A voice with no mouth called out into the misty woods. It spoke without words; it uttered no sound. All the same, it had been heard.

"Another echo."

A man clad in a blue cloak walked through the forest. The morning fog made navigation by sight nearly impossible. Instead, he listened for the voices of echoes.

"Go! You have to go!"

The echoes had become more frequent recently. The man's destination lay less than a day's journey away, but the sudden increase in echoes with distressed voices concerned him.

"Has Hans' village been struck as well?" the man wondered aloud.

"The clan leaders! They will protect you!"

At last, the man had found the origin of the voice. The small orb of silver energy sat suspended in the air. Each time the voice spoke, the orb flickered. The man had to adjust his eyes to focus on the orb. Echoes weren't normally visible to the human eye, but druids could peer into an unseen world.

"Who's echo are you, little light?" The man reached out a hand and, as gently as possible, pulled the echo towards him. The light touched his palm. A memory entered his mind.

Chaos, panic, and confusion. A man hurried his family away from the sounds of shouting and clashing weapons.

"Run as fast as you can," the man instructed.

"Can we get to Lord Rhian before they catch up?" asked his wife.

With both determination and dread, the man responded. "I'll try to help the others slow them down. But…"

His wife bundled her two children in her arms. "We love you," she said simply.

The man drew his sword. "I love you all."

A painfully brief moment passed between husband and wife, between parent and child. One last shared moment for this small family. Fortunately for each parent, their children did not fully understand what would come next.

"Go!" the man shouted. He turned. His sword hand trembled, and he had to force his legs forward. "You have to go! The clan leaders; They will protect you!"

The man heard running footsteps behind him. His family had left. He wept, alone.

His emotions boiled inside of him.

There could be no doubt as to what would happen should he continue. He, a man who had only ever swung his father's sword once before, planned to fight the soldiers. His home, and the homes of his friends, burned before him.

He found a desperate strength to carry him forward. Charging toward the commotion, he held his sword high and bellowed out with anger, fury, and grief.

It only took a moment for the flying arrow to pierce his heart and cut his cry short. The man could not breathe. He fell to the ground.

The world turned dark.

The memory faded. As the world came back into focus and the sounds of distant fighting disappeared, the man cloaked in blue found himself weeping.

"Hans," he whispered.

Druids, like the man in blue, could sense echoes. As humans experienced powerful emotions, they produced echoes, apparitions that could not be seen by the average person.

The druid sank to his knees.

"Hans, Ida."

His fears grew. So many villages had been utterly destroyed already; did anything remain of Hans' village?

As a druid, the man had spent his life traveling from village to village, helping people who had been affected by malicious echoes. If left unchecked, echoes born of negative emotions could cause all manner of afflictions. They brought plague, famine, drought, madness, and even otherworldly beasts.

To counteract this, druids devoured malicious echoes. Consuming echoes could grant inhuman strength and even otherworldly abilities. Each devoured echo meant experiencing the same emotion that created it. The stronger the emotion, the greater the power granted.

Druids gained a fearful reverence because of this practice of devouring echoes, an invaluable service by terrifying means.

"Why?" The druid spoke barely above a whisper. "Why is this happening? Why are they targeting villages?" He knew his question would never receive an answer. Logically, he knew that. He asked anyway.

The echo slowly fell until it rested on the leaf-littered forest floor. It appeared so harmless, despite the agonizing memory it held.

A heavy sigh left the druid. He had to compose himself; his duty had not yet been performed. The druid picked up the echo once again.

"Sorry," he whispered to the echo. He wiped his eyes. "I wouldn't want you to see me like this after what you've been through."

The orb sat silently in the druid's hands.

"This will only take a moment." The druid brought the echo directly before his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

A moment passed as the druid held his breath. The world around him grew still, as if waiting.

The druid exhaled.

A silver light poured from his eyes as they opened. As the breath left him, light sprouted from either side of his brow. The light grew as he pushed air from his lungs, taking shape.

Two silver ram horns now shone in the darkness of the forest. The druid rose to his feet. He stood somewhere between human and inhuman, familiar and otherworldly.

From the druid's mouth came a silent language. He spoke without sound or noise, uttering words that could not be perceived with the human ear. Fae—living-yet-ethereal beings—spoke this language. They whispered it to the world, and the world obeyed. Druids channeled a portion of fae magic when they devoured echoes.

The druid murmured, and the echo began to grow in size and brightness until it became too large to hold. The druid lifted the echo into the air, whereupon it leapt from his palm.

"Baaa!"

The echo took form. A brilliant white sheep landed gracefully on the ground. It took in its surroundings, then happily trotted over to the druid.

"Hello, lamb." The druid knelt with open arms.

The sheep happily accepted the embrace.

Wool of echo sheep felt like summer clouds, warm and softer than anything. A hand practically glided through it.

"Lamb," the druid said, releasing the embrace. "What is your name?"

"Baaa!" replied the sheep.

The druid smiled, though he still felt the pain of the memory of Hans. This echo sheep still held that memory, but at least now the druid could feel even the slightest bit of comfort. Hans' family had escaped, and his bravery would not be forgotten.

"What a wonderful name." The druid stroked the sheep repeatedly. It always helped him to feel better. "I am a shepherd, though of a very strange kind. Will you join my flock?"

"Baaa!"

"Wonderful." He smiled. "My name is Hwrdd."

Hwrdd stood. "Now, let's go, my friend. I have to get to Hans' village by the end of the day."

"Baaa!" replied the sheep.

The shepherd began his trek through the misty woods, with the ghostly animal following close behind.

Autumn leaves had already begun to fall in great numbers. They carpeted the entire forest floor, a patchwork creation of nature. Dried and curled leaves rustled when a breeze sent them tumbling across the forest floor. The sound of them being crushed underfoot died before it could echo through the trees.

Only one set of footsteps could be heard, however. The ethereal sheep trotted silently behind its master. Its glowing hooves did not disturb a single leaf. Instead, its form passed through any minor obstacle; a protruding root here, a low-hanging branch there. All the while it stayed entirely focused on following the druid.

During these long walks, Hwrdd would often think to himself. The rhythmic crunch of brush and shrubbery grew monotonous quickly, and Hwrdd found himself alone quite often. Druids could expect a great deal of time alone. He had never enjoyed being alone.

"My friend," Hwrdd said after a short time. "Have you heard what's been going on recently?"

"Baaa!"

"Cathal has enjoyed a stretch of peace for longer than I have been alive. Eimsur, my master, remembers when this nation had allied with our neighbor, Skol, in fighting Aurofare."

"Baaa!"

Hwrdd nodded in agreement. "I suppose you wouldn't know those names. But those people—you could say they come from a pasture far away from here—have come to this land in great numbers." His shoulders sagged and he held his head in his hand. "They haven't come to graze, my friend. These people are here to destroy our pastures, our homes."

"Baaa!"

Hwrdd shook his head in dismay. "So many flocks have been lost. All of them utterly destroyed. I am traveling to meet another flock of mine, though I fear the worst."

An echo floated by.

The druid came to a stop and eyed the ball of light. His glowing ram horns pulsed gently, and the echo floated toward him.

"It is this that worries me."

Slowly, he reached out a hand and let the echo rest in his palm.

A man roused himself from his dizziness. The soldier, his enemy, had knocked him against the side of the house. The man grit his teeth and readied his sword as his assailant approached.

A cornered animal struck.

The man swung his blade with all his might, but the edge bit the surface of a shield. He could not reach his target; he could not sever the head of the invader. He grunted.

Pain, shock, blood.

No matter how much the man tried, this soldier had easily countered every attack. A soldier against a farmer. What hope did the man possibly stand against years of training?

Rage filled the heart of the wounded village man. Though the blade pierced his flesh, he could only process the face of the soldier. How he hated that face; that face that had cut down his son just moments before. His anger could not be quelled by pain.

A surprise strike. More blood splattered on the ground.

The man plunged his sword into the neck of the soldier between the gap in his armor.

Eyes wide, the soldier clawed at the villager's arm. He gurgled as blood filled his windpipe. On the ground, the limbs of the soldier twitched.

The man watched as the soldier died. He felt drained—of everything. His foot faltered, and he stumbled. With a hand, he caught himself on his knees. His blood soaked his clothing and the ground beneath him.

Avenged. He had avenged his family.

Cold. He felt so cold.

He had just killed a man. Who had it been again? Why did everything seem so slow? That roar of the fire. It grew quiet.

He couldn't hold himself up any longer.

Hwrdd released an unsteady breath. His entire body felt weak. The memory had only lasted a few moments, but the vivid sensation of blood loss and death struck him to his core. This memory would be staying with him for some time just like the last one and, he feared, every echo yet to come.

"Oh, my fluffy friend," Hwrdd said shakily, "that is exactly what I am worried about."

"Baaa!"

Hwrdd clenched a fist. With a number of deep breaths, he summoned some strength. "At least we can look forward to our little flock here expanding."

Uttering the silent voice once more, Hwrdd transformed the echo. In a moment, a second sheep had appeared.

"Maaa!" bleated the new sheep.

"Much better." Hwrdd smiled. "Hello, lamb, I am a shepherd, though of a special kind. Will you join our little flock here?"

"Maaa!"

"Wonderful."

Now, the horned shepherd set off with two ethereal companions. The new member of the flock possessed far more energy than the other. It eagerly hopped atop tree stumps and leapt over bushes, bleating happily along the way.

"My my," Hwrdd said as he watched the spirit run a few paces ahead, "you are quite the character."

The sheep stopped, then turned. It cheerfully ran up to Hwrdd and began pushing its head against his hand.

"Hungry for attention, are we?" He scratched the sheep's head. What soft, fluffy wool.

Now content, the new sheep trotted alongside its master.

"I had been telling Yan here—oh that's this quiet one," Hwrdd patted the first sheep on the head— "that there have been some terrible things going on lately."

The shepherd and his flock traveled through the misty woods in the quiet morning. Together, things felt much nicer. Sheep always enjoyed company.

The morning slowly gave way to day, and the mist of the woods dispersed. Sunlight filtered through branches in brilliant beams that bounced off the bright wool of the echo sheep. Branches swayed in passing breezes, a soft sound that filled the spaces between the cheerful bleats of the flock. Still, only Hwrdd's steps made any noise, keeping the forest quiet as the morning. Three more sheep joined Hwrdd on the trail to Hans' village. Each echo contained a memory of fear or death, and each sheep proved to be just the cheerful friend Hwrdd needed.

"Yan, Tean, Tether," Hwrdd mumbled to himself as he counted each sheep.

Hwrdd had never liked the idea of devouring echoes. Ever since the first time his master had taught him how to consume one, he thought it to be cruel. He often knew the people they had come from. He saw the painful and vulnerable moments that many would prefer be left unseen. People always felt ashamed of these moments when Hwrdd brought them up. They would shrink away from him if he approached. Sorrow seemed to do that to people.

"Mether…"

Eimsur had reassured him many times that echoes were nothing more than forms of energy. Gardeners pruned their plants to keep the garden healthy, and druids devoured bad echoes to keep the world healthy. Nobody could be considered cruel for performing their duty. These echoes could not be allowed to roam unchecked.

"Where's…" Hwrdd trailed off. "Pip!" he exclaimed as he found the fifth member of his flock.

The sheep had fallen behind by some distance. This one seemed intent on staring down the trail where they had come from. It kept turning around every few minutes.

"Pip, come along. Hans' village is just up ahead."

Upon hearing the beckoning, Pip the echo sheep turned and ambled towards its shepherd.

Hwrdd scratched Pip behind the ears. A small spark of a memory flitted through his mind.

The memory contained the confusion of a young child watching their father being left behind. Deep down, the child could sense that they would never see their father again.

"You have to keep up, Pip." Hwrdd looked at the second sheep he had created. "Tean, can you keep an eye on little Pip here?"

"Maaa!" replied Tean.

The afternoon wore on. At last, Hwrdd and his ghostly flock had reached the village too small to be given a proper name. Hans, the village leader, had settled there with this family before anyone else. Thus, Hwrdd had always called it "Hans' village."

Twice a year, Hwrdd visited this village. A handful of bad echoes could usually be found hanging around when he arrived. It only ever took an evening's work to clear the area. The few village children always loved to see the glowing echo sheep. Only a druid could actually touch the sheep, but the children tried to grab a handful of the fluffy wool.

People liked sheep. Hwrdd liked sheep. Talking about moments of grief, heartache, or even weakness made people uncomfortable and nervous. A druid needed to understand how bad echoes came to be so they could prevent future echoes from being made.

So, Hwrdd learned to shape echoes into sheep. He felt that memories, unhappy memories even, deserved to be cared for just as much as the people who had created them. Trying to forget shed tears didn't heal the wounds of the heart.

Hwrdd would sit down with villagers and talk about his beloved sheep.

"Oh, poor Mether here is so lethargic," Hwrdd would say to a suffering villager. "I wish I could do more for him. He was made from the memory of someone grieving over a lost loved one. I wish I could help that person. Then maybe Mether would feel better. Do you know anyone like that?" This usually got people to open up, to talk about their problems. It felt nice, helping people.

"I'm too late."

The flock had arrived at Hans' village.

Destroyed.

Everything had been destroyed.

Only the stone foundation of each house remained. Everything else had been burned to the ground. It couldn't have been too long ago that the fires had died out; a number of ashen piles still smoldered.

"I'm too late, again." Hwrdd leaned against a nearby tree for support. "Why? Why can't I do anything to help them?"

"B—Baaa!" came a weak bleat.

Hwrdd turned to face his flock. He counted.

"Where's Yan?"

"Baaa!"

Yan, the first sheep Hwrdd had made that day, had fallen behind. It stumbled toward the shepherd on shaking legs. Yan struggled, but its determination pressed it onward.

"Yan!" Hwrdd knelt down and stretched out his arms and caught the creature before it fell. "Oh, Yan. You held out longer than I expected. I'm sorry for pushing you so far."

"Ba!"

Hwrdd calmly, gently, stroked the sheep.

Yan had become transparent. Its once-glowing form now fluctuated in brightness. It grew dimmer by the moment.

"Thank you for traveling with me," Hwrdd said softly.

"Baaa!"

Hwrdd put a hand under Yan's head. "Shhh, just sleep now. Dream of warm pastures."

Slowly, Yan closed its eyes. Its light dulled. Moments passed.

Yan the sheep faded away.

"Goodbye, friend."

Echoes, even echoes made into sheep, only held so much energy. The bursts of strength most druids received from a devoured echo did not last forever. Hwrdd's sheep could only exist for so long. He knew that every friend he made would soon disappear, but he preferred that. Hwrdd would rather say goodbye a thousand times than do something that he thought harmed the people he knew.

Still, it hurt.

Tean, the second sheep, nudged at Hwrdd's hand.

The druid rubbed the head of the sheep. "Don't worry, Tean. Yan is in a better place, just not here." He stood up. "Come along, you four. There are other echoes, and other friends to welcome."

Hwrdd felt numb. He had to take a break.

About forty echo sheep meandered through the village streets. They would gawk at the signs of battle that still stained the ground and sides of houses before returning to their shepherd. Such grim marks did not phase echo sheep.

Fortunately, Hwrdd buried only 4 bodies. Hans, Kenneth, Malcolm, and Malcolm's son appeared to be the only casualties.

"Did they all get away safely?" Hwrdd asked quietly. He sat on the front steps of Malcolm's house, petting the head of a resting echo sheep. "With only the four…" He choked. "With only four dead, maybe the rest got away."

Hwrdd valued hope. Hope helped people to drive away sorrow and grief. He had always encouraged people to hold onto hope.

But hope did not mean foolishness.

Somewhere amongst the blurred memories of the many echoes Hwrdd could remember, images of soldiers dragging people away flashed through his mind. He didn't know how many, but he knew that at least some of the villagers had been captured.

"Oh, little lamb," Hwrdd said to the echo sheep at his side. "What does Aurofare want with all my friends? The great warriors and knights live in the cities with the clan leaders, not out here amongst the farmers and simple folk."

"Aaaa!"

The druid let out a long sigh. "Ransom? That's possible. I don't know how long the clan leaders would be able to fight if they knew that their people had a knife at their neck. A merciless and brutal tactic." Hwrdd looked around at the destroyed village. "But it's clear that they have no reservations about brutality."

"Naaa!" came a distant bleat.

Hwrdd looked up. "Borna?" He searched, but couldn't see the sheep.

"Naaa!"

"Where are you, Borna?" Getting to his feet, Hwrdd scanned the faces of the sheep he could see. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, the village became still. Every sheep halted in their tracks, watching their shepherd carefully. The druid waited. Wind blew through the ruins of the village, disturbing the dust and ash from the great piles around the houses. How lonely this place had become. Children used to run through the streets while men and women returned from the fields or forest having pleasant conversation with one another.

"Naaa!"

Hwrdd walked toward where he heard the suffering lamb. He motioned for the rest of the sheep to stay.

"Borna?"

He approached a house that remained mostly intact. This house had belonged to Kenneth and his wife Morna. The young couple joined the village only a few years ago at the recommendation of one of the clan leaders. Getting people to establish a community in this area had been important to Clan Adhair.

Hwrdd walked along the side of the building. A number of scorch marks had been burned into the wood, but it appeared stable. He couldn't imagine Morna wanting to move back to this place. Not after this.

"Naaa!"

The sound had come from the front of the house. Hwrdd rounded the corner to find Borna the sheep flat on its back. It perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. When it saw its shepherd, Borna tried futilely to roll over.

"Oh, Borna! What have you gotten yourself into?" Hwrdd strode up to the sheep. He grabbed one of its legs and pulled it onto its stomach.

Borna the sheep sat with its legs underneath it for a moment. It tried to stand up but stumbled forward.

Hwrdd caught the spirit before it could hit the ground. "Hold on there, little lamb. You have to rest for a moment, just like a normal sheep." He sat and stroked the sheep while it recovered. The wool felt as soft as ever. Of all the things in the world, Hwrdd would never tire of petting his echo sheep. "You know, Borna," he said aloud. "The other druids find it funny that I make sheep with the same weaknesses of normal sheep."

"Naaa!"

He smiled. "I suppose you're not terribly fond of it either." His smile faded. "I always wanted to be a shepherd. I wanted to care for all manner of sheep. I wanted to feed them, shear them, watch over them…take care of them. A normal life." He sighed heavily. "But I am a druid. I can never have a flock of real sheep to care for. My duty, for the rest of my life, is to rid Cathal of echoes. I can't be anything other than what I am."

Borna looked up at the druid. Its blank and lifeless eyes never moved in their sockets.

"Oh lamb, I still care about you. You're just as important to me as any sheep could be. All of my precious echo sheep are wonderful."

The sheep did not make a noise. It sat, quietly. The form of the specter shimmered, and the memory that created it flowed through Hwrdd's mind.

"Morna!" Kenneth called. "Hurry up! We don't have time!"

Morna dropped the heavy rug. "Are you sure this is the best we can do?! Just leaving—"

Kenneth grabbed his wife's wrist. "Hwrdd is due to arrive soon. Chances are better with him than with us." He threw open the door and led Morna out of the house. In his other hand he carried a simple woodcutting ax.

Morna pulled the door shut behind them and locked it.

A gruff shout came from the center of the village.

The young couple glanced over at the sound.

A soldier dressed in gold-trimmed blue armor shouted commands from atop a horse. He gave no hint of emotion from his stony face as he commanded Malcolm's son to be cut down.

The young man cried in pain.

Silence followed.

A shout cut through the clamor. Hans charged the commander with sword in hand.

The commander turned his head toward the noise. He waved his hand, and an arrow buried itself in Hans' chest.

"Hans!" Morna cried.

Kenneth watched in horror as the commander's gaze fell upon them. The world slowed, and his heart pounded in his ears. That emotionless expression. Those cold and unfeeling eyes. Kenneth felt as though he had come face to face with some terrible monster that wore the skin of a man.

Then, the monster acted. He stopped a group of passing soldiers.

"Over there!" the commander shouted as he pointed at Kenneth and Morna. "Deal with those two before they escape."

Kenneth ran, pulling Morna with him.

"But Hans!"

"Hans is dead!" Mad panic consumed Kenneth. Only survival concerned him now. "We have to—"

A sickening crunch cut his words short.

"Kenneth!"

Protruding from Kenneth's chest, the tip of a javelin dripped blood. He fell to the ground.

Morna tried to pull him along.

"G-go!" Kenneth choked. "You—" he heaved "h-have— to." His vision blurred, his voice failed. The world turned black.

The memory faded.

Hwrdd exhaled and covered his face with both hands. "Kenneth," he said softly. He ran his hands through his hair. Watching yet another friend be murdered clawed at Hwrdd's heart. It stung just as painfully as the first memory of the day.

"Naaa!" called Borna the sheep from beside the door to the house.

Hwrdd rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "Right. Coming." He approached the sheep and gave it a quick pet before reaching for the door handle.

The door itself had been split across the middle at just about shoulder height.

"A soldier must have tried to shoulder the door open." Hwrdd pushed on the door. It didn't budge. He looked down at Borna. "Are you sure it's important for me to get in here?"

"Naaa!" confirmed Borna. The ghostly sheep butted its head against the door in an attempt to help.

"Okay then. On three." Hwrdd planted his feet and took a deep breath. "One."

Borna lowered and prepared to charge.

"Two."

Hwrdd tensed his body, ready for the impact.

"Three!"

Throwing their weight against the wood, the druid and his ethereal companion broke down the door. They both fell forward as the door gave way, tumbling onto the cold stone floor.

"Ouch." Hwrdd's shoulder throbbed painfully. "Are you all right?"

Borna shakily got to its feet. It stumbled for a moment.

"Just rest a moment. The dizziness will pass." Hwrdd stood and rubbed his back. "Could have sworn they had a big rug here. Was hoping to land on that instead of the hard stone." He paused for a moment, remembering something.

To the left stood a wooden table and chairs. Various herbs, plants, and dried meat hung on the walls. To the right was a bed with a large chest at the foot.

Hwrdd looked to the corner of the room. The large rug Hwrdd had been expecting to land on sat away from its normal location.

Borna hopped toward the rug and began pawing at it.

"Naaa!"

Hwrdd remembered Morna doing something with this rug in the memory. He yanked it away from the wall which sent Borna the sheep rolling across the ground.

"Oops. Sorry, little lamb."

Borna quickly stood back up. It didn't hesitate to start pawing at the ground again.

Looking again, Hwrdd realized there had been something underneath. A wooden trap door had been hidden by the rug.

"Kenneth, Morna, what were you two trying to hide? And why entrust it to me?" Hwrdd had seen Kenneth use this cellar door only once before. He had completely forgotten about it until now.

Crouching down, he grabbed the latch and hoisted open the trapdoor. Borna immediately leapt into the cellar.

"Slow down, lamb!"

Hwrdd lowered himself into the trapdoor. A chill air rolled its way across his face as he looked around the tiny cellar, small enough for him to touch both walls where he stood.

Just a step away sat a small basket covered in blankets. Borna had settled down next to it.

"Borna…" Hwrdd said, anxiety rising. "Don't tell me…"

"Naaa!"

Slowly, Hwrdd knelt. With shaking hands he reached for the blanket that covered the basket. He pulled it away.

In the dimming sunlight that could still make its way down into the cellar, Hwrdd could see the shimmering eyes.

"Kenneth. Morna. This is what you were hiding?"

A baby stared back at the druid. Its large blue eyes squinted against the sudden light.

"I… I didn't even know they were expecting a…"

Borna stood. The little sheep peered down at the silent baby. "Naaa!" it bleated.

Hwrdd watched with astonishment as the baby reached out toward Borna and touched the sheep's snout.

"How are you able to touch Borna, little one?" Hwrdd watched in shock as the baby patted Borna's nose. "I have never seen a normal person touch one of my sheep before. How…" He shook his head in amazement.

Borna looked up at Hwrdd. "Naaa!"

"You're right. We should get this little one out of here." Hwrdd slowly and gently lifted the baby. He made sure to keep the child wrapped in the blankets. "I can't stay around here if I'm going to be taking care of you."

The baby made no noise as Hwrdd climbed out of the cellar with one arm.

Borna leapt up behind the druid.

"My sisters, Lleua and Derwen, they should be able to help." Hwrdd looked down at the child as he exited the house. "They can teach me how to care for a baby." In the light of the sun, he could get a better look at the infant.

Still perfectly silent, strangely so, the baby continued to stare at Hwrdd with deep blue eyes. Hwrdd had never seen such eyes before, let alone on an infant. This child possessed some sort of understanding that could be felt when looking into the eyes. Eimsur, his master, had eyes like this.

"There is something about you, something different than your parents." Hwrdd looked across the field where Kenneth had been struck by a spear. "And I don't think your parents will ever return here. They entrusted you to me." He turned back to the baby. "So perhaps you are meant to be a druid. I should give you a proper druid name then."

"Naaa!" Borna informed.

"A girl? Hmm, let me think." Hwrdd began walking toward the center of the village. The remaining echo sheep all gathered around him as he walked. They quietly followed their shepherd, seemingly taking care to not disturb the baby.

"How about…"

Silently, Hwrdd spoke in the inhuman language of Fae. The air shimmered as Hwrdd spoke. His breath carried meaning and intent imperceptible to the ordinary man.

The baby's eyes widened.

"So you can hear the language of Fae. You certainly are fascinating." Hwrdd smiled. "Then for the common folk, you shall be known as Cwningen. That sounds nice."

The druid carried the child into the woods with his herd behind him. Quietly, the sheep followed. Both they and their shepherd took care not to disturb the strange child. Only one set of footsteps could be heard as they disappeared into the woods. The crunch of autumn leaves faded as the bizarre procession left the destroyed village behind.