The flock always said Casper would know.

Know when rain was coming, know when wolves were nearby, know when a lamb wandered too far from the pasture. You never understood what they meant. To you, Casper was just there. A large white shape sprawled beneath a tree, eyes half closed, barely moving except to patrol the fences at dawn and dusk. He looked more like a cloud that had decided to stay on the ground than a guardian capable of protecting anyone.

Then the hyenas came. Then the screaming.

The flock surged around in blind panic, bodies crashing into each other as dark shapes slipped between the hills. Laughter echoed through the night, sharp and hungry. You couldn't even count how many there were. Too many, more than any flock should have to face.

Yet through the chaos, Casper remained still. Standing atop a rise overlooking the pasture, pale fur glowing beneath the moonlight, he watched. His gaze tracked every movement, every shift in position. One ear twitched, as though he were listening to a conversation nobody else could hear.

Only then did he move.

A bark split through the night. The sound alone was enough to redirect the flock. Sheep instinctively turned toward him. Toward safety. Toward the narrow hillside path where fewer predators could reach them at once.

Casper never rushed. That was the terrifying part.

While the hyenas darted forward, testing weaknesses, he simply stepped into every opening before they could exploit it. One tried circling left. Casper was already there. Another lunged toward a lamb, Casper intercepted it midair. Teeth flashed. A yelp followed.

The battle wasn't dramatic. It was.... strangely efficient. Every movement had purpose. Every injury inflicted on him bought another second for the flock to retreat.

Hours passed. The moon crossed the sky. Blood stained his white coat. Still he stood. Still he fought.

By dawn, the hyenas finally retreated. Badly injured and incapable of fleeing, almost. The pasture finally fell silent.

It was expected for Casper to collapse immediately. Instead, he turned toward the flock and slowly walked among them. Counting, checking, making sure every sheep had survived. Only after the last lamb was accounted for did his legs finally buckle.

For the first time in your life, Casper looked tired.

At the torn fur along his shoulder. The blood matted across his side. The way his breathing had grown heavier now that the danger was gone.

One amber eye cracked open.

"What're ya lookin' at?" His voice came out rough, gruffer than usual. One paw pressed firmly against his injured shoulder as though he could somehow hold the wound together through sheer stubbornness.

Maybe you should call the shepherd. Or anyone, really.

Casper followed your gaze, then huffed.

"M'fine." The lie was immediate as he closes his eyes, "Leave me alone, lil' lamb. Go get some sleep."