Ah, that’s too bad, isn’t it? Rose from the River frowns as she considers the scene before her, because she knows that there is a simple way to clear her path. Sheep are easily panicked; one Throat-Fortifying Breath and she could send sheep and peasants alike scattering, slipping on wet grass in frantic desire to return to a place of supposed safety from fangs and coils. It would save her time and effort.

But it would be like stirring up silt at the bottom of a lake. Satisfying at first in its swirls, still it would muddy the waters and make them unwholesome, impossible to see through. For we stumble through the world blindfolded, listening to a thousand instruments all around, and only with careful practice may we discern the pure flute of the Way, its soft notes audible even in the thunder of drums and the screech of electric strings.

And so it is that Rose from the River stops and unties one knot in the woolen scarf: the one that secures Chen as a bundle to her staff. Hoisting Chen under one arm, she approaches the assembled travelers with incongruous calm, as if Chen of the Twin Shards was as natural for a traveler to carry as a piglet or a lamb.

“Peace be with you,” she says to the woman who has paused in the erection of her tent. She bows, and Chen bows with her, feet in the air. “Forgive me, but I believe I may be of assistance with this flock. Please look after my companion.” This done, she sets Chen face-down into the mint that grows wild by the roadside.

This is another part of the game, after all. Chen will most likely be served tea while Rose works, and asked if she is all right, and if she wants her restraints loosened, and what news from her kingdom, and she will be just as safe as she was in Rose’s care. And if the little princess wants to break free, well, that just makes things more entertaining.

Rose does not, however, resist the temptation to pat Chen’s rump affectionately before shouldering her staff again and approaching the sheep. Can she be blamed for wanting to hear that flustered, muffled squeak again?

Now, for the sheep. She takes the goat by one horn and pulls him steadily away from the yeller’s wagon. Poor goat! How it scrabbles for purchase on the road, doing its best to resist and dig its hooves in, bleating complaints! And yet Rose does not so much as miss a step, her grip on the goat restrained but irresistible. “That’s enough mischief,” she says to it. “Come on. We’ve work to do, you and I.”

Once released among the flock, the goat might try to sneak back, but here he will find the path blocked. Rose from the River will not draw her blade for the likes of a herd of disorderly sheep, but her staff-play is more than fine enough for them. See how she hooks one end under the goat’s belly and lifts him up and around with a click of her tongue. See how she raps it on the road in order to guide sheep up and away.

Several sheep, perturbed by the beginning of what will be a successful herding, make a valiant attempt to scatter in the opposite direction, further down the road. Skillful Thorn Pilgrim! She vaults up on her staff and lands neatly in front of them, having performed a perfect Cloud-Passage Leap across the herd. What grace in her effortless ascent and landing! And what patience she shows with the miscreants, guiding them back towards the perturbed herd.

She is merely one woman, but she is Rose from the River, and she has hounded many in her long lives. Fortunate sheep! They will not be bound and carried off to those who would see them further oppressed! They need not fumble down sepulchral alleyways, blind and frantic with terror, split apart from the mass of humanity all around them by the knowledge that the thing that hunts them could be anyone, that any offer of shelter or assistance could be the jaws of a trap closing shut about them. They must instead simply fear the staff of Rose from the River striking the ground beside them or rapping their rump to get them moving. And instead of bleak cells that their credit will be charged for the privilege of occupying, drooling around black rubber and cuffed to a wall as they wait for Enhanced Interviewing, the sheep’s prison will be one of clover and mint and earth apples, and soft places to sleep until the long dawn.

Who dares help her in the herding?