The Golden Passage
Seamus meets a mysterious traveler.
The golden hour finally arrived on the emerald hills, casting its glitter over the blades of grass. Another quiet day met Seamus counting the clouds that sailed away to their freedom. His wooden staff helped him up, the first step in gathering his sheep. He idly walked around his flock and began counting. All 110 sheep were present - until one wandered towards a distant figure.
“This one, again.” He tsked, rolling his eyes.
Ahead of his wandering sheep was a cloaked figure, accompanied by a medium-sized dog. He slowed his pace, watching for the stranger’s reaction to his wandering lamb. The black and white dog ran towards the sheep, prompting Seamus to charge at the scene. Yet when he saw the dog circling the distracted lamb and guided it back to the flock, he stopped just as quickly as he started.
“There is always at least one sheep that has to wander, eh?” The man said with a smile.
Seamus noticed the wooden crook in the traveler’s hand. It seemed to be hand carved, with an intricate clover pattern adorning the hook. A silver beard hung from his face, yet he walked with confident strides. The most striking detail of the stranger was his eyes, which were the kind of emerald that inspired all the great poets of their land.
“Indeed, sir. Your dog has a knack for corralling sheep.”
“I should hope so. It is in her blood, after all.” He answered with a chuckle.
The dog took on the role of patrolling the flock, trotting around the sheep to keep them together.
“Clover and I are traveling eastward. Are you heading that way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. I enjoy the company of travelers. May we join you on your journey home? Clover can watch your flock along the way.”
He had encountered strangers while shepherding twice, and both kept to themselves. While unaccustomed to a friendly passerby, he was willing to welcome the pair into his space. The two began eastward side by side.
“Where are you traveling to?” Seamus asked.
“Truth be told, lad, I have no destination. I wander to enjoy the beauty of nature, and to cross paths with those I’m meant to meet.”
He imagined the idyllic nature of his lifestyle, not realizing that his silence was being observed.
“Tell me, lad: Are these fields your home?”
“Well, yes.” He answered with perplexity in his tone.
“I don’t mean where you were born. Are these fields your home?”
Seamus surveyed his sheep before taking in the vast, grassy fields. The golden hour was fading into the horizon, revealing his thoughts.
“The fields are beautiful, but they have never felt like home in the twenty-one years of my life.”
The old man drew out a knowing sigh.
“Aye, it’s a pity when the young feel lost. Your lot are meant to find your home, not to be trapped in someone else’s.”
This stranger unveiled the feelings Seamus kept hidden all this time. His breath drew inward, imagining the blows he would surely receive if his father learned the truth. He looked for a diversion in his staff.
“What is the meaning of the hook?”
On his second observation, he noticed that the staff carried some dirt and markings. He imagined the harrowing treks his companion must have walked to earn them.
The man stopped and held his staff with both hands, running his right hand around the hook.
“I’m sure you know that these little clovers signify many things, but they remind me to have faith. After all, we need faith to walk this unpredictable life with steady feet.”
This inspired Seamus to ask his hidden question.
“How do you know when it’s time for a change?”
The traveler gently nodded.
“One day, the fear of being stagnant becomes greater than the fear of the unknown. You’ll just have to discover the threshold…and I believe we’ve reached the threshold of our companionship.”
About a mile ahead was a simple, thatched cottage. The arms of its fence were ready to welcome back the sheep and their shepherd. Clover guided his flock towards their sanctuary.
“She’s a good girl, that one.” Seamus smiled.
“Aye, she is.”
The old traveler looked at the boy with a twinkle in his eyes.
“You know, there are two purposes for the hook of a staff. One is to reign in the sheep…”
He imitated the gesture with his own prop. Then he shared a grin that, for a moment, revealed an impish spirit.
“And the other to nudge them forward.”
With the top of his hook, he shoved Seamus backward. Surprised by the force, he flailed his arms to catch his balance. Once he was steady, he thought to protest his old companion.
Suddenly, he found himself alone in the field. Even Clover was nowhere to be found, and the sheep were already enclosed in the arms of the fence.
The golden sunset transformed into an amber glow, darkening the fields he was ready to leave behind.
Thank you for reading! This story is dedicated to my friend , fellow writer and #1 fangirl of Seamus of the Skyrates world. (Happy belated birthday!)
I had every intention to post this in March, either on St. Patrick’s Day or around Laura’s birthday. Well, it’s April now so…happy April Fools to me?