Thallian knew little about men and much about goats and sheep. He had been playing shepherd with his elder brothers from the day he could walk, then without them while they learned the business of the farm and he was left to do the physical work with the hired hands. In all his sixteen years he'd not even had the opportunity to travel outside of the Berk town of Flocksfield with the wool and cheese as his brothers had, despite living so close to the mountains and the Alta Pass into Algoma and Phelin. Instead, shearing sheep and milking goats had become his profession, tasks that came naturally now.

So he didn't understand why he was becoming more interested in watching the hired hands at work than doing the work himself. One in particular by the name of Dracole had been attracting his gaze more and more lately, inspiring thoughts and dreams in him that made him nearly ache with shame. He knew what he was experiencing was something his brothers said happened when they had discovered women, but Thallian had never experienced such a thing with the women who cooked and looked after the large estate house. Even when he'd accidentally seen one of them stepping from her bath, he'd felt nothing other than guilt, then surprise to learn that was what a woman looked like naked.

He'd heard of men who desired other men, but it was discussed in a cautionary way. He did not want to be like those men. He had been told they led lonely lives in the big cities, where they could never marry or truly love. It wasn't natural, it was said. And so he knew he wasn't natural. 

He wanted to be natural.

The thought played through his mind as he milked the goats, attempting not to look over at Dracole such a short distance away lest he see the way Dracole's body moved under his tight shirt. He tried to forget the dreams, the unnatural thoughts, and the desires. Each goat in the herd was brought from the pen and into the milking shed, lifted onto a table and held there with a collar while the milk was collected. Afterward, they were released into the pasture for the afternoon. Most of the goats were well-behaved, having been through the experience many, many times. Some, however, tried not to be caught or would not stand still on the milking table. At last, when the final goat of the herd of nearly five hundred had been milked by Thallian and the hired hands, and the milk had been dumped into the great barrels for cheesemaking, they set about taking a much-needed rest. As usual, Thallian allowed the others to leave first and remained to assess the equipment for any damage, wear, or other issues that would need to be repaired. It was his duty as a son of the farm's owner, even if he would never be more than a simple hired hand himself as far as his brothers were concerned. Even his inheritance after their father's death would be insignificant in comparison to their shares of the farm. If he was lucky and his father's will was written when he was in a pleasant mood, Thallian would be given a small percentage of the farm's profits each year above the regular wage he earned.

Suddenly, as he was considering his duties and expectations, someone grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

"You've been looking at me an awful lot," Dracole growled, his face very close to Thallian's. "Like what you see?"

Thallian swallowed, unsure how to respond. Even in his wildest dreams this was not how he imagined interacting with Dracole. He didn't like the tight grip on his arm at all. Perhaps the strong body that had drawn his eye wasn't the best thing to be longing after, not if it felt this menacing when so close.

"Because I like what I see," Dracole continued. He pressed his lips close to Thallian's ear, his short beard rough against Thallian's cheek. "I see a boy in need of a good fuck. Haven't found me one of those in a long time. That what you want?"

Thallian finally forced himself to step back, ripping his arm from Dracole's grip. He was certain now that this was not what he wanted, after all. Not like this. "No. That's not exactly what I want," he replied, hoping there was no panic laced into his tone.

Dracole stepped close again. "No? You don't want to fuck? While, you can always use your mouth and we'll go from there."

He reached forward and gripped Thallian's short brown hair with both hands, pushing like he meant to force Thallian to his knees. Thallian shoved himself free of the grip, losing some strands of hair in the process, and paced backward through the hay toward the door of the milking shed. He stumbled once and Dracole almost caught him, laughing. Thallian wanted to run, but he was afraid to take his eyes off Dracole. Suddenly, the hired hand made a dive forward.

Thallian threw his hands up defensively. He wished there was a wall between them, something to stop Dracole's advance on him. As he thought it, Dracole stopped abruptly as if he had run into something. He appeared completely dumbfounded and reached forward with one hand. It stopped abruptly in front of him, pressed against an invisible wall like a pane of glass. Then Thallian realized it wasn't invisible at all, but almost pale blue in color, though translucent.

Dracole's sharp eyes snapped to Thallian's through the barrier, filled with hatred. "Sorcerer," he hissed, the word like the most vile curse to ever be voiced.

Thallian turned and ran from the shed.