The Sheppard Who Cried Wolfgang

There once was an unfortunate Sheppard by the name of Wolfgang. He haunted and ruled the sheep herds in the plains of Selecdor from only his tenth birthday. He arrived atop of the towering ranges already physically adept for a child and bearing a seemingly transparent purpose - he felt he was born for his cause. This young Wolfgang teeming with optimism vowed to dedicate his life to the maintenance of the Kingdoms plains to ensure the economic and powerful ascension of his village which sat not far down the valley. He would guard this land - and his people would prosper. Wolfgang vowed to do them and his Queen proud. He sat on the highest rock at the highest point of the mountains at dawn every morning and screamed at the top of his lungs – “This I’ll defend! This I’ll defend!” He felt his role was incredibly important.

But as years of solitude living in his modest stable in the hills wore on, as did demeanour. Grim occupational hazards began taking its toll, and pessimism and negativity became seeding into his core set of values. Little or next to no recognition from the Queens village was given to Wolfgang for his tireless work up there on the mountainous plains, and as a consequence his dwindling morale began to compromise his once ambitious ways.

As his mental stability declined, his physical appearance also began to slump alongside with it. His face, once cherubic and handsome was now gnarly and crevassed. His soft skin was now akin to sour leather, and the traditional Queens Country Sheppard loin cloths he used to don proudly were once tight and brilliant - alas now saggy and lacklustre. Sad Wolfgang began to inherit the same spirit that was strewn across the desolate countryside which provided his continual surroundings.

At dawn one morning Wolfgang decided to save his breath, for the first time in twenty years. He just stared down at the Queen’s bustling village – he realised how long had gone by since he had been back. He strangely cursed at the mere sight of it. His ponder had changed to that not of the subtle envied eyes of yesteryear, but now with a glare of newfound alienation.

*

His only human contact from the village was from a group of peasants who trekked up the ranges to gather the matured sheep and cows ready to slaughter for food and trade. It usually was a weekly pick-up for the peasants, but inconsistencies on Wolfgang’s end began to develop where the peasants would arrive with Wolfgang or his herd were nowhere to be seen. The peasants then would have to return home empty-handed, much to the dismay of the diplomats of the village. The peasant’s failed objectives began to take its toll on the scheduling for future trips.

Wolfgang on these occasions had either deliberately taken the herd a few hours east to avoid them, or he was simply hiding from the peasants in the forest devising plans to ambush them with only the petty intention of giving them the biggest fright of their lives. He never went through with it though, because as much as the hypothetical entertained him, he never wanted anyone of his people to be mad at him. Wolfgang wanted to see how much they needed him, to see if there was any reaction to his AWOL’s. His ego for years had been deprived to the point bone-dryness, and recognition seemed to be the antidote that would free his ever-darkening solitary mind.

The order-givers at the village took a punt after a few weeks and re-sent the peasants. Wolfgang didn’t relent and just sat in the bushes with his herd waiting for his visitors. After a few hours he was watching the four peasants ride up on their horses. “Look at them, they don’t have a clue”. He thought to himself with dark, glassed-over eyes. He didn’t either, in terms of making sense of what his mind was conjuring up.

The three peasants’ unbeknowingly searched the high-plains to no avail. Wolfgang could see them shaking their heads in frustration because his absence. The peasants decided to rest for awhile before heading back to the village bearing the news of another unsuccessful journey, and chose their spot in the adjacent field to the small forest where Wolfgang was hiding. Wolfgang peered on through the trees only about twenty metres away.

“There is something definitely wrong with that boy.” exclaimed the oldest peasant. “Just because he’s up here don’t mean he can stop working like the rest of us.”

“Hear here. Too much time up these parts got that boy not right upstairs.” Second peasant said finishing with soft taps to his head with his finger.

 “That strange Wolfgang weren’t right to begin with - you gotta know something going tits-up when you send an unstable ten-year-old up these mountains... Probably that deranged mother of his played a part too.” Third peasant replied solemnly.

“Poor son of a...”

“YOU PILLOCKS! I CAN HEAR EVERY WORD YOUR SAYING!” Wolfgang came screaming out of the woods with his herd stick firmly in grip, and a dark rage engraved in his face.

The peasants hadn’t even a chance to move before the charge from Wolfgang was enforced by a brutal connection from an almighty swing that made the second peasants head crack. He fell instantly dead to the ground. The oldest peasant reached for his small carving knife in defence, but by then Wolfgang’s second swing was already in motion, and it cracked down on the old man through the meat of the stick like a hammer - fractured skull, another instant death. The last peasant was up and moving around with quick agility anticipating Wolfgang’s next potentially deadly blow. Wolfgang stared him down with wild eyes and made a deliberate move left to force the peasant to parry right, close to where the oldest victim lay. In one fell swoop, Wolfgang in one hand picked up the dead peasants carving knife, and made a surging lunge towards the faltering third peasant and plunged the blade deep into his neck. Unlike the previous two, he took a few seconds to cough and sputter blood before he rolled over and perished.

Wolfgang stood panting at the scene with both his weapons still in hand. Reality hadn’t set in because his body was still pumping pure adrenaline. He had never felt so alive. Maybe this was his new reality. His mind started to click back into practicality-mode. “I have to get rid of the bodies.” it said.

It took Wolfgang around three hours to bury the bodies in the most barren, uninhabited valley on the mountain. He kept their inventory at the site of the bloodshed. He returned to it close to sunset and rummaged through it. He wasn’t expecting much, three lowly peasants’ day packs weren’t exactly going to be a treasure trove. But then again he wasn’t expecting one of them to pull a knife out at him, either. The first two bags produced nothing but a few canteens of water and half loafs of stale bread, but in the third he pulled out a fairly glorious looking horn. “Must have been in case of emergencies” he thought with dark irony. He gave it a restricted test, and it worked quite well. Then his next thought hit him like a lightning bolt, and he just stood there with a grim smile. “Perfect.” He said quite smugly.

Over the next couple of days, Wolfgang played perfect Sheppard, fulfilling all his duties with a subdued efficiency that only an earnest Sheppard could do. He was just laying the groundwork, - he had figured that the village’s tactic to enquire about the three missing peasants wouldn’t necessarily be a confrontational one, and that the possibility of fringe surveillance to spot any guilty activity was far more probable.

Wolfgang was right. The village had their reeve watch his actions for a week and report back with any strange behaviour. The reeve returned to the village with almost nothing to conclude apart from the fact that Wolfgang looked quite a bit different from the last time he saw him all those years ago, and that it was most likely the peasants fell down the Norwest bluffing cliff face - where many travellers had made the same doomed shortcut. Wolfgang seemed to be in the clear.

A few weeks had since gone by after the killings, and Wolfgang was feeling pretty confident about the non-consequence of the situation, which needless to say - didn’t really have Wolfgang with much of a guilty conscience about it either - quite the contrary actually. He enjoyed venting that dark anger brewing inside him out on the peasants, and he even started letting in the odd fanatical thought of doing it again. He knew the odds of getting away with another murder would be close to impossible, so he just let his dark isolated mind play out what he planned to do next instead.

*

Wolfgang waited for a completely windless day, which up in the mountains is quite a rare occurrence. With his tongue, he wet his index every morning until the one day the moisture remained. “Finally” he remarked. His plans were in motion.

At the top of the mountain, he sat at the highest rock, on the highest peak like he used to every morning, and softly pressed the gold-rimmed horn on to his pursed lips and inhaled. He blew the oxygen from every orifice in his body into the horn, and it shook the mountains, hillsides, and the plains flowing alongside away with its extravagant piercing call that echoed far beyond the village and into the overlapping counties. The sound abruptly awoke every living creature far and wide, and translated to the men in the village that there was a pending episode of foul play somewhere amidst their Queen’s land.

Wolfgang sensed an amazing sense of exuding power after the blowing of the horn. He just became the sole creator of instilling extensive unrest. “All because of me!” he thought gleefully. He ran down the mountain to watch the next events unfold with a giddy little skip in his step.

The cavalry that started making the trip up the mountains only half an hour since the horn was heard included all their best men. They were equipped with swords, sabres, muskets, carbines, and newly acquired Hawken rifles made in recent trades. They would have had even more artillery if Wolfgang had been meeting his quotas with the herds - leather trading was proving very lucrative for the village among the other colonies. It took the cavalry just over an hour to venture up the Selecdor valley to Wolfgang’s mountain.

The Commander of the cavalry saw Wolfgang sitting on a large rock almost nonchalant. “You there Sheppard!” he barked. “Did you release the sound of the horn?”

“Why yes sir, I did.” replied Wolfgang casually getting up from the rock.

“Well, good God! What is it then?!” demanded the thick-moustached Commander.

Wolfgang paused.

“...Wolves! I thought I saw a gang of wolves coming around the...”Wolfgang tried to reply feebly.

“WOLVES!?” There was clear disappointment in his thundering tone. “Well whereabouts boy? Did you see where the pack went?”

“Well...not really sir...” Wolfgang tried to sell his story only to be cut off again.

“BLOOD-Y-HELL! We the Queens Army, rush up here on a whim for some FOOLISH Sheppard who saw some imaginary wolves!” The commander was looking at his right hand men almost comically, but mostly in an angered disgust. The entire cavalry was staring down at this little timid, inconvenient Sheppard.

Wolfgang didn’t take his comments gracefully.

“The next time you sound that horn, you make it dead sure you’ve seen something boy!” the Commander finished booming. He ordered two trackers to survey the valley, and then spun his horse around aggressively and led his men back down the mountain.

*

Wolfgang watched the cavalry ride down the plains until they were little dots in the landscape. His petty little plan had got him in trouble and undoubtedly ruined his already diminished reputation. To make matters worse he started thinking that this morning’s antics were going to ignite debates and theories as to his involvement in the missing peasants. He was spiralling into a terribly negative mental rut. Then a moment of absolute absurdity hit him. But as he was under such a thick facade of false redemption; he hadn’t the perspective to realise it.

His sick, sad idea of false redemption was another issuing of the horn. The Commander’s scathing words of stupidity about Wolfgang were beginning to make complete sense. Wolfgang strode up to the highest rock, on the highest peak, with poorest of judgement. He picked up the shiny gold-rimmed horn and without any hesitation, blew the hardest he could.

The sound seemed even louder than before. It truly pounded across the land.

The message sent from the Commander’s ear to its brain forced the oxygen in his lungs to expel. The entire cavalry stopped dead in their tracks.

“What do we do Sir? It could just be that stupid Sheppard dicking us around again.” asked Right Hand Man.

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?!” snapped the Commander. “He gets the benefit of the doubt! Let’s go, quickly!” They cantered at full speed back up the mountain.

Wolfgang sat back on his rock watching the dots reversing and returning. He had no strategy. He just wanted another chance to make matters sit more favourably for him, or rather, his ego. He just remained sitting peacefully and watched the men on their horses racing back to him, as it was the only satisfaction he was going to receive from the second coming.

“They’re all here because of me.” He thought.

*

As soon as the Commander got a peek over the ridge that gave visibility to where Wolfgang was sitting, he spat. He could see Wolfgang had flown another false flag. He saw red. The Commander kicked his spurs into his horse and rode so fast he separated himself from his crew.

“SHEPPARD BOY! What is your explanation for this?!” the Commander screamed.

“Well, sir, I swear the wolves came back again.” Wolfgang said in such a ridiculously unconvincing tone.

“They just came across the ridge about half an hour you left...”

BANG! BANG!

Wolfgang was stopped short again by the Commander, but this time by two quick-fire shots from the carbine to his temple and chest. He died instantly.

“Annoying prick.” exclaimed the Commander.

The rest of the cavalry arrived.

“Sir?” queried Right Hand Man as he looked down at Wolfgang’s body.

“The boy was no good up here anymore men” he declared. “Even in future, if he were to ever tell the truth, nobody believes a liar.”