Photo credit: G=] (Flickr)
The sea of sheep kept coming, crowding the narrow road. Herral shouted, trying to pull the donkey another step further against the tide.
His grandpa tsked. “Come now, no need for that.”
“But we’re going to be late for market!”
“Yes, we are.”
“We can shout and fume and be somewhat less late. Or we can thank the gods for the excuse to rest.”
Gazing at the wooly barrier, Herral shrugged, his anger fading. They moseyed to the back of the cart, sitting on the lip. “Apple, Grandpa?”
The stream of sheep leaving looked almost peaceful.
Photo © Sandra Crook