"Crack—"
Old Laver's leather military boots crushed a clump of wet thistle grass, the purple corollas emitting a faint popping sound underfoot.
He removed his tricorn hat, sweat formed from the rising heat and humid air on his balding head, trickling down along his white-flecked temples into the collar of his linen shirt.
The May rains on the Shattered Stone Plain scattered over the yellow-brown pastures, where a slight misstep could land one in a puddle of mud.
Standing on the hillside, Old Laver could see black dots moving slowly within the waist-high golden grass.
Those were the Shepherds and their sheep, chewing the yellow-brown grass with expressionless faces.
Due to a recent shearing, most of the sheep were covered with only a short layer of wool, which, coupled with the relatively cool weather, was the most comfortable time for them.
The Shattered Stone Plain was different from the Thousand River Valley, with a much cooler climate.
