He could see almost the entire city from where he sat, including the plaza where he had talked with the old man.
Curse the moment I met that old man, he thought. He had come to the town only to find a woman who could interpret his dream.
Neither the woman nor the old man was at all impressed by the fact that he was a shepherd.
They were solitary individuals who no longer believed in things, and didn’t understand that shepherds become attached to their sheep.
He knew everything about each member of his flock: he knew which ones were lame,
which one was to give birth two months from now, and which were the laziest.
He knew how to shear them, and how to slaughter them. If he ever decided to leave them, they would suffer.
The wind began to pick up. He knew that wind: people called it the levanter,
because on it the Moors had come from the Levant at the eastern end of the Mediterranean.
The levanter increased in intensity. Here I am, between my flock and my treasure, the boy thought.
He had to choose between something he had become accustomed to and something he wanted to have.
There was also the merchant’s daughter, but she wasn’t as important as his flock, because she didn’t depend on him.
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