{se} a shepherd's touch

Luka

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade

Luka has resorted to counting the sheep every mile or so, because despite the rope, their fleece is rather slick and they are rather prone to wandering. He won't admit he's just too soft-hearted to tighten the rope too firmly around their necks, so he just continues to count. As he pauses, he turns back and performs this strange new ritual in his head; four, five...five? Shit.

Right as he whirls around, keen hunter eyes scanning for tracks denoting which direction the errant sixth sheep had wandered off to, a voice calls through the mist, close enough to startle him and have him reaching for his dagger. Pausing only when the words themselves register, his dark brows furrow as an aggrieved sigh leaves him.

"Yes, that would be mine," he calls back, the squelch of feet and hooves in mud clearly marking his approach as the other five gaggle along behind him in a cloud of muck and curls. The sight of a raised bow isn't a surprise, as he lifts his own empty hand away from the hilt of his dagger in the universal sign of being unarmed. "Are you close enough to grab it without scaring it off?" He really doesn't want to have to chase it again.

And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid