Georgi takes a moment to survey the scene, his farmers and Otar’s shepherds engaged in raucous barter, dealings of crops and microprocessor chips for wool fabrics, intricate lacework, and nanogenerators, specialties of the shepherds. When they pass through this way again in fall, the shepherds will bring highly coveted cheese to barter with, but that cannot happen until the flock completes its summer grazing. Still, the shepherds are extremely adept at coding, spending much of their free time writing and editing programs to run the nanogenerators they build into everything, from the soles of their shoes to the bells on their sheep. A life in motion is one that generates as much power as they need to maintain their heating lamps and the cooking apparatus, their hovercraft and mobile tents, their consoles and tablets. Notably absent from the trading booths, however, are the empathy chips prized by the shepherds. That technology is theirs alone.

Georgi works his way through the market, seeing to the comfort and needs of all, facilitating negotiations where requested, gossiping and practicing the vital work of maintaining the strength of the perennial social bonds that bind these peoples together.

Although he is young, at least by the standards of the village elders, most people part for him to pass and nod in respect when he visits their tables. It has been less than a year since his election and the deference still makes him a bit uncomfortable, if not only because he sees within it the weight of their expectations, his responsibilities. His mind returns to his toast, his sacred duty as headman and toastmaster to initiate the Spring banquet by identifying the theme and symbol of the gathering. This is a moment that the people will reference for the entirety of the year to come.

“Georgi.”

Otar’s voice shakes Georgi from his ruminations. His friend is pale, sweating, and shaking.

“Otar, what’s wrong?” Georgi clasps the shepherd’s hand, helps him sit. Others are starting to gather. A few of the other leaders of the shepherds are converging quickly, similar expressions on their faces.

“Something is wrong,” Otar touches the base of his skull, where a small scar marks the incision from the neurochip implant. “I think it’s Ara, and a few of the ewes. They got out of the paddocks. They’re in distress . . .”

His breathing is heavy, and Georgi calls for some water. Otar shakes his head, standing.

“Don’t make a fuss. We’ll see to this.”

Georgi’s hand is quickly on his friend’s shoulder.

“We chose to share our village with you. Tell us what we can do.”

When the word spreads via whispers and shouts and blinking communicators that the headman needs help, nobody questions the request. There is no grumbling or griping, no dragging of feet or apathetic shrugs. Each person abandons their distractions and leisure, procures from their homes their lift packs or bio-lanterns or holomaps with satellite geotracking, anything that might be of service. Nobody asks why they all must help find a few lost sheep because the answer is obvious. They help because their help is needed.

For hours, the villagers and shepherds alike search the ravines and cliffs, the valley and ridges, the forests and streams. As the sun sets, the mountainside flickers with lights like stars as lamps and floodlights illuminate the searchers. There is no sign of the lost sheep.

“I can feel them, they are close,” Otar rubs his head. “But I can’t tell where, precisely. I need a stronger signal.”

In the back of Georgi’s mind, a thought shimmers like the barely noticeable softening of darkness long before dawn breaks. Georgi feels the idea awaken and tries to shake it back to sleep. But it doesn’t return to the darkness. The glow of thought radiates a little brighter.

Small beads of sweat on his neck, Georgi tries to focus on the frantic conversations surrounding him. This idea is not one he can entertain, it’s not one he should entertain. It’s not his place to suggest something like this.

Otar is pale, color drained from his face. The distress is evident, and it is taking a toll. Georgi can see that. He knows how traumatic the loss would be for these shepherds, no different than if some children of his village wandered off into the night. What wouldn’t he do to find those children, to keep his village whole?

The idea in Georgi’s mind breaks into a full dawn, illuminating other budding thoughts, matters of logistics and consequence that flower into complete plans. Georgi gulps. He understands now. He is the only one in a position to raise such an idea. The only one who could. This is, in fact, his place and his responsibility. He is the headman.

“Otar, I’m going to ask you something that will make you uncomfortable. Explain how the empathy chips work.”

“What?” Otar’s eyes open wide, his eyebrows arching up.

“There must be a signal that connects you to the flock, right? If you can give us the signal pattern, we can use the village weather antennae to amplify it. That will make it strong enough to triangulate your sheep’s positions on the holomaps.”

Otar’s surprise is enough to pull some of the color back into his face, even if just for a moment.

“This technology is the pride of our people,” his voice is almost a whisper. “It’s not mine to give away. Don’t ask this of me, my friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Georgi takes Otar’s hands in his own. “But this may be the best chance, the only chance, to keep your people whole. I am asking you, not only as a friend but also as headman and representative of my people, to trust me.”

Otar sits down, rubbing the back of his neck, and is quiet. He exchanges glances with some of the nearby leaders of his clan. Like him, they are sweating, faces pale. Time is running short. Otar shakes his head and whispers Ara’s name, then holds out a hand. Georgi helps him up.

“Neuro-electrical impulses, that’s the basis of the code. The neural data is paired with hormone readings in the blood, and translated into a signal that the empathy chip can interpret. I can have our chief engineer show you how to program it into your mainframe.”

It takes an hour for the shepherds and villagers to integrate their systems, but it is, at last, a success. Sharp pings on the holomaps reveal the precarious situation of the lost sheep, trapped in a deep gorge next to roaring waters, and rescue efforts are made. With the combined work of shepherds and villagers together, the wayward strays are recovered and returned to their flock, to their people. The village becomes a place of celebration, for this is certainly something worth celebrating.

Deep into that night, after most have retired to the well-deserved rest of weary revenants, Georgi is still standing at the central console to the village mainframe, eyes shimmering as he scans the waves of impulses generated by the flock.

“Incredible,” he breaths.

“It is.” Otar rubs his neck. He looks tired, worn. His flock is whole, but he does not seem at peace. “Many will not be happy that I revealed the secrets to our technology.”

“I’m sorry for putting you in that position.” Georgi lowers his eyes from the screen. “I don’t pretend to know exactly the cost of that decision, and I’m sure that you must have mixed emotions about finding your flock this way.”

Otar nods. He is quiet, focused on something beyond this room. Georgi fidgets at the console. He knows that Otar has given away something valuable. It seems an unfair exchange, even if the ends appeared to justify the means. If anything, it is Georgi’s people who stand to benefit the most in the long run. This could even—

Georgi stops. The shepherd’s coveted technology could hold the answers he needs. And Otar gave it away to protect his flock. There must be an answer to that sacrifice. If Georgi has learned anything from the shepherds, it is that for something to be truly beneficial, it must benefit all.

“Give it away . . .” Georgi mumbles, thoughts whirling.

“What?” Otar tilts his head, attention still partially elsewhere.

“What if we make this more than an unfortunate necessity?” Georgi begins pacing the room. “What if this is your gift to the village, and we promise to use it to ensure the survival of both our peoples, our ways of life, by protecting the forest?”

“Georgi, what are you talking about?” Otar stands, his full attention now focused on his friend.

“The trees, you can teach us to speak to the trees!” Georgi gestures at the waves on the screen. “You use electrical and chemical impulses to connect your empathy centers with the aggregate emotions of your flock, right? We’ve been trying to find out what’s wrong with the forest; what if we do the same thing? We can adapt your technology to interpret mycorrhizal networks, volatile organic compound signals, and other forms of plant communication. That way we can better understand the forest, better interact with it and communicate with it. Just as your sheep are a part of your people, the forest will be part of ours.”

“It’s possible,” Otar begins pacing as well. “But it will take time.”

“Time we can spend, my friend. A little time now could mean prosperity for our entire futures.”

In the days that follow, the usual markets are occupied, the games are played, and the dances are danced. However, there is a new liveliness as the people recount their shared experiences of rescuing the lost sheep in the cold of the night, the secrets revealed, and the new opportunities to come. Georgi and Otar are in constant motion, meeting with leaders of both peoples, convincing the reluctant and coordinating a massive exchange of ideas. Finally, the time comes for the shepherds to move on—but before they do, it is time for the Keipi. It is time for the spring feast.

The best linens are taken from the closets, the bots and drones are powered down as all preparations will be done by hand for this meal, and the tables are set in the great hall. Upon them are placed mountains of food, goblets and horns for wine, and centerpieces featuring the craftsmanship of villagers and shepherds alike. Chairs surround the tables, and the guests all boisterously find places to sit, reveling in the company and meal soon to be shared.

Once everyone is seated and enough time has been given to chatter, Georgi stands. From the corner of his eye, he sees Otar wink. Georgi takes a breath, releasing it slowly. Much has happened this spring. Once again, his village has seen the incredible care the shepherds possess for their flocks, and it has made them all stronger. Now, all have agreed to spend the summer trying to adapt the empathy chips so the villagers can communicate with their forests and crops, to be better stewards of this land. They will compare their successes when the shepherds return south in the autumn. As it has been for the many generations that Georgi and Otar’s people have coexisted, the pathway forward was carved by empathy. The elders of the village say that Georgi is blossoming into a true leader. Georgi, their young headman. Georgi, the feast’s toastmaster, who has finally found his theme.

Georgi waits a moment as the chatter subsides, and raises his glass.

Smoke rising from the chimneys catches a breeze, and begins a slow dance up the valley, waltzing on updrafts and pirouetting through currents of air. As it ascends, it finds new winds, arriving again after many months of absence: the final herald of the changing season. The time has come for the grey clouds of colder seasons to migrate and make way for the arrival of summer storms.

As if caught by these same currents, the spirits of the shepherds grow restless as well, and they know it is time to continue their journey. It is a journey of many thousands of steps, traversing hundreds of miles from winter to summer pastures, sustained by the energy of the passage migrant, like flocks of birds who know that home is a concept best maintained seasonally. In a few months, the winds will shift again, the clouds will change their form and character, the leaves will begin to perform their last rites, and the journey will begin anew, as it has every season and as it will continue to do for as long as there are those left to take it.

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