Nash Aberwith had been travelling for a few months now, stopping wherever he was welcome. Though the last few days, he'd not come across any ranches, and his rations were starting to run thin.

He spent nights at small campfires, praying he'd soon see a kind face, and get something new to eat and drink, but his hope ran thin.

On the eleventh day, he wiped the sweat off his forehead and saw a small farm in the distance, and god, it looked like an oasis, or heaven itself. He accelerated his horse and made towards the farm. As he rode through the old, wooden archway, he saw a young man stand by a small flock of sheep which idly ate some grass off a field.

"Must be a shepherd" he thought to himself and approached

"Excuse me? Good Sir?"