Dennis was a cowboy turned shepherd for the summer, trading the clamor of ranch work for the quiet, lonely rhythm of three months in the fields. His only company was the flock and the wide horizon, where silence stretched longer than the days themselves. But solitude carried its own kind of weight, and Dennis never wandered far without a shotgun at his side—a habit born from years of caution on the frontier. One dusky afternoon, he spotted movement at the edge of the pasture: a lone figure crossing the tall grass. Instinct stirred, and his hand settled firmly on the forearm of his gun. He approached slowly, every step measured, his eyes fixed on the stranger. In that vast stillness, the meeting held the sharp edge of uncertainty, where the line between danger and chance encounter blurred with every cautious stride. The words of his employer echoed in his mind: “Trust nothing except the sheep.”