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Still, I don’t think er They’ll spook up the slope, or down at best

A moht line across a s toward the next cluster of sheep

I clench ive a shake of er group No chance of that

The Carnegie’s a good stretch away now I can hear his low voice, but I can’t h the rain has quieted down a bit I watch in shock as he gathers the two sreat splotch of white down the dark hillside

What’s he saying to them?

I get to my feet, and I want toWhat is it about hi? Was his iven he’s a son of a bitch

I’ beside hiulch narrows The way it stripes the landscape, he can’t get the it

Let’s see him try this! He steps out ahead of theh the water He doesn’t stu in the ulch

The flock won’t follow My fluffins will cross gulches when it’s not raining, but when the runoff flows this swiftly, they won’t move, even forat them from both directions

Except…they do My lead ratoward Declan Seconds later, the rest follow, turning the gulch white in the ie into a spread of slanted pasture not fifteen meters from the final cluster

What is this?

My head spins as he neatly gathers the flock and drives the side-to-side behind the a soft sound that, from here, sounds like a throaty hum

Mike and Benny can just barelyand no rain at all The Carnegie herded them as well as I would have I scowl at the splotch of white spreading over the dark grass Maybe better

I shake ood at this He’s likely good at everything, which is why he’s not Declan but the Carnegie—a wicked, arrogant pig of a man

I start up the slope to where ot it strapped toa patch of grass deep in the valley Streams of runoff from the slopes pool at the valley’s center, then floard the Patches; beyond there, the gulches drain into the sea