The two young shepherds walked side by side, trailing the ragged ends of sheep. When an animal fell behind, Peter showed Anna how to snap the air with an olive branch to frighten it back into formation. He then showed her how to throw a pebble just in front of a sheep’s head to keep it out of a particular area. And if the animals ventured farther than throwing distance, he showed her how to load stones into a sling and fire them off. Anna’s jaw dropped at his accuracy.

“And what else?” she asked over and over, eager to understand the special tactics and signals.

Peter’s heart swelled at his new friend’s interest. He had never been made to feel so important. The regard fed an insatiable hunger inside him. For the rest of the afternoon, he regaled his apprentice with the finer points of his trade: the varieties of whistled signals and their meanings, the behavioral differences between sheep and goats, how to use the sun to maintain a straight path, and how to flush cobras from the rocks. He put a wooden staff and an olive switch into Anna’s hands. “You will be of no use without these,” he said.

Anna nodded. For the first time since leaving home, she felt a future spreading before her. It was as if the secret knowledge of shepherding had been given to her as a replacement for all she had lost. After she had mingled among the sheep, trying to memorize each one, the animals seemed to inherently trust her. Those she was sent to wrangle often returned to the fold before she arrived. And when she strove to steer the flock, it shifted with little effort on her behalf.

Peter was amazed by the phenomenon. “I have never seen anything like it,” he said. “The animals seem to read your mind. Even the goats!”

Anna smiled. The success helped soothe the ache in her heart.

After they guided the flock down a long slope, Peter suggested they stop for tea. They found a cool spot in the shade beneath a craggy overhang. They sipped in silence, watching the flock open slowly, like a shaggy flower.

Peter felt thankful for the arrival of his new friend. It was the first time he had ever felt at ease around another boy his age.

“I used to hate shepherding,” he confessed, surrendering to the sudden urge to speak. “My father was an instructor of letters. He sent me to school when I was five. For years I studied, sometimes through the night, but could never learn. The other boys used to tease me and call me foolish. One day my father told me to stand up. He told them I was a disappointment. That I was not smart enough to be among them, and that I would never become a teacher.”

Peter took a shallow breath. It seemed to Anna that his throat had tightened.