By Fickle Light
Twenty-Fourth Day of the Eleventh Month 294 AC
The sheep were uneasy, the shepherds also, and a red moon rose over the black, oily waters of the Skahazadhan. There had been strange news of late, envoys from far lands asking for the oaths of the People of the Crook as the Sons of the Harpy had done in ages past and the Sons of the Dragons also. Twice had this been done and twice the bond had unwound, not broken but frayed by the passage of time and the tribulations of history. Now the dragons were gone far to the West, but the harpies raided over the river and not as the horse-lords had done. More and more with each passing day it seemed, they came with fire and with ropes, to bare the people of the land away in bondage. By now all had heard the rumors from those who hid and watched as their kinsmen were borne away. 'If you are kin to sheep, why to you not love the yoke?'
At least they would not come tonight, Edor thought as he glanced at the moon. There was too much light and the river ran too deep here. The herds were safe and so was he. There was nothing on the wind but a hint of a thunderstorm. He started to play his flute softly in a way he knew would quiet the ewes, for he knew most of the sheep here and all of the rams since they were at their mother's teat.
The bleating echoed strangely into the night, mingling with the sounds of the river.
***
The moon was inching towards the west, but not even a hint of false dawn in the sky when he saw it... a figure of ragged misshapen wings against the stars, then another and another.
Harpies. Shepherd's grace, real harpies had come to bare away his flock. He wrenched the neck of his horse north and without a single look at his flock, for he feared he would lose heart at it, he rode straight north to the beacon to send a signal, to find help.
Behind him the sheep scattered, confused, some of them looked to him with slow shock. Not one of the beasts looked at the sky. For a short stretch the dogs tried to follow blindly through the dark, but they had been well trained. Their duty was the care of the sheep and not the man, and so they turned back.
On Edor rode, the wind of his passage whipping in his face, heedless of peril as it seemed to him he could almost feel the steel sharp talons. Ahead he saw a light upon a hill and thought it was the one he sought, the beacon already lit to summon aid, but the closer he came the stranger it looked, the flames low and red, like a crown of embers atop the stony brow, like some wizard's circle.
"Oh, how strange," a woman's voice called out from within. "A visitor come so late, and on a tired horse no less. Do you seek shelter from what lies behind you?"
Now Edor was no fool when it came to the fair folk, and even in his haste and fear he had the wit to ask, "Who's asking and what's it cost?"
"Names are precious things," came the words from pale lips as eyes like lustrous jade shone in the moonlight. "But I will say as much, my aid will cost less than if slavers or harpies came upon you in the night. Come quickly over the fire before you are seen."
Looking over his shoulder, the man again saw winged forms and he could hear the faint cackling of fiends. "What is your price?" he asked again, the words wavering upon his tongue as the horse trembled between his thighs, he could not say for sure if at the nearness of the witch or at that which lay behind him... and never did he think that it was his own fear the beast could sense.
"Nine spring lambs of the Shepherd," the fey replied and the price seemed light to him.
Edor crossed the flames and long did he live to regret it.
OOC: Well I will say this much about this interlude, there will be a follow-up. Speculation is welcomed. Not yet edited. 
