It was difficult to say if the girl had a voice fit for singing. She couldn't really tell with her own ears, whether her notes were in tune, or whether the soft tones of her throat were pleasant for another to hear. Oliver didn't seem to object, however, as she sang quietly to herself during their ascent of the hillside, with the flock moving lazily ahead, around, and behind them.
The sun was persistent here, on the higher slope, to thin out the powdery snow, allowing the sheep to paw through and find the tough, life-giving grasses beneath. Her sitting-rock was also courteously free of snow and ice, for the dark stone had soaked up the sunlight enough to become bare and dry. She perched herself upon it, turning to look down the hillside and out over the rolling valley facing east. Oliver began his morning patrol, snuffling first around the base of the boulder, and then moving in ever-widening circles to examine the ground upon which the sheep now grazed.
After tugging the corners of her woolen shawl more comfortably about her shoulders, she withdrew the little, hand-carved flute from the deep pocket of her skirt. Her moss-green eyes flicked to the sky above, examining the clouds. They were thin, high, and shredded by the loftier winds. There would be no snow or rain this day, and she smiled. A jaunty tune was in order.
Placing the flute to her lips, she played out a soft trill of notes that sounded a bit like a laughing bird. A brief pause, then a sweetly joyful melody floated away down the hillside, while her half-gloved fingers worked nimbly over the holes. Oliver's head lifted, his feathery ears perked as he looked towards his mistress for a moment, then continued with his prowling.
The girl's gaze drifted aimlessly over the flock and away towards the distant hills. She noticed an odd bit of shadow that seemed to linger over a patch of forest, less than half a league away. There didn't seem to be any particular clouds above the spot, which made it all the more curious. Her song stopped, and she lowered the flute, and stared with narrowed eyes.
She fancied then, that she saw two dark shapes rushing over an open patch of ground between the trees. Chasing something? Or...being chased? She glanced at Oliver, but he had taken no notice of anything untoward. The wind was tumbling softly down the hill, keeping any strange scents at bay, and there was no sound of shouting or alarm that she could hear. Her eyes returned to the patch of woods, but she saw nothing further, though she watched for several minutes more.
A concerned frown puckered her young features as she lifted the flute and began to play again.
