Trailfinders
The young wanderer had been searching for a path.
Or perhaps for meaning.
After so many days in the mountains, he was no longer certain there was a difference.
Near the ridge, he saw a dark shape among the stones.
A dog, he thought.
He walked toward it, grateful for the unexpected company.
But as he came closer, he slowed.
It was not a dog.
It was a black sheep.
Alone.
No flock.
No shepherd.
No pasture.
Only the mountain, the wind, and the narrow path disappearing beyond the ridge.
The wanderer frowned.
For a moment, he wondered what the sheep was doing there.
Then he wondered what he was doing there.
He turned toward the path.
He had come to find something, after all.
A direction.
An answer.
Something that would tell him where to go next.
He took a step.
Then stopped.
What if he had spent so long searching for an answer that he had already decided what an answer ought to look like?
He looked back.
The black sheep was watching him.
Quietly.
Almost knowingly.
The sheep seemed to know the answer.
He whispered,
“Are you lost?”
