It must end. I have no weapon save my hands. I could beg a branch from a tree and fashion a club from it, or a sharp stake, but I will make no other living thing party to this wretched deed. I find a heavy stone, sharp edged. I do not even bother to hide it, for I know my victim can neither fight nor flee.

I raise the stone above my head.

The ewe gazes up at me with its trusting brown eyes. It gives a soft bleat of welcome.

“No!” screams the preacher. “Spare me, friend—God forgive you—”

“Thank you for what I am about to receive,” I gasp, and strike the death blow.

18