“M’lady, what fairs you in these fields?” The young man asked. “Are you wounded?”

The lack of an immediate response only seemed to puzzle him more, but peasant he may be, he didn’t dare to lose any tact in the presence of a damsel; Sister Orline had taught him well.

“ . . . No.” The fair lady finally answered.

“Ah . . . I assume you mean you’re unharmed. Then what, may I ask, are you doing here?”

“I don’t know.” She said bluntly.

The stare between the two drew out moments longer before a distance bleat was heard.

“Your sheep is flying away.” The girl stated, pointing towards the sky.

The young man instinctively flinched, looking around wildly before up at Oscar as the sheep headed back in the direction for whence he came.

“Ah….! O-Oscar! At least get down will ya?!” He said, yelling back at the sheep that was inclined not to listen to the recent request. Giving an exasperated sigh, the man clearly debated between the poffin sheep and woman before trotting down the field to her.

“Um . . . M’lady uh-um…” He fumbled over his words, his freckled face becoming flush with pink. “I am um . . O-Olivier . . .Uh- Sh-Shepherd of . . . W-Well . . . Shepherd of Heather.”

He gave a few light bows before he knelt down to her. “I have no right to ask um . . . A maiden of your ladyship, but if I may, what may be your name?”

“Ah . . .” The woman looked about to answer before that same thoughtful look came to her expression. “I don’t know.”

Olivier’s shoulders dropped and he chewed on his lower lip. “Okay. . . Okay. Great. Well, I would likely hang if I brought you into the city for help . . .”

“Hang from what?” He had mumbled that part more to himself than anything, but still the woman responded.

“What?” He responded caught off guard.

“Hang from what?” She repeated.

“ . . . Ah M’lady, you’ve clearly been injured in the head. Allow me to take you back to . . .Uh . . .My home?” He swallowed thickly, waving his hands in reprieve. “I-I promise, I will get you someone to help you, but it would not do for you to remain in the sheep fields and I-I fear my safety if I carry you through the city to a physician.”

The young woman tilted her head, a confused expression on her face, but it quickly faded to a light smile as she nodded.

“Okay.”

Olivier brightened at the agreement before he reached and carefully lifted the woman into his arms as he stood. Saving her modesty, he held her in such a way that her dress was tucked neatly over his arms with both legs and her upper body supported by his other one. 

“Great. My home is right over this hill here. Don’t mind the poffin sheep, M’lady.” He said as he started his way back towards his home. Over the hill top, a humble thatched roof home was settled in the middle of a field of short grass and wild flowers. Beyond it, pastures of glowing wheat sprawled across the outer rolling fields and small homes peppered throughout the horizon. Up over the hills, houses clearly became more dense together and tucked neatly beneath a large cliffside with a castle sitting on top of it.

The sheep slowly gathered their way around Olivier and the woman slowly as they made it over the hillside, following at the male’s footsteps with light curious bleating. The sheep have round curly horns, kept short on either side of their heads. Their bodies and wool are also perfectly spherical. The four legs are tiny and they walk like their feet only lightly feathered on the grass. 

“Why are you in a field of sheep?” The woman asked absently on their walk back.

“Ah because I’m a shepherd of sheep, m’lady.” He chuckled a bit at the redundancy of the question. He found a little amusement.

“I thought you were a shepherd of heather.” 

“What? Oh! Oh no, m’lady. Heather is the name of the town we’re in.” He responded sheepishly.

“Oh.” She said simply, clearly looking around curiously. 

Olivier was left in the awkward silence with questions unanswered. While he had many, he felt there was no point in asking; clearly the woman wouldn’t have the answer. It seemed as though she couldn’t grasp certain concepts and nuances. As such, he felt it best to hold his tongue instead of adding to his confusion.

Perhaps Sister Orline would have greater luck than he did. He settled the young woman on a stool by the kitchen table. His home wasn’t much besides a brick stove, wooden counter for preparing goods, shelves, a kitchen table, and a loft style straw bed up the stairs where he kept his desk, trunks, and things. It was a modest home, but it was his home. There was a bit of coziness to the space with the smell of fresh bread. 

“Okay . . .” Olivier trailed off as he got his thoughts together, running his hand through his bangs before smiling at the woman.

“Okay.” He repeated. “I’m going to go get Sister Orline. She’ll know what to do. Just . . . Stay right here. Don’t go anywhere . . . Please.”

“Okay.”

Nodding to himself, he kept his eyes on her as he backed out of the house before turning, stumbling, and bolting down the road.

Sister Arebeth Orline has been running the Radiant Spire Church for over thirty years. She’s a thin spry woman with a kind smile, tight black curls now woven to gray peeking through her veil and coif. Her dark tanned skin is peppered with stress lines from a life long loved. Her eyes are a faded green, losing its light from over several years. She has a hunched back, but a pep in her step that betrayed her age. For years, she tended to the people of Heather in the principles of Volant the Majesty. One such task was caring for the children orphaned for one reason or another. 

Olivier and his older brother, True were two orphans that lived under Sister Orline’s tutelage until they came of age. And though time has passed and both have become young men, it wasn’t unusual for them and many others to seek her wisdom.

The Radiant Spire church was a quaint steeple church. Overhead, the bell rang in intervals between morning, noon, evening, and night. The white rose bushes reached the vines that climbed with the wisteria and framed over the stone walls of the church. Its stained glass windows took on a crystalline appearance allowing for an opalescent spectrum of colors inside. All day, people came and went in the church for various services and children were always close by. Out front, Sister Orline stood, watching over the children playing in the grass nearby when she caught sight of Olivier running up the dirt road to the church. She had a smile that quickly shifted into one of curiosity with the look of distraught on the boy’s face.

Olivier did stop beside her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“S-Sister . . . I . . . I have a situation . . .” He said between breaths.

Sister Orline’s expression grew more serious. It was clear to her that Olivier had run all the way here from the sheep fields. What could have possibly happened to have him so flustered?

Back with the mysterious girl, she did her best to stay put but her eyes caught sight of little lights by the staircase. She blinked,  taking in the gentle whimsy of the little sprites she could see all around the home. They were reminiscent of fireflies from a distance, but up close they were little blobish creatures of various colors and shapes with wings and others with none. By the staircase. By the staircase, the wingless ones waved at the girl to follow.  Olivier told her to stay put, but surely he meant the home and not the seat, right? 

She followed the creatures up the stairs and to Olivier’s bedroom. They were playful and musical; little chimes and melodies as their voices. They danced around the room, but directed her attention to the desk. There  she took note of a journal the wingless ones pushed forward to her attention. Her head tilted as she opened the book to see written notes dated under times she couldn’t understand. The hand writing was quick and yet soft, swirls of certain letters gave a kindness that made her smile. She sat down and began to read the journal under the watchful gaze of the sprites and the gentle light from the humble wooden window.