement, and therefore ram ownership and management is necessary. No one wants to, or for that matter, should have to deal with a mean or aggressive ram.

Why your ram behaves like he does can usually be traced to one or more of the following reasons:

The genetics of the animal.

The amount of human contact the animal has had or is having.

The quality of the human exposure the animal has had or is having.

Let’s look at the three causes individually.

The Genetics of the Animal

Rams are like all other animals and people as well. Their genetic make up, inherited from their parents, means some of them have the genes to be more aggressive, passive, or timid then the rest of the population. Some families and lines are more aggressive than others are. This does not mean that just because an animal is from an aggressive line that it will automatically be aggressive, but that it has a greater potential to be. Aggressive animals are usually more aggressive in their approach to breeding, dealing with other sheep and in dealing with humans. Aggression may be greatest during the breeding season or when rams are with ewes. Aggressive rams are a fact of life that producers need to learn to recognize and to deal with.

Amount of Human Contact

All sheep are going to have some human contact. It may be minimal in a range or commercial flock and can be excessive in a single ram 4-H or show flock. Animals that have a great deal of human contact and interaction can lose their fear of humans and can become very aggressive. Animals not raised in group situations with other sheep do not develop the necessary social skills needed for them to exist in the situation they are in and can become aggressive. Animals that do not interact with humans should retain their basic fear of humans and should be less aggressive toward humans.

Quality of Human Contact

The most important ingredient in animal handling is the attitude of the handler. This is the basic assumption or feeling by the shepherd that “The animal will do as I want, when I want”, rather than the feeling that “I can work with the animal to get it to do as I wish.” Just like rams, some people are more aggressive than others are and that can be reflected in their handling of their sheep. Men are usually more aggressive in their handling ideas then women. Women are usually more patient then men when working with animals.

People that believe that the animal will do as they are told will be more apt to use force and loud noises and quick movement or other means when working with animals. People subscribing to the second theory of animal handling, that of working more with the animal to get it to do as you wish, usually will have less physical contact with the animal and have learned to not rush the animals and to take advantage of the instincts of the animal to get it to do as he/she wants.

It has to be remembered also that what we consider as good quality of contact is not what a ram considers as good quality of human contact. For instance, the rubbing, scratching, pushing or slapping of the head or forehead of a ram may be viewed by the person as the showing of “love” for the animal. It is however interpreted by the animal as a challenge or threat that has to be returned at some time.

There are two types of aggressive rams. The first is the ram that is already aggressive, for whatever reason. The second is the ram that has the potential to become aggressive. All rams fall into one of these categories:

Suggestions For Dealing With Aggressive Rams

An aggressive ram is a dangerous liability for their owners. Not only are they dangerous for your own family or to work with or just to be around, but if they injure your neighbor or someone visiting your flock, you are liable in a court of law. Any ram that is overly aggressive or mean should be removed from the flock and shipped. Sometimes, however, removal is impractical from the standpoint of the owners. A purebred ram may be particularly of value in that his offspring sell for a great deal of money. The cost of replacing the ram may be too high or the producer, or his/her family, may have an emotional attachment to a specific ram for any number of reasons.

If you have a problem ram and you make the decision to keep him, there are some things you can do to reduce his potential to hurt someone. First, arrange it so you have minimal contact with the animal. Set the pen up which you keep him in so that it is not necessary to enter the pen to feed and water him. Second, when it is necessary to handle the animal, do so in as small a pen as possible and have someone help you. Use a panel or folding hurdle to catch the animal in a corner of a pen to do whatever you need to do. Do not try to make friends with the animal or to cure him of his aggressiveness, as doing so may just increase his meanness. Basically, if you choose to keep a mean animal you realize that you have an animal that is a serious problem and you make a commitment to separate him from direct interaction with humans for as long as you keep him. Do not mistreat him, continue to feed and water him correctly, just never trust him and never give him a chance to attack you. Do not remove him from his confinement pen thinking that he has learned his lesson and that he will change. He has not and he will not.

Suggestions For Dealing With Potentially Aggressive Rams

Potentially aggressive rams means ALL rams. The best way to raise nonaggressive rams is to LEAVE THEM ALONE! Do not try to make friends with them, do not scratch or rub or push on their heads, do not tease them, do not treat them roughly, and do not play with them. LEAVE THEM ALONE!

Observation and assessment of rams as potential problems should begin early in the animal’s life. Producers should observe all ram lambs they raise for signs of aggressiveness. We have all seen ram lambs that even at a very early age do not seem to be afraid of us as we walk through the ewes and lambs, or through the weaned lambs. They do not move away as quickly when approached as other ram lambs in the pen. Rather, they may move toward us, making obvious signs of wanting to bunt us. They may get behind us and approach us from that direction. You can bet these rams will become dangerous. Producers should evaluate the importance of these rams to their program and eliminate them as soon as possible if they are not absolutely necessary.

Many rams will eventually attempt to challenge the “top ram” (you). This will usually happen after the rams reach puberty. The most logical person they will attempt to “defeat” will be the person walking among them while feeding them. This person should be aware that he/she could be a target and should be ready to react.

We leave our rams alone, but if we are hit by an aggressive ram or if a ram is making aggressive approaches towards us, we make the first attack of the ram as negative an experience as possible for the animal. Remember, the ram has had to get his courage up to attack you and if he succeeds, he will gain confidence and will certainly try again. However, if he is “defeated” or humiliated, he will begin to reason that it may not be worth the effort to challenge you. He will accept that he is not the “top ram.”

It is important that you react to the aggressive approach or the attack at the time of the attack and not leave the pen to get a stick and then return and attack a ram that has attacked you. The ram must realize that he is being punished for the attack and not attacked by a person for what he sees as no reason. That will put the ram into a mode of “defending himself, or rather getting you before you get him.” Attacking the ram to teach him a lesson will not teach him the lesson you want unless he realizes you are attacking him because he attacked you. It will only increase his aggressiveness.

A ram attacking a person for the first time will probably do so in less than a “full ahead” manner. We suggest that you hit him over the head with the feed bucket, scream at him as loud as you can, knock him off his feet if possible and chase him away. Your goal is to humiliate him and not to hurt him. Once he has run away it is not necessary to beat him as you have made your point. From that point on, you need to be aware of the ram every time you go into the pen and be ready to humiliate him again if necessary. If he continues to challenge or attack you, then you will have to determine how important he is to your program and to eliminate him if he is not important. However, most rams will loose interest in attacking something that fights back and humiliates them.

Dealing with rams is an everyday experience. Producers need to develop a system to reduce the possibility of attacks by rams. Here are some thoughts to follow:

Never tease or taunt a ram.

Know where the ram is at in a pasture or pen.

When visiting another producer, as if there is a ram in the pen or pasture and identify where the animal is before entering.

Never turn your back on a ram.

Keep distance between you and the ram

Never try to make them into pets.

Realize, as a producer, that a ram is going to have different behavior than a ewe, particularly during the breeding season. They are important to your program and you need to learn to live with them. They also need to learn to live with you, correctly, in a nonaggressive way or they need to be eliminated from your program.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Dwarven Warden

Their journey through the underworld could not be counted in days away from the sun and moon. They marched through tunnels of stone, many natural but there were marks from long ago digging. These were not old mines; they were tunnels for the purpose of travel, so they didn’t meander like tunnels of mines. Their way was lit with sun stones they carried strapped to their heads and chests.

These tunnels connected natural caverns. Carved by water these caves were vast, pools of water so still they almost seemed like glass. Stalactites and stalagmites rose like forests in the caves, sparling with water and singing with drips. There was only sightless crabs and fish in the pools, still enough to break their diet of dry rations. In some places they found mushrooms growing, and occasionally passed through caves infested with bats.

Occasionally Bgrim had to break their path with munitions. There were four kinds of munitions, flash grenades, fire bombs, breakers, and iron rocks. Flash grenades were a clay ball filled with a mixture of chemicals. They did little when smashed other than emitting a blinding light for several seconds. Against Orcs they were very effective, some Orcs died simply because of the light. Fire bombs made a torrent of fire that even water couldn’t quench; they were best thrown from a distance. Breakers were clay like substance that was usually lite with a fuse. It was usually used for a set explosion, but they were powerful. Iron rocks were a clay ball full of iron shards and explosives, the explosion not as big as the others by the shards did great damage.

Bgrim had come well supplied, but like most miners and sappers he lamented the use of the munitions. He hoarded what he could and used them sparingly.

As they traveled Bgrim taught them Daunish. Darin was amazed how close it was to Dwarvish, similar words and even the grammar was the same. He supposed Daunish was based a bit on Dwarvish since the Daunish had been close to them when they first emerged. Soon they were holding whole conversations in the language, though Darin and Donar were more proficient than Hakk.

“I should warn you the version of the language I know is a bit archaic,” Bgrim said using Daunish. They sat around a fire eating roasted blind fish, bland and tasteless. “I’m sure modern Daunish is different than this.”

“It is all we have,” Donar said speaking more slowly than Bgrim. “I’m starting to regret not listening to Pepper in the first place. This would be much easier with her along.”

“If she hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have killed Arnor,” Darin said. “Runi wouldn’t have called on him with the gate, and we wouldn’t have gotten a warning of what happened at Mímisbrunnr.”

“Yea but she could have… What’s the word?” Hakk asked trying to use Daunish. “Stayed?” He asked in Dwarvish.

Bgrim repeated the word in Daunish and Hakk muttered it to himself.

“Melanthios probably pushed her on,” Donar said. “It would have been a long-time facing trial.”

“It was even without her there,” Darin said. “Does anyone know how much further?”

“Another few leagues,” Donar answered. “I don’t know how long it has been.”

Darin just sighed and nodded. They marched on, through seemingly endless tunnels and caverns that seemed the same. Darin knew there could be great wonders of Nidavellir, caverns full of crystals so fine they were like snow, glowing pools as deep as oceans, or bottomless trenches that seemed as deep as the sky. None of that was here in these narrow tunnels.

At last signs that they were approaching the surface came.The light ahead seemed dim and weak, but it was a relief to Darin that they had at last come to the end of the tunnels. They came out of the tunnels to a gray dawn, the world gone gray with ash. The foothills were covered in a layer of ash, the air thick with the dust.

“Mímisbrunnr must have erupted,” Donar said looking out over the landscape.

“We must be thousands of leagues south of the eruption,” Darin objected.

“The winds can carry the ash that far,” Bgrim said. “But I doubt it has gone much further south than the moors. Once clear of the mountains the winds change towards the sea. We should be clear of this by the time we reach the lands of men. It won’t fall for more than ten days before it clears up.”

“How long have we traveled?” Hakk asked

“It’s been three weeks,” Bgrim said.

“How can you tell?” Darin asked. Bgrim pointed south east and Darin saw a few stars lingering through a break in the clouds.

“The evening star is east of the True Cross,” Bgrim said.

“Astronomy, ancient languages, is there anything you don’t study?” Darin asked. Bgrim only shrugged as if to say he studied everything. They set off then into the ash clouds, tying cloths over their noses and mouths.

It took them another week to even clear the foothills, trudging through the ash. They saw no sign of Pepper, but Darin wasn’t even sure if they had emerged in the same area she had passed through. She would have taken a more familiar path, heading towards her home. Darin didn’t even know which direction that was in.

He glanced back at the snow caped mountains but could see little through the dark clouds of ash. Lightning flickered in those dark clouds, and sometimes Darin saw the passage of greater sylphs in the clouds.

Looking out over the ash covered hills Darin was beginning to lose all hope of ever seeing Pepper again. He had lived his whole life in the mountains, in Nidavellir where as far as one could see was the other wall. From mountain tops he could see as far as the horizon and the towering shapes of peeks. Yet here with nothing, but the hills and even flatter ground of the moors before them Darin was seeing how vast the world really was.

There were Nine Kingdoms of men, if Pepper wasn’t in Daun she was in lands Darin had never even imagined. He stood on a hilltop looking out over the moors covered in ash and feeling hopeless.

“We’ll find her one day,” Donar said standing next to him. “I know how you’re feeling right now Darin, we’ll find her.”

“You know I’ve never missed anyone as much as I’ve missed her,” Darin said shaking his head. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” Donar said. “If I did maybe life would be easier.”

Darin only sighed and walked down the hill. They reached the moors and continued south over the hills. No one knew where they were going, just to keep heading south until they saw something. The ash had stopped falling and the air cleared to be replaced with a steady wet drizzle that soaked everything. The mists of the moors were as thick as the ash clouds had been but were so wet, they were almost like rain. There was no path to follow until at last they found what seemed to be a shepherd’s path. Walking the path, they made better time through the miserable weather.

One day at last they saw a person. A man stood on a hill top, wearing a sheepskin cloak against the sleety rain. A herd of sheep grazed before him, a dog at his side. The sheepdog barked at their approach, but the man calmed him with a gesture. Walking up to him Darin found the man stood a good head and shoulders over them. He had a red plaited beard, his skin brown and eyes green.

“Sos the tales be true,” he said amazed when they were a respectable distance from him. “Greetins men o the mountains.”

“Greetins shepherd,” Donar said with a bow. He spoke slowly in the Daunish, obviously choosing his words carefully. “My name is Donar of the Emir clan; these are my companions Darin, Hakk, and Bgrim.”

“I be Dara,” the man said bowing his head slightly. “I heard that dwarves might be comin down from the mountains, looks like it were true. Did ye ken what caused that ash cloud?”

“The eruption of Mímisbrunnr,” Donar answered. “A fire mountain far to the north. Has the ash traveled this far?”

“Nowt but I had ta give up grazin mine flock in the northern pastures,” Dara answered. “The ash ‘ll kill a sheep in just few days ifn they get close ta it. Word spread real fast bout it.”

“What else have you heard?” Darin asked wondering if Pepper were responsible for these tales.

“That yer people be at war with dark creatures n they might come south,” Dara answered. “N ta prepare fer war.”

“What you heard was true,” Donar said. “You must keep watch.”

“Where did you hear these tales from?” Darin asked wondering if Pepper had passed through here.

“Mine neighbor,” Dara answered. “N he from his, that be how news spreads here.”

“What of Orna?” Darin asked having remembered Pepper introduced herself with that name.

“Orna be an old clan,” Dara said as he scratched his beard. “A post used ta be east o here called that after the clan. I heard a fire burned it n the moors fer leagues. Most were sayin it were just lightnin but I heard un tale say it were a dragon.”

“A dragon burned those lands,” Donar said. “We know the full tale of it. We’d trade the tale for directions.”

“I’ll give ye directions fer free friend,” Dara said shaking his head. “But fer such a tale I’d say a meal was warranted. Head on down the path there til ye come ta a fork, take the left n ye’ll come ta mine home. I have ta round up the sheep.”

“You don’t need to cut their grazing short,” Bgrim said and Dara smiled.

“In this weather it baint hurt ta go home a bit early now en then,” he answered and whistled to his dog. As Dara went about gathering his sheep the dwarves walked back down to the path. When they came to the fork as he said they went left. Just around a hillock they came to a small stone cottage with a pen for the sheep on one side. It seemed Dara lived alone because when they knocked there was no answer.

They went into the cabin to find it lit by coals in the hearth. They shed their boots, packs, and coats, and added logs to the fire. Darin looked around the cabin and wondered if Pepper’s home had been like this cabin. Drying herbs hung from the rafters filling the room with earthy scents, the floor covered in loose rushes. The only furniture was a table with two benches, a box like bed, and some chests against one wall. The other wall was dominated by a great tapestry.

Darin walked over to examine it, seeing it was a tale of some kind. Most of the scene was an image of the moors, elk and caribou running free over the green hills. In the middle of the moors there was a great tree laden with red fruit, a man standing beneath its boughs. Runes were written in the border around the tapestry, but Darin could not read them.

Dara tramped in, kicking off his muddy boots and slipping on a pair of sheepskin slippers. He shed his sheepskin cloak as well and then saw Darin by the tapestry.

“Mine ma wove that,” he said smiling. “She wanted ta think she were related ta Afal.”

“Afal?” Darin asked, not sure if that were a name or a word he did not know.

“Aye, he be a legend o ours,” Dara said as he went to the fire. “Said ta bring apple trees ta the moors.”

Darin glanced at the tapestry one last time before joining the others by the fire. Dara went about filling a pot with barley and water from respected containers made of clay. He set it over the fire and then started cutting up some mutton, onions, and carrots. When Donar tried to help he waved him off.

“I be the host, I baint mind,” Dara said, and they left him to the cooking. He added the meat and vegetables to the pot and reached up to take down some herbs and added them as well. He set the pot to boil over the fire and took out a kettle which he filled from a barrel and set it to heat as well.

“Food ‘ll be on in bout a mark,” he said and sat at the table. “Should be enough time fer a tale.”

“I’m not sure of that,” Donar said and started to tell their tale. He kept it minimal for the sake of time, but also because he lacked some words to tell the tale. Bgrim helped, and even Dara helped give the occasional word when Donar fell short. Supper was ready by the time they finished and Dara went about serving the food. The soup was hot and tasty with the added herbs, and Dara had a supply of rye bread to go along with it. The hot cider wasn’t much to Darin’s liking, a bit too sweet for his taste but he drank it to be polite.

“That be quite a tale indeed,” Dara said impressed after they ate. “It be the stuff o legends ta be sure.”

“Legends are for the dead,” Hakk said darkly.

“Aye,” Dara said grinning a little. “Sos ye need ta travel south?”

“Yes but of course we have no particular destination,” Donar said. “It would be easiest if we could find the green witch Pepper or her sister.”

“Well Orna be west o here,” Dara said. “On foot it might take ye a fortnight ta reach it ifn ye lucky.”

“How long is that?” Donar asked unfamiliar with the word.

“Four n ten days,” Dara answered. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” Darin said shocked. They could hardly waste that much time traveling so far and only west not south. He felt his heart fall to know they couldn’t go after Pepper.

“How far to where we could buy ponies?” Donar asked and Darin brightened at the idea. If they could ride that would make things easier.

“Well the post be only a days walk away,” Dara answered. “But ye baint able ta buy horses there. I’d say ye’d have ta go ta Dun Glas fer that. It’d be another two days ifn ye marched hard past the post.”

“Three days,” Donar said nodding. “That works much better.”

“I heard that un o the libraries collapsed n the Duke took charge o the tablets,” Dara said. “Ye might find information in those tablets.”

“We can’t read Daunish,” Donar said shaking his head. “We can barely speak it.”

“Aye I could tell,” Dara said and Darin wondered if they had been mispronouncing things. “There’ll be plenty who can read fer ye.”

“Thank you,” Donar said. “You’ve been a great help.”

“Glad I could aid ye with yer warning,” Dara said. “I’ll keep watch fer those Orcs.”

“You might want to set up a warning system,” Bgrim said. “A beacon or horns, it’ll be meaningless to keep watch if you can’t warn others in time.”

“Aye that be true,” Dara said as he nodded and then seemed to think of something. “Can ye speak the trade tongue?”

“No, we barely speak Daunish,” Donar answered.

“That be what I kenned,” Dara said. “Daunish be little used outside o Daun, n it be dyin too, few in the south speak it as much as we in the north. The trade tongue be spoken more in most places, ye’ll need ta learn it.”

“Did he just say Daunish isn’t spoken much?” Hakk asked in Dwarvish and they nodded. Hakk swore choicely, Darin feeling much the same.

“Where can we learn it?” Donar asked seeming tired.

“The Rhodin speak it best,” Dara answered. “I baint sure how they be with Daunish, most probably ken it well sos ye can learn the trade tongue. The Rhodin be the wanderin peoples o the kingdoms, baint ever settle down nowhere. Ye’ll ken em by their colorful wagons n strange eyes.”

“What are wagons?” Donar asked. “I’m not familiar with that word.”

“Like a house with wheels,” Dara answered. “The Rhodin live their lives on the road. Might be ye can hitch a ride with em too. They’d be yer best guides ta the kingdoms.”

“Thank you,” Donar said sounding relieved with this piece of information. “We know little about the lands of men.”

“I baint ken much either,” Dara said sheepishly. “Just what I learned in school a bit. We Daunish baint care much bout the other kingdoms out here in the corner o the world. I be sure there be things ye’ll need ta ken but I baint be sure what those be.”

“We can ask the Rhodin advice,” Donar assured him. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“Ifn ye be sure,” Dara said. “Ye should get some rest; ye’ve had a long journey.”

Darin’s head was aching from following Dara’s speech, but at the same time he wanted to know more. Not just about their path a head, but of the world Pepper had lived in. As everyone lay out before the fire, Dara handing out a few pillows and wool blankets, he sat by the tapestry and stared up at it. Dara left him be and he fell asleep before the tapestry.

Maybe it was the tapestry because that night Darin dreamed. He followed misty paths sleepily and wandered past the burning tree unaware of what led him on. Voices reached him, and he looked out into a great gathering of the Phay.

“So, you have joined us at last Oberon,” Titania said glaring at the Elven King.

“I came as swiftly as I could Titania,” Oberon answered, his tone just as clipped. “I had to gather my kin. So, we are to march?”

“When the answer arrives, we shall,” Mab said, and Oberon looked at her narrowly.

“When?” Oberon said looking displeased. “It has not come? The second ripple may sound soon, how can we march through the aether churned up as it is without the answer to the song?”

“We will not have to go without it,” Mab answered. “Eileen will answer.”

“Have you looked through the aether to see what life your daughter leads Mab?” Oberon asked. “How do you know she will even be able to answer?”

“I know it Oberon,” Mab answered coldly.

“Return to your kin Oberon,” Titania said. “There is greater trouble with the Dullahan.”

The two queens then turned away from Oberon to speak with the Banshee Queen, little groups of their own forming around kings and queens of the lost court. Only Darin noticed Oberon looking around at the court as if musing. He looked to his people seeming worried and troubled. He then glared over at Titania and Mab, seeming to come to a decision. He turned away and no one, not even his own kin, noticed him slip away back into the woods.

He was woken by a gust of cold air as Dara went to tend to his sheep in the morning. Darin sat up rubbing his eyes, his dream fading away to a disquieting feeling in the back of his heart. Dara had lit the fire again and set breakfast on the table. The others woke as well and there were grumbles as they got up to eat. Darin was a bit disappointed to find only porridge, bread, and apples for breakfast. He knew not to complain, Dara was breaking into his winter reserves to feed them.

When they finished, they began gathering their things and left. Dara was by his sheep pen counting his herd it seemed. His dog barked and wagged his tail in greeting, Dara turning to them.

“Ye off now?” Dara said.

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Donar said with a bow. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you were rather welcoming to us considering our people used to raid yours.”

Dara stared at them a moment and then laughed.

“Might have had hard feelins if it weren’t fer that old shepherd’s tale,” Dara said. “It’s an old yarn but un o my favorites. I’ll tell ye it short like, it goes that a shepherdess had her sheep out ta pasture when dwarven raiders came. She cried fer them nowt ta take her, but they just shouted back they only wanted her sheep nowt her. Well the lass misunderstood, n so told her kin n all that’ll listen that dwarves look fer sheep fer their wives.”

Darin stared at him as Dara laughed, feeling august that such a tale went around the Daunish. Then Bgrim began to laugh too, Donar joined him, and then Darin and Hakk. The laughter died down and the air cleared.

“That tale be common enough n a favorite,” Dara said. “Sos I be sorry, but yer kin became a bit o a joke.”

“If it means we are welcome I am willing to accept it,” Donar said grinning. “But to be clear we have no intentions for your sheep Dara.”

“Thank ye,” Dara said grinning back at him. “May the road ahead turn in yer favor.”

“May your days be bright,” Donar answered and Dara bowed to them. They waved farewell and followed the path back to the road.

Walking south they made good time over the road. They saw other long houses in the distance as they traveled and stone fences in places and other little signs of men. As the day wore on they saw farmers off in their fields or other shepherds with their flocks. The men in the distance noticed them and waved a greeting, but none came closer. Darin wondered if at a distance they looked any different than men. They were dressed much different than the Daunish though, armor and tunics and cloaks. They wore more blues and grays rather than the earthy greens and browns of the Daunish.

They passed more and more men as they traveled others using the road as well. Soon they were joining traffic down through the hills, earning strange looks from their fellow travelers. Some were riding horses or oxen drawn carts, but there were others who were on foot like them. Most walked past them with curious glances or an occasional greeting but kept going.

They passed a woman with a child in her arms, another clinging to her apron strings. She carried a basket laden with apples. Her child, a little girl, gaped at them as they walked by and Darin heard her exclaim to her mother when they passed.

“We’re an oddity it seems,” Donar said grinning.

“And what will the rest of the races of men make of us?” Darin asked worried. Donar’s grin faded and he did not answer.

Traffic only increased as they walked and at last, they crested a rise and looked down on Dun Glas. A squat stone keep stood in the middle of a gathering of long houses. The streets were wide and paved; there was no wall around the outer village. Darin couldn’t help but look at the defense of the place and found it was sorely lacking. The long houses had been left vulnerable, and such wide streets made invasion far too easy. The keep looked a little defensible, but Darin saw ivy growing on the walls. If vegetation had been permitted to take root, he worried what else had been left to neglect.  

Walking into the village whispers followed them, people pointing and watching them amazed. The day was growing late already, He Who Burns low in the sky against the hills.

“I think I saw some of those colorful wagons,” Bgrim said. “Should we go there or seek lodging?”

“We should go to the keep,” Donar answered. “We need to speak to this Duke first.”

“Will he meet with us?” Darin asked but Donar didn’t answer. He marched off towards the keep and they followed. Arriving at the gate to the keep they found two men on guard outside. Darin eyed them and frowned. Their stances suggested laziness and one didn’t even wear a helm. They watched the dwarves as they approached, both seemed surprised.

“I am Donar Chief of the Emir clan,” Donar said before either could speak. “I am here with a message from the King of the Dwarves for the Duke.”

The two men gaped at him until the older of the two closed his mouth and turned to the younger.

“Go fetch the seneschal,” the older guard ordered the younger. The man nodded and ran off through the gate. Darin looked up the gate; it didn’t look like it had been closed in ages. There was rust on the iron bindings and the wood was riddled with holes from insects. He saw cobwebs in the kill holes above. The only solace of this fortress was that the stone had been cut and fitted perfectly without mortar, these walls were ancient but in far better condition than the gate.

The guard returned with an old man in tow, seeming excited. The old man was dressed in simple work clothes, his frame thin and wiry. He was frowning at the young guard until he saw Donar and his jaw dropped in surprise.

“Sol’s balls so it’s true,” he muttered. “Ah, welcome milord to Dun Glas,” he said with a bit more formality. “I am the Duke’s seneschal Finley.”

“I am Donar Chief of the Emir clan, this is my captain Darin, and my men Bgrim and Hakk. I need to speak with the Duke immediately, I bring grave news.”

“Yes of course this way,” Finley said bowing again.

“We’re getting quite a warm welcome considering our people used to raid theirs,” Bgrim said in Dwarvish as they followed the seneschal.

“I expect these people have always been this way even then,” Hakk said eyeing the ramparts of the walls once they were through the keep. “They don’t seem very warlike.”

“Or they have had peace far too long,” Donar replied. Finley seemed to be listening but of course couldn’t understand them. Darin suspected it was the latter; Pepper hadn’t seemed like much of a warrior when they had met though she had the spirit.  

They walked on through the courtyard and into the keep proper, passing servants who all stopped to stare. Finley led them through several hallways until they reached the main hall. It was a modest sized room, one side dominated by a fireplace. Once again Darin’s eye was drawn to a great tapestry, but this one was of much better quality than the one in Dara’s home. This one depicted a battle that looked like it had taken place at this keep. They combatants were both men, the defenders flying a flag of a silver moon and the attackers a boar.

Darin looked away from the tapestry to a table where a family sat. Five children ranging from late teens to youths no older than six sat at the table looking at them with wide green eyes. A woman, her hair bound by a scarf sat to the right of a man of obvious standing. The Duke was ageing, his red hair streaked with gray, and he sported a beard and mustache. He green eyes looked just as surprised as his children, but he recovered sooner.

“Milord this is Donar Chief of the Emir clan,” Finley said. “He says he has a message from his king. Lord Donar this is Ryan Glas Duke of Dun Glas and his wife the Lady Mona.”

“I am honored,” Donar said with a bow.

“I am honored to host the men of the mountains,” the Duke said as he stood and approached them. He bowed his green eyes sharp as he examined them. “Please sit, what is this message that brings you so far from your lands?”

They sat and Donar told their story and warning, yet Glas did not seem as surprised as Darin would have expected.

“During the solstice a blind man came to me and warned me that the Phay mean to march,” the Duke said at last. “I see his prediction holds water.”

“A blind man?” Donar said puzzled.

“Ian of the Orna,” Glas answered.

“Ian, that was his name,” Darin said, and everyone turned to him. “Ian is the witch Pepper’s brother-in-law.”

“Ah, well he also told me of the dragon and how his wife and her twin killed it,” Glas said. “That part I didn’t really believe until just now.”

“We heard there might be information from a library that collapsed,” Donar said and Glas looked even more surprised.

“It is strange that you bring that up as well,” Glas said. “The library had been inside an old Phay mound called Barrow Múr. People came to me saying it had collapsed due to an evil spirit. They brought the tablets and asked me to take them in.”

“Why is it strange we bring it up?” Donar asked.

“Well the people that brought the tablets claim that Ian of the Orna sent them,” Glas said. “They said he and his wife had lived into the Barrow until the collapse.”

“Did they say what became of them after?” Darin asked. Pepper would have followed her sister to the ends of the earth, where Bailey went Pepper would follow.

“South is all I heard,” Glas said. “I had hoped to speak to them more; we’ve seen strange signs and have wondered what they mean.”

“Signs?” Donar asked.

“There have been omens that the Phay will march,” Glas’ wife said. “We no longer ken them but many of the sheepherders and common folk still remember them. They have come to us telling us these omens concerned.

“Animals have been migrating more, seen in strange places. A farmer said an elk wandered his fields where no wild animal had dare tread in ages. On some nights if it is clear enough the Northern Lights have been seen in the night sky. Storms have raged to the west of us over the sea, and I’ve heard snow has been falling early to the north.”

“These are all signs of or kin planning to march,” Darin answered. “Times are changing and the aether has been stirred, this can mean dire consequences for your people. I would like to look at the library so that we may begin our search.”

“Of course come this way,” Glas said and stood about to lead them out when the doors to the halls burst open. A tall man dressed in cream colored robes bordered with gold walked in. He was blonde and fair of skin, much different than the earthy Daunish.

“Milord Glas!” the man bellowed looking furious. He said something more in a language Darin did not know, advancing on Glas. When he saw Darin and the dwarves he stopped dead. He made a hand sign before him, shouting something in another language.

“Sect Lucien!” The duke shouted, and the man stopped. He continued on in the other language, the other man paling visibly. The argument continued, and Darin felt a bit like an intruder for not understanding what was going on. He looked at Mona, but she was tight lipped and pale. The children shrank back in their chairs watching their father in both awe and fear.

At last the foreign man shouted something, making another hand sign before storming out. Glas collapsed into his chair puffing for breath and covering his eyes with shaking hands.

“What just happened?” Hakk asked in Daunish, breaking the silence.

“I just defied the gods,” Glas said numbly, “And excommunicated my lands from the Sect.”

“The Sect?” Donar asked.

“I forgot you would not know of them,” Glas said smiling wryly as he looked back at them. “The Sect believe in the Gods of Aeri, a sect of sky gods. They are Regarian mostly, though other Kingdoms like Xin believe strongly in the gods. Daun had never been touched much by the Sect until after the King’s Wars. Part of Daun’s surrender involved an agreement to let the Sect build here and preach. Taxes are owed to them as well, and some of their laws are to be enforced. It has been like this for twenty years now.

“They do not believe in the Phay, in fact they have been trying to destroy the old ways and beliefs. There had been witch hunts in the past, and our schools discouraged to teach old Daunish ways and even language. Many cannot read the old Daunish texts anymore.

“Sect Lucien did not agree with me to let you into our keep. He said you were liars and frauds, that you are not of the race of Phay and simply men posing as dwarves to trick us. He did not believe the story about the Orcs, the dragon, or the march. He said if I was going to listen to you then me and my people would be bereft of the gods and their aid.”

“Do their gods have power?” Donar asked and the look on Glas’ face seemed genuinely shocked.

“Not that I have seen,” Glas said chuckling a bit. “They preach belief, but I’ve only heard a few stories of miracles cast by saints. The Sect talks more of peace in the afterlife if you believe. There are no worldly benefits to believing in the Gods of Aeri only a happy afterlife in Empyria. The mages however, now they have real power that is to be feared.”

“So, you have lost nothing from him,” Darin said, deciding to put aside the mention of mages.

“Yes and no,” Glas said. “I have lost nothing since the Sect here only has a few men and they are leaving as we speak. But they will carry word south. We will not be able to call on aid from the south.”

“Which may cost you dearly if your king cannot summon an army big enough,” Donar said and Glas nodded grimly.

“Which is very likely. It could take Rawn months to gather the men, he has dismantled much of Daun’s army and scattered them all over Daun. We are a sparsely populated kingdom, getting word alone to all those needed will take months even with messenger birds. And with winter coming…”

“I am sorry our presence has cost you the aid of the south,” Darin said.

“It cost us nothing,” Glas said grimly. “Had you not warned us the Orcs would fall on us like lambs to the slaughter. I would bet they would have torn Daun to shreds by the time the Regarians even lifted their heads from their gilded platers of food as they stuff…”

Mona put a hand on Glas’ and he stood suddenly shaking with rage. Darin looked at him stunned. Who were these Regarians to inspire such rage? He wondered what he had missed in the Sect Lucien’s tirade. He also realized this was what Pepper must have felt like in Agartha; thrown into a world of politics she knew nothing about.

“I will take you to the library,” Mona said as she stood.

“He wanted to smash the tablets,” Glas said angrily over his shoulder. “Sect Lucien said they contained false gods that may lead us astray. I had been stalling him…”

“They are safe now,” Mona said, but Glas just shook his head and began to pace. Mona sighed wearily and led them out. One of the children, a girl about mid-teens followed. She said something to her mother in the other language as they walked. Mona answered shortly and sighed again looking sour.

“What is it?” Donar asked and she looked at him sadly.

“My daughter wants to know what we have been talking about,” Mona answered as they walked. “She cannot speak Daunish.” The look on her face was terrible and Darin felt sad for her.

“She can learn,” Darin said. “Speaking of languages, we only speak Daunish. The shepherd we spoke to said this would be a problem if we left Daun, he mentioned a trade tongue. He said we should speak to the Rhodin about learning it.”

“We speak the trade tongue,” Mona answered. “That is what Lucien was speaking in earlier and all my daughter knows how to speak. Perhaps there will be time to teach you some before you leave.”

“A guide would be appreciated,” Darin said. “The guide could teach us as we travel.”

“That is a good idea,” Mona said as she smiled. They had reached another door, having gone down several stairs into the cellars. She opened the door to a room lit by torches on the wall. In this light they saw a great many clay tablets strewn around the room on tables and shelves. They were in no order and looked to be scattered around haphazardly.

“I’ve been trying to sort through them and seek some kind of order,” Mona said with a weary sigh. “The farmers that saved them from the barrow said they had no time to keep them in any order. And the transport of them here caused even more disarray.”

“They must have taken great care with them,” Donar said. “None look damaged.”

“That is good Daunish ceramic for you,” Mona said with pride. “These tablets will last longer than stone.”

“I won’t doubt you on that,” Donar said to humor her. “Have you seen any mention of the Phay as you went through these?”

“Yes, but so far just tales,” Mona answered. “Nothing of the march.”

“Pepper’s sister had access to these for some time,” Darin said in Dwarvish. “Maybe she discovered something and that is why she went south.”

“If so, it will take us weeks to sort through these to find what she found unless we’re lucky,” Donar answered.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Darin said. “If she found something it would be better to track Bailey and Pepper down and find out what they know.”

“I agree, but we should let Mona continue to look through these for what Bailey might have found,” Donar said. “She can send us a message with a messenger bird.”

He repeated the request to Mona and she nodded.

“I will get some other servants to help,” she said. “Those that still know the old tongue.”

“Thank you,” Donar said.

“Come, you must be weary from your journey and you have an even longer one ahead,” Mona said. “I will see you to our guest chambers. Tomorrow we will look into getting you ready for your journey and finding you a guide.”

“Thank you, milady,” Donar said, adapting to the new titles.

Mona bowed her head to him and led them out of the dusty cellar. They trooped back up the steps and Darin noticed her daughter staring at them. Again, she turned to her mother and said something in the trade tongue. This time Mona answered, and Darin tried to listen to pick out words and context. It was hard; the trade tongue was much different than Daunish and Dwarvish. They reached some rooms in the west tower that looked out over the moors. It was a beautiful view, the sun setting so the hills burned in the west and to the east the hills were dark indigo and violet.

“I will have supper sent up to you,” Mona said. “I hope that is alright, there are a lot of things we need to take care of and I am sure you are weary.”

“That is fine,” Donar said. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

Mona smiled winningly and performed a strange bow, bending her knees as she took her skirts in one hand and raised them. Her daughter blushed and performed the same bow before following her mother out of the room. The rooms were well furnished with wood beds, tables, chairs, and cabinets. The beds seemed huge, three of them set up along one wall. Hakk set a fire in the hearth and soon the room was lit by the cheery glow.

A servant girl showed up shortly, pushing a little cart with tin covered trays. She set out the food on the table, glancing at them shyly. She gave a quick bow before scurrying from the room leaving the cart. They set into the food, finding a roast bird, root vegetables, bread, soft cheese, and apples.

They fell into silence and finished their meal. They finished and went to bed; Hakk and Bgrim in one, Darin in another, and Donar had his own.

Darin woke near dawn and by the time he dressed the others were awake as well. They trooped out together and out into the courtyard again. The keep was now a buzz of activity as servants went about on chores and tasks, Darin spotting weapons and stone being carried around. They saw the Duke Glas taking to his seneschal and walked over to them. They were speaking in the trade tongue, but the Duke stopped when he saw them.

“Greetings milords,” Glas said with a bow of his head. “I hope we did not wake you.”

“No, I see you are getting ready for war,” Donar said and Glas nodded.

“We could use some advice if that wouldn’t be too much of a bother,” Glas said. “My wife said she is looking for a guide for you now, and ponies that would be suited for you.”

“That is much appreciated,” Donar said. “I would be glad to offer you what aid you may need.”

Soon the dwarves were going around the keep giving what advice they could to the men, and women, on how to fortify their home. Hakk was soon giving instructions on sword play while Bgrim helped repair the gates and walls.

“Could you teach them to make munitions?” Darin asked Bgrim in Dwarvish.

“Too dangerous,” Bgrim said shaking his head. “It takes years to learn how to mix the powders right, and they have none of the proper materials.”

Darin sighed, munitions could really help the Daunish in their fight, but Bgrim was right, it was too dangerous. Darin left to join Donar to talk strategies and evacuation with the Duke in his quarters.

“We cannot just send people south without knowing when the Orcs will strike,” he said leaning over a map of Daun. “I would like to but flooding the south with refugees prematurely would only strain their resources and drain ours.”

“Still you need to prepare your people to flee,” Donar said. “Make them understand that they must be prepared. Have them pack supply bags that they keep by their doors so that when the time comes, they are ready to leave in moments rather than spend time trying to pack their belongings.”

“Yes, that is true,” Glas said nodding. “I have heard many families in times of war failed to leave their homes fast enough as they were burdened with goods to taking too long to pack their things. They were killed in their homes.”

“See that does not happen here,” Donar said. “We have made war with these creatures before. They do not show mercy to the weak, they will not hesitate to kill even a child. In fact, they take pleasure in doing so.”

Glas looked pale and Darin could tell he wanted to say something but feared doing so.

“Go on milord,” Darin said Glas jumping a little. “Say what is on your mind.”

“No, you have a duty to your people and your king,” Glas said shaking his head.

“And you have aided us in this duty,” Donar said. “If you would ask of us something then ask. We will listen.”

Glas took a shaking breath and met Donar’s gaze.

“I fear I have blundered worse by sending the Sect off. He will tell King Rawn about this and Rawn will never send his army north. There are thousands of reasons for him not to send the armies north, and only a hint of possibility that danger is coming. I fear it may be too much, but I ask of you will you go to Dun Eald and speak to our king?”

Donar hesitated, obviously torn. They had seen how easily the Orcs could decimate this land; they knew what they were capable of. Yet could they risk the time it would take to delay in Dun Eald? Glas saw his delay and went down on his knees.

“Please, for my people I ask you this,” Glas said and Donar reached out to him pulling him back to his feet.

“There is no need of that,” Donar said. “I will talk to your king.”

Glas nodded too overcome to speak. He covered his eyes and Darin was sure he was weeping. At last he mastered himself and turned back to them.

“King Dylan Rawn was raised by a Regarian Sect named Elisha Drakon after his father died in the King’s Wars,” Glas said. “His mother Epona had run the kingdom for a time while her son matured, she ruled with a fair hand and level head. When Dylan came of age, he took the throne from her and only then did we learn of how much the Sect had twisted him. He is much like a Regarian in her manors and belief that he is better than all his subjects. The kingdom has been slipping ever since he took the throne.

“I will say this simply, his taxes have impoverished most of Daun, he dismantled much of our armies, and left the edges of his kingdom to go fallow. When disaster falls, he gives no aid and leaves his people to fend for themselves. We lesser lords have done what we can, but clerics of the Sect were sent to all our homes like spies. I have heard of a count in the south that was hanged for treason, his Sect had told the king of his hording food for the poor.

“Some of the younger lords have agreed with Dylan’s ideals and earned themselves tax breaks and shelter. These Regarian tactics work in the south, I have no idea how, but they do, yet they are not working in Daun. We don’t have the resources to just pool them all in one house and make one man stupidly wealthy.”

“It sounds like this Sect Elisha was sent to make sure Daun could never rise up against the Regarian king,” Donar said. The clans had warred before, so they were not unfamiliar with low handed tactics.

“Yes, but who could predict that Orcs would come from the north?” Glas said.

“No one until it is too late,” Donar answered. They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Glas called in whoever was there. Mona entered with another man behind her. The man was Daunish, his red hair long and braided many ways though he wore no beard. He wore a bright green and blue outfit and carried a strange instrument on his back.

“Milords may I introduce Ronan the minstrel,” Mona said with a grin. She introduced them to the minstrel who smiled at them. “Ronan has agreed to be your guide Lord Donar.”

“Brid is going to be so sad that you’re sending him away,” Glas said with a wry grin.

“It is time she got her head out of the clouds,” Mona said frowning. “She mopes after him like a puppy and I have had enough of it. No offense intended Ronan, but I will not have my daughter marry a minstrel.”

“None taken milady,” Ronan answered. “As I have said she is too young, and my voice is fair.” His voice was fair; even when he spoke his voice had a thrum of music to it.

“I hope that is not the only reason you have chosen him milady,” Donar said with false brevity.

“I speak Daunish, the trade tongue, Markian, Hyrian, and even a bit of Regarian,” Ronan answered. “I have traveled as far as Warren and Hólmsted and know the routes to take beyond.”

“Minstrels are traveling musicians,” Mona said. “Ronan was from here until his feet set to wandering, he returned only last year.”

“And already I feel the road calling my name,” Ronan said. “It is in my blood I suppose. I am partly Rhodin, my father, though I do not bear the eyes so will never be a true Rhodin.”

“Then we gladly accept your aid,” Donar said and Ronan nodded to him.

The rest of the day was spent in preparation and the next they were ready to leave. Mona had not found them ponies but donkeys, dark brown stocky creatures that stood shorter than a horse. Their saddle bags were bulging with supplies, Mona had been more than true to her word. When Darin saw the horse Ronan would be riding, he was glad to have the donkeys. He was riding a huge horse that looked like it could step on them.

“I can’t believe you’re riding that monster,” Bgrim said to Ronan as the man checked his saddle and girth. Ronan laughed, never lifting his eyes from his task.

“Old Doka here has been with me for a while now. She’s a warmblood, not nearly as big as some of those draft horses you see on the farms around here. Still she is a bit bigger in the withers than some Xinian hot blood.”

Before Bgrim could say anything in response Glas came up to bid them farewell.

“I once again thank you for all you have done,” Glas said.

“It is not a time to be making enemies,” Donar said to him. “I hope that all this caution is gone to waste, and my people slaughter the Orcs to the last so that you and yours never have to face them.”

“I wish they did not have to face such a fate alone,” Glas said sadly. “Swift travels to you and may you find what you seek.”

“Thank you, milord,” Donar said and they bowed to each other. They mounted and rode off, but they were not alone as they rode. A crowd had gathered before the keep and as they rode away, the people they passed cheered. Some even began to throw flowers, withered lavender or heather as those were the only flowers they had so late in the season. Darin noticed Ronan hamming it up and waving, and a there were a few girls giving him teary eyed goodbyes. He rolled his eyes as they rode out of the village and onto the road.

“What instrument is that you carry?” Bgrim asked as they rode. Ronan smiled and pulled the instrument off his back and from the case he carried it in. It resembled a fiddle, but the neck was framed and joined by two arms making the instrument into an oval shape. Ronan took out a bow and began to play a fine tune on the instrument, then switched to plucking the strings in a faster jig.

“It is called a crwth,” Ronan answered when he finished. “It is a Daunish harp or fiddle I suppose. Many southerners find it a bit odd the way the neck is joined to the body. It makes it a bit sturdier for travel though.”

“You play it well,” Bgrim said.

“Perhaps we could start on those language lessons,” Donar said wryly and Ronan nodded. He proved to be a better teacher than Bgrim, starting first with epithets, oaths, and raunchy language that had Hakk howling with laughter. He kept up with the flow of words, almost seeming a poet in some of his choice of words.

Travel seemed to go by faster with Ronan along, both because he knew the roads so well and his occasional song that lifted their moods. They passed through more villages along the way, Ronan earning their keep at inns by playing or telling tales. They got stares from many of the villagers and when they could they passed along their warning of war. Many took the news stoically, some didn’t seem to believe them, and others hurried home fearfully.

Nine days after leaving Dun Glas they arrived at Dun Eald. Darin looked at the city of seven hills impressed and disheartened. It was beautiful but once again he saw how vulnerable it was with its wide streets and few walls. The keep on top of the hill was the only defensible structure, and again it looked poorly maintained. As they rode into the city Darin could smell something on the wind that made him sneeze.

They rode through the streets and came upon a courtyard full of people. Darin’s jaw dropped as he saw the great holly, he had never seen a tree so large in his life. He could see thousands of wild kin in the branches, both gnomes and sylphs that hid in the spiny leaves. Guards stood around the tree preventing people from getting close, but many came to stare at the great tree.

“This wasn’t here before,” Ronan said, his eyes wide. “And I came through Dun Eald not a year back, this tree looks ancient.”

“It was made by Elder Magic,” Donar said. “But that is all I can tell.”

“How?” Darin said in awe.

“By fire n air.” They jumped at the new voice and turned. Standing by them seeming tiny from their saddles was a little old woman. “Come, there be much ta be said betwixt us.”

“Who are you?” Darin asked.

“Grandmother Meredydd,” the woman answered. “I be guardian now ta Viradios n a Green Witch. Ye be Donar chief o the Emir clan.”

“How did you…” Donar reached for his sword but Meredydd started to walk away. Grumbling they dismounted and led their donkeys after the mysterious old witch into the streets of Dun Eald.  

[josephkitchen0]

When Limping is Not a Sign of Sheep Foot Rot

By Laurie Ball-Gisch – Don’t you just love how sheep keep teaching us what we never knew we needed to know? The past lambing season was one in which I got an advanced education in “Sheep Feet 101.” Thankfully (and knock on wood) we have not had sheep foot rot on the farm. For that I am extremely grateful. And even though this article is about limping sheep, I am not going to discuss sheep foot rot, foot scald, white line disease or sheep bloat. Those are sheep illnesses you can easily read about in any books that cover basic sheep information. Here I want to share foot problems that you don’t find easily in the standard shepherd manuals.

Wounds

Last spring I discovered a two-week-old ram lamb limping, holding a front foot up in the air and walking on the remaining three feet. Actually, he was able to run quite fast on those remaining three legs and for the next week, I felt pretty foolish running around daily, trying to corner and catch such a small three-legged lamb that could still outrun and outsmart me!

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Even multiple cases of limping in a flock may not be from sheep foot rot, foot scald, or wounds.

When I was finally able to catch him, I carefully checked his foot (leg and shoulder, also) and could not see anything obviously wrong with the foot. The next day he was still limping, so I checked again (once again having to give chase). It wasn’t until the fourth day of checking the foot that I discovered pus oozing between his toes. I was able to squeeze the pus and discovered a small puncture wound between the hoof wall and the pad of his hoof. It had taken several days for the wound to fester enough that I could finally see what was wrong.

The way that we ended up treating this was to squeeze the pus out and then wash the wound out well with warm water and soap. Then I applied some Neosporin and sprayed on some “liquid bandage” to try to seal the wound from contamination. After a couple of coats of the “liquid (spray-on) bandage”, we also sprayed a coat of “blue kote” to further protect the foot. Additionally we gave the lamb PenG for five days to make sure that the infection did not go systemic. We repeated this for several more days and at the end of about a week he was able to put weight on his foot again. He hasn’t limped since and he’s now a stud in our ram pen.

Glands

Imagine my total surprise and dismay to walk out the day after first finding the limping ram lamb to discover a ewe lamb also limping and holding her foot up in the air! At that point I felt a bit of panic, and dismay since I’d not, in the previous five years of lambing, ever had to treat any lamb for an injured or problematic foot. However, when I picked up this lamb and ran my hand down the front of her leg, I discovered a large pus filled “sac” just between and at the top of (and in front of) where the toes of her foot meet. I had never seen anything like that and all I had to do was apply very minor pressure and the pus came squirting out, like squeezing a pimple. I took her inside and bathed her foot, applied some antibiotic and also treated her with PenG. I had no idea why her foot was infected.

I happened to be talking to a shepherdess friend that afternoon and mentioned my two limping lambs. When I described the second lamb’s foot, telling her that I had no clue what it was, she laughed at me and said, “don’t you know about the scent gland between the toes of sheep?” Well, now I do! And apparently it can get infected. The treatment I applied worked for the ewe lamb and in fact, she was not limping at all by the next day. Once the pressure was released and the scent “gland/canal” was cleaned out, she was fine.

Even multiple cases of limping in a flock may not be from sheep foot rot, foot scald, or wounds.

Another Case

A couple of weeks later I saw an adult ewe limping and she was also holding a front foot up in the air. I managed to catch her and sure enough, her “scent gland” was pus-filled. But at least now I knew what it was and how to treat it. It’s now nine months later (as I write this) and I haven’t had any other sheep limp since. Why three sheep in one short time period ended up having foot problems, I do not know. That will remain a mystery.

False Sheep Foot Rot

But recently I found a small collection of Successful Farming magazines from 1926-1927 in an antique shop. The magazines are great fun to read. The other night, as I was looking through one of the issues, an article titled “False Footrot of Sheep” caught my eye. The credit for the article was listed as Dr. A.X.A., Wisconsin. Imagine my surprise when I went on to read the following:

When sheep become very footsore they are not always affected with footrot. When but one or two sheep are severely lame, it may be that false footrot is the cause; but true footrot quickly affects an entire flock.

False footrot is the term applied to that diseased condition in which the lining membrane of the canal at the top of the hoof, which secretes lubricant to prevent friction between the toes, becomes infected so that pus forms and burrows.

The opening of the gland will be found in the hoof head, just above the juncture of the toes, and is surrounded by stiff, upstanding hairs. It sometimes happens that dirt works into the canal and causes irritation; then pus germs invade the affected part and the pus proceeds to undermine the horny wall and destroy the tissues.

The hoof-head in such cases becomes intensely swollen, hot and painful and the sheep carries the affected foot. When an examination is made, one finds an abscess containing stinking pus which first fills the glandular pouch and then forms a much larger sac.

If taken in time, cleansing of the part, free opening of the sac, liberation of pus and swabbing with a 2% solution of mercurochrome may soon be followed by healing and recovery. All loose, rotten or under-run horn must also be cut away.

In severe cases, amputation of a toe may be necessary. In ordinary cases, after treatment consists in keeping the wound well covered with a mixture of equal parts of powdered boric acid, oxide of zinc and subnitrate of bismuth, on sterilized cotton bound on the part with a clean, narrow bandage, and to be renewed daily. Give a sheep immediate treatment when lameness is noticed. (“Successful Farming,” November 1927, page 47).

I find it fascinating that this article about false sheep foot rot, written almost 80 years ago, addressed exactly what I dealt with this spring past. I have not run across any mention of this condition (or even the fact that sheep have a scent gland between their toes) in any of the numerous books on sheep husbandry that sit on my bookshelves. So in addition to the “living laboratory” and hands-on education that my sheep teach me, I find it compelling to read and learn from shepherds past and present who are raising sheep for profit and pleasure.

Originally published in sheep! September / October 2006 and regularly vetted for accuracy.

When Limping is Not a Sign of Sheep Foot Rot was originally posted by All About Chickens

[josephkitchen0]

When Limping is Not a Sign of Sheep Foot Rot

By Laurie Ball-Gisch – Don’t you just love how sheep keep teaching us what we never knew we needed to know? The past lambing season was one in which I got an advanced education in “Sheep Feet 101.” Thankfully (and knock on wood) we have not had sheep foot rot on the farm. For that I am extremely grateful. And even though this article is about limping sheep, I am not going to discuss sheep foot rot, foot scald, white line disease or sheep bloat. Those are sheep illnesses you can easily read about in any books that cover basic sheep information. Here I want to share foot problems that you don’t find easily in the standard shepherd manuals.

Wounds

Last spring I discovered a two-week-old ram lamb limping, holding a front foot up in the air and walking on the remaining three feet. Actually, he was able to run quite fast on those remaining three legs and for the next week, I felt pretty foolish running around daily, trying to corner and catch such a small three-legged lamb that could still outrun and outsmart me!

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Get tips and tricks for starting your new flock from our chicken experts. Download your FREE guide today! YES! I want this Free Guide »

Even multiple cases of limping in a flock may not be from sheep foot rot, foot scald, or wounds.

When I was finally able to catch him, I carefully checked his foot (leg and shoulder, also) and could not see anything obviously wrong with the foot. The next day he was still limping, so I checked again (once again having to give chase). It wasn’t until the fourth day of checking the foot that I discovered pus oozing between his toes. I was able to squeeze the pus and discovered a small puncture wound between the hoof wall and the pad of his hoof. It had taken several days for the wound to fester enough that I could finally see what was wrong.

The way that we ended up treating this was to squeeze the pus out and then wash the wound out well with warm water and soap. Then I applied some Neosporin and sprayed on some “liquid bandage” to try to seal the wound from contamination. After a couple of coats of the “liquid (spray-on) bandage”, we also sprayed a coat of “blue kote” to further protect the foot. Additionally we gave the lamb PenG for five days to make sure that the infection did not go systemic. We repeated this for several more days and at the end of about a week he was able to put weight on his foot again. He hasn’t limped since and he’s now a stud in our ram pen.

Glands

Imagine my total surprise and dismay to walk out the day after first finding the limping ram lamb to discover a ewe lamb also limping and holding her foot up in the air! At that point I felt a bit of panic, and dismay since I’d not, in the previous five years of lambing, ever had to treat any lamb for an injured or problematic foot. However, when I picked up this lamb and ran my hand down the front of her leg, I discovered a large pus filled “sac” just between and at the top of (and in front of) where the toes of her foot meet. I had never seen anything like that and all I had to do was apply very minor pressure and the pus came squirting out, like squeezing a pimple. I took her inside and bathed her foot, applied some antibiotic and also treated her with PenG. I had no idea why her foot was infected.

I happened to be talking to a shepherdess friend that afternoon and mentioned my two limping lambs. When I described the second lamb’s foot, telling her that I had no clue what it was, she laughed at me and said, “don’t you know about the scent gland between the toes of sheep?” Well, now I do! And apparently it can get infected. The treatment I applied worked for the ewe lamb and in fact, she was not limping at all by the next day. Once the pressure was released and the scent “gland/canal” was cleaned out, she was fine.

Even multiple cases of limping in a flock may not be from sheep foot rot, foot scald, or wounds.

Another Case

A couple of weeks later I saw an adult ewe limping and she was also holding a front foot up in the air. I managed to catch her and sure enough, her “scent gland” was pus-filled. But at least now I knew what it was and how to treat it. It’s now nine months later (as I write this) and I haven’t had any other sheep limp since. Why three sheep in one short time period ended up having foot problems, I do not know. That will remain a mystery.

False Sheep Foot Rot

But recently I found a small collection of Successful Farming magazines from 1926-1927 in an antique shop. The magazines are great fun to read. The other night, as I was looking through one of the issues, an article titled “False Footrot of Sheep” caught my eye. The credit for the article was listed as Dr. A.X.A., Wisconsin. Imagine my surprise when I went on to read the following:

When sheep become very footsore they are not always affected with footrot. When but one or two sheep are severely lame, it may be that false footrot is the cause; but true footrot quickly affects an entire flock.

False footrot is the term applied to that diseased condition in which the lining membrane of the canal at the top of the hoof, which secretes lubricant to prevent friction between the toes, becomes infected so that pus forms and burrows.

The opening of the gland will be found in the hoof head, just above the juncture of the toes, and is surrounded by stiff, upstanding hairs. It sometimes happens that dirt works into the canal and causes irritation; then pus germs invade the affected part and the pus proceeds to undermine the horny wall and destroy the tissues.

The hoof-head in such cases becomes intensely swollen, hot and painful and the sheep carries the affected foot. When an examination is made, one finds an abscess containing stinking pus which first fills the glandular pouch and then forms a much larger sac.

If taken in time, cleansing of the part, free opening of the sac, liberation of pus and swabbing with a 2% solution of mercurochrome may soon be followed by healing and recovery. All loose, rotten or under-run horn must also be cut away.

In severe cases, amputation of a toe may be necessary. In ordinary cases, after treatment consists in keeping the wound well covered with a mixture of equal parts of powdered boric acid, oxide of zinc and subnitrate of bismuth, on sterilized cotton bound on the part with a clean, narrow bandage, and to be renewed daily. Give a sheep immediate treatment when lameness is noticed. (“Successful Farming,” November 1927, page 47).

I find it fascinating that this article about false sheep foot rot, written almost 80 years ago, addressed exactly what I dealt with this spring past. I have not run across any mention of this condition (or even the fact that sheep have a scent gland between their toes) in any of the numerous books on sheep husbandry that sit on my bookshelves. So in addition to the “living laboratory” and hands-on education that my sheep teach me, I find it compelling to read and learn from shepherds past and present who are raising sheep for profit and pleasure.

Originally published in sheep! September / October 2006 and regularly vetted for accuracy.

When Limping is Not a Sign of Sheep Foot Rot was originally posted by All About Chickens

[josephkitchen0]

When Limping is Not a Sign of Sheep Foot Rot

By Laurie Ball-Gisch – Don’t you just love how sheep keep teaching us what we never knew we needed to know? The past lambing season was one in which I got an advanced education in “Sheep Feet 101.” Thankfully (and knock on wood) we have not had sheep foot rot on the farm. For that I am extremely grateful. And even though this article is about limping sheep, I am not going to discuss sheep foot rot, foot scald, white line disease or sheep bloat. Those are sheep illnesses you can easily read about in any books that cover basic sheep information. Here I want to share foot problems that you don’t find easily in the standard shepherd manuals.

Wounds

Last spring I discovered a two-week-old ram lamb limping, holding a front foot up in the air and walking on the remaining three feet. Actually, he was able to run quite fast on those remaining three legs and for the next week, I felt pretty foolish running around daily, trying to corner and catch such a small three-legged lamb that could still outrun and outsmart me!

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Even old pros say they got dozens of tips for their flocks by reading this guide. YES! I want this Free Guide »

Even multiple cases of limping in a flock may not be from sheep foot rot, foot scald, or wounds.

When I was finally able to catch him, I carefully checked his foot (leg and shoulder, also) and could not see anything obviously wrong with the foot. The next day he was still limping, so I checked again (once again having to give chase). It wasn’t until the fourth day of checking the foot that I discovered pus oozing between his toes. I was able to squeeze the pus and discovered a small puncture wound between the hoof wall and the pad of his hoof. It had taken several days for the wound to fester enough that I could finally see what was wrong.

The way that we ended up treating this was to squeeze the pus out and then wash the wound out well with warm water and soap. Then I applied some Neosporin and sprayed on some “liquid bandage” to try to seal the wound from contamination. After a couple of coats of the “liquid (spray-on) bandage”, we also sprayed a coat of “blue kote” to further protect the foot. Additionally we gave the lamb PenG for five days to make sure that the infection did not go systemic. We repeated this for several more days and at the end of about a week he was able to put weight on his foot again. He hasn’t limped since and he’s now a stud in our ram pen.

Glands

Imagine my total surprise and dismay to walk out the day after first finding the limping ram lamb to discover a ewe lamb also limping and holding her foot up in the air! At that point I felt a bit of panic, and dismay since I’d not, in the previous five years of lambing, ever had to treat any lamb for an injured or problematic foot. However, when I picked up this lamb and ran my hand down the front of her leg, I discovered a large pus filled “sac” just between and at the top of (and in front of) where the toes of her foot meet. I had never seen anything like that and all I had to do was apply very minor pressure and the pus came squirting out, like squeezing a pimple. I took her inside and bathed her foot, applied some antibiotic and also treated her with PenG. I had no idea why her foot was infected.

I happened to be talking to a shepherdess friend that afternoon and mentioned my two limping lambs. When I described the second lamb’s foot, telling her that I had no clue what it was, she laughed at me and said, “don’t you know about the scent gland between the toes of sheep?” Well, now I do! And apparently it can get infected. The treatment I applied worked for the ewe lamb and in fact, she was not limping at all by the next day. Once the pressure was released and the scent “gland/canal” was cleaned out, she was fine.

Even multiple cases of limping in a flock may not be from sheep foot rot, foot scald, or wounds.

Another Case

A couple of weeks later I saw an adult ewe limping and she was also holding a front foot up in the air. I managed to catch her and sure enough, her “scent gland” was pus-filled. But at least now I knew what it was and how to treat it. It’s now nine months later (as I write this) and I haven’t had any other sheep limp since. Why three sheep in one short time period ended up having foot problems, I do not know. That will remain a mystery.

False Sheep Foot Rot

But recently I found a small collection of Successful Farming magazines from 1926-1927 in an antique shop. The magazines are great fun to read. The other night, as I was looking through one of the issues, an article titled “False Footrot of Sheep” caught my eye. The credit for the article was listed as Dr. A.X.A., Wisconsin. Imagine my surprise when I went on to read the following:

When sheep become very footsore they are not always affected with footrot. When but one or two sheep are severely lame, it may be that false footrot is the cause; but true footrot quickly affects an entire flock.

False footrot is the term applied to that diseased condition in which the lining membrane of the canal at the top of the hoof, which secretes lubricant to prevent friction between the toes, becomes infected so that pus forms and burrows.

The opening of the gland will be found in the hoof head, just above the juncture of the toes, and is surrounded by stiff, upstanding hairs. It sometimes happens that dirt works into the canal and causes irritation; then pus germs invade the affected part and the pus proceeds to undermine the horny wall and destroy the tissues.

The hoof-head in such cases becomes intensely swollen, hot and painful and the sheep carries the affected foot. When an examination is made, one finds an abscess containing stinking pus which first fills the glandular pouch and then forms a much larger sac.

If taken in time, cleansing of the part, free opening of the sac, liberation of pus and swabbing with a 2% solution of mercurochrome may soon be followed by healing and recovery. All loose, rotten or under-run horn must also be cut away.

In severe cases, amputation of a toe may be necessary. In ordinary cases, after treatment consists in keeping the wound well covered with a mixture of equal parts of powdered boric acid, oxide of zinc and subnitrate of bismuth, on sterilized cotton bound on the part with a clean, narrow bandage, and to be renewed daily. Give a sheep immediate treatment when lameness is noticed. (“Successful Farming,” November 1927, page 47).

I find it fascinating that this article about false sheep foot rot, written almost 80 years ago, addressed exactly what I dealt with this spring past. I have not run across any mention of this condition (or even the fact that sheep have a scent gland between their toes) in any of the numerous books on sheep husbandry that sit on my bookshelves. So in addition to the “living laboratory” and hands-on education that my sheep teach me, I find it compelling to read and learn from shepherds past and present who are raising sheep for profit and pleasure.

Originally published in sheep! September / October 2006 and regularly vetted for accuracy.

When Limping is Not a Sign of Sheep Foot Rot was originally posted by All About Chickens