When all of this is done - now, that is going to be tricky to figure out, huh? There’s an awful lot of all that needs done-ing. They’ll have to sort out what counts and what doesn’t. Which feels like cheating? But it’s just how it’s gotta be. Suppose it’s best to say that once everybody else has done all they will, and a sheep has done all he will, and he finally, finally has a chance to sit down with a nice cup of tea and nothing else to contend with, then we’ll call it all done. Okay? Okay. So when we do get there, he’s going to add a little letter-writing to his tea-sipping. He’s got some things to say to the Supreme Ruler, and given how their last meeting went, it’ll be a lot easier to herd those words in his own sheepy time. More questions, too. Maybe an invitation to another teatime, with less breakdowns and less letter-writing.

But that’s later. When it’s all done.

Right now, sheeps aren’t thinking about letters, Supreme Rulers, or evil space. No. Dolce finds enough spring in his step to tug Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits Esq. (card pending) towards the spot where Hera is. (Can she even see Hera? He is also not thinking about that.)

“Kat, I’d like to introduce you to someone very, very important to me-”

[hr]
Dolce laughs.

It’s like he’s crying, at first. Or choking. Little flights of breath escaping through his nose, hardly making a noise, yet enough to shake his whole body. Then, deeper, much deeper. A sound that bounces about his chest, rumbling all the way up a goddess’ finger. She cannot stop the smile from breaking across his face. Soon, she cannot stop him at all. He cannot stop him at all, not even when he tucks his mouth behind his hands, but at least the giggles are a smidge more polite. Not that such things matter. Not here. Nor does it matter that his laughter is quiet, that it makes his voice crack, that a wheeze from a sheep sounds definitively bleatish. 

It simply is.

“You know?” Someone so woolly ought to have an advantage in wiping teary eyes. They really ought to. “I thought it couldn’t be that simple? Because, surely, there’d been much brighter minds working at it, and if the answer was that obvious they’d had figured it out by now?”

Come. Come. Get over here, Hera. Here’s an adoring hug from a sheep who can cover far more with his tiny arms than words ever could. Hestia, it’s going to be a race to see who can [i]get[/i] who the first, which is a little unfair with you being a goddess and all, and wouldn’t you consider letting him win? Just this once? Don’t worry, you’ll get a happy bonk of his floofy head regardless. Artemis, he is approaching you purposefully, stopping at a respectable distance, and offering a hearty handshake. You may take it if you like, use it to pull him in for a surprise hug, or give him a medium five, to keep him on his toes. There’s not thinking, and then there’s not [i]thinking[/i], you know?

“Those are a lot of big questions,” he says with a sniff. “It. Might be nice to. Take a little time? Before I answer?” And he will answer! That’s why he said so. Which might be against the spirit of things, but, well. Give him credit for not saying all that out loud.

It’s been a long road getting here.

[hr]
Dolce looks. Curiously. From his seat in the truck bed.

There’s not a lot of room, but Dolce doesn’t take much room, so it all works out. Highly compressible, sheeps. They actually like that sort of thing, don’t you know. Squished snugly between wife and princess and knight, well! If there’s a better way to travel, he certainly doesn’t know it.

His tale is a little…basic. But it’s the one that comes to mind. It’s the one that’s top of his heart right now. 

You see, far away, there is a world called Bitemark. It’s been known by a lot of other names, and almost known by many more, but to the people who lived there, it’s always been Bitemark. And on the coastline, there sat a patchwork little town called Beri, with a patchwork sort of people. They worked hard. They were worked hard. They felt the teeth of wolves. They hid in the shadow of Empire. 

Would you like to know their names? Would you like to know their days? 

Then listen. For a little chef in a medium kitchen met all sorts…