The setting sun caused the trees to cast long shadows on the grass, which was being munched and chewed by a few stray sheep that had separated from the main herd. Phashar, a shepherd caring for his father’s sheep, informed the servants and helpers that he would go in search of his lost family’s animals. Living in Aphek, a medium-sized town in Israel, they had sufficient resources to ensure the viability of the family and their employees, but not enough surplus to risk losing even a few sheep. Many servants wanted to take Phashar's place for the mission, as he was the middle son and of great value to the family. Phashar felt it was his responsibility to uphold the family’s way of life for both this generation and the next.
The slight breeze in the air picked up as the sunset deepened. It either signaled a possible storm or a cool night. Phashar was fine with either. All he wanted was to find the sheep, wrangle them back home, and enjoy a delicious meal his mother had prepared. As he reminisced about his mother cooking, he finally noticed the sheep in a clear patch of grass, surrounded by dense forests on both sides.
Phashar found it a bit strange how nature had created a significant divide between the trees. He wondered if someone had attempted to establish a settlement or if God had intentionally left a large space for animals of all kinds to graze freely on the grass covering the ground. However, Phashar, dressed in his grey and brown shepherd’s outfit and armed with two swords and a club for protecting the livestock, occupied one forested area. At the same time, across the clearing and unaware of the impending danger, a family of wolves waited with eager breaths, ready to feast.
“I see you,” Phashar whispered. The shepherd noticed three wolves and suspected that a few more were lurking near his family’s sheep. Phashar thought he heard rustling in the trees bordering the meadows where the sheep grazed and caught sight of the snout and ears of a familiar predator, a nuisance to shepherds and their flocks.
Phashar wasn’t sure if the wolves had seen him approach from the other side of the clearing. The trees on both sides provided plenty of cover to hide and wait. Phashar only spotted the wolves because he was always on the lookout for any creature that could attack and devour his livestock. The sheep, utterly unaware of the danger nearby, continued to graze without sensing or recognizing the threat associated with their location. Phashar wanted to step out immediately and call out to the animals, but some might accidentally run toward the wolves. The sheep were familiar with him, but sudden noises caused the skittish creatures to flee first and think second.
Phashar wondered if he should have brought someone else along. There was no reason not to have one of the servants join him, but he wanted them to move the larger herd back home. His older brother, Palluw, was making sure that all the animals were accounted for and that the family’s business was being run according to their father’s specifications. Naturally, the primary blessing and responsibility would go to Palluw, but Phashar, being only twenty, didn’t mind helping his older brother. He knew Palluw would soon find a wife, and he could learn a lot from his elder sibling. Palluw often taught Phashar how to do the work, deal with merchants, placate their father, and, of course, show respect to the servants. Phashar’s goal was to be a big brother to their youngest sibling, Mered, who was still a child.
Phashar tapped both swords on either side of him with his club before whispering a quick prayer. Most shepherds carried staffs or slingshots to protect their animals, intending to scare off the wolves so they wouldn’t harm the sheep or any livestock under their care. A few would attempt to end the lives of the predators, but only when absolutely necessary. Phashar knew that most of the shepherds and farmers didn’t have official training but learned what they could through experience.
Unlike most people in the city, Phashar learned to fight from his uncle, a war hero, and he practiced what he knew every day while also expanding on it. Most soldiers used only one sword, but Phashar, having secretly learned to use both hands for everything he did, fought with two. Still, the swords were for war, and he kept them to practice. The club he had was his primary means of scaring off predators or anyone who might try to steal one of his family’s animals.
Despite his fighting skills, Phashar never wanted to take the life of another person or animal unless it served a purpose. Usually, that meant food, clothing, or useful items around the house. Phashar’s perspective on death always seemed strange to Palluw, who knew he practiced combat with tools designed to harm and kill. To Phashar, they were merely a means of protecting his family and livestock. Although these wolves posed a danger to the sheep, Phashar tried his best not to kill any of them if possible. He understood they had their place in the world.
A rock, slightly larger than the palm of his hand, sat in front of where he crouched. There were a few more, and an idea cultivated in Phashar’s mind. He looked up to see the wolves from a distance and scanned his surroundings. Most wolves tended to ignore people, but he didn’t want to risk being attacked by another group from the side while defending his sheep against the few he could see. Before putting his plan into action, Phashar examined his surroundings to ensure there wasn’t an ambush. With a sigh, he felt relieved not to see any wolves or other dangerous animals lurking in his part of the forest. Phashar took a deep breath, picked up the rock, and hurled it as far as he could in the direction of the wolves.
A loud cry from the other side indicated that he had actually hit one of the animals. That went better than expected, Phashar thought. He hoped to startle them into snarling, howling, or growling. It never occurred to him that he could strike a wolf through the trees with a rock thrown across a field. The yelp and howl from the wolf did the trick, and Phashar hoped it meant that specific wolf would stay out of the potential fight if one were necessary.
The sheep quickly fled the area and sprinted toward the farm as fast as they could. Phashar knew that sheep remembered where home was, but for some reason, they kept wandering away from it in search of better land or adventure. He noticed that two of them were not entirely following the others, but couldn’t focus on them. The sudden attack of the rock and the sight of the sheep running had drawn the wolves from their hiding places.
"Not on my watch,” Phashar shouted. One of the wolves heard him and turned in his direction as he dashed from the woods. In Phashar’s hands were several rocks that he hurled at the predators while shouting. He aimed to divert their attention from the sheep and focus it on himself. Hopefully, Phashar thought, this would scare the wolves away.
One wolf snapped at Phashar and broke ranks from the pack, heading in the shepherd’s direction. This sudden shift prompted another wolf to follow, even though the galloping sheep was likely a more appealing meal. One wolf was limping, struggling to keep up with the pack, and was slow to join the hunt. Phashar recognized it as the one he had hit and was relieved it was injured in the leg rather than a more vital area. With two wolves closing in on him, Phashar paid no mind to the injured one or the fourth wolf that appeared from the forest, still chasing the sheep. It was the smallest, presumably the runt of the family, currently out hunting the runaway herd.
Phashar yelled at the wolves and charged toward them. He hurled a few rocks at the wolves, including the runt, to scare them away from the sheep. It worked the sudden projectile was enough to make it break off its pursuit and head back toward the family. Phashar kept his club ready to strike, hoping he wouldn’t have to use his swords.
The first wolf lunged at Phashar, only to receive a blow to the head in response. Yelping in surprise, the wolf staggered to regain its bearings while the second wolf lunged at Phashar, aiming for a bite. Phashar rolled onto his side, stood up, and charged at the injured wolf that had tried to join the hunt. He struck the wounded wolf again in the leg, eliciting a howl of pain as it fled from the confrontation. Meanwhile, the second wolf that had nearly bitten him glanced at two of its packmates, hesitated, and howled at the runt to stay back. Although there were growls and bared teeth, through some unknown communication, all four wolves huddled together and retreated to the forest from which they had come. Phashar sighed with relief and followed after the sheep, which were already making their way home.
“Are you okay?" Yered, one of the main servants, asked Phashar as he crossed the clearing. Yered was a young man still learning the art of growing a respectable beard. He was shorter than most men Phashar knew in Aphek, but he was a hard worker committed to doing his best for the farm. His father and Phashar’s father were friends from their various dealings in the marketplace. Yered was the youngest of four sons, and his father wanted him to learn a trade and work hard to bring respectability and income to the family.
“I’m fine,” Phashar replied. “What a surprise to see you here.” Phashar was only halfway home, with the sheep responding to his voice and commands. He made sure that none of them wandered off this time. Although battling four wolves might have been exciting, he didn’t want to put himself in constant danger.
“We heard the wolves and wanted to make sure your father’s son was safe,” Yered replied. A few servants approached from the direction of Phashar’s home on their way to them.
“They were just wolves,” Phashar said. He patted the young man on the shoulder and continued to guide the sheep in the right direction. “I knocked the fight out of one with a rock I threw across the clearing.”
“Sure you did,” Yered said, his tone laced with disbelief as he emphasized the word “sure.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Phashar asked, smiling. He could see that the young worker was nervous but relaxed once the man understood he was joking.
“Not at all,” Yered replied. “Sure, you could throw a rock across the field and hit a wolf.”
“I’m just as surprised as you,” Phashar said, about to continue when Nulgim, a servant who typically stayed near the house instead of herding animals, hurried up to them. He was taller than most of the workers, and his voice resonated with a bass that Phashar could feel in his chest. Unlike most people in Israel, Nulgim shaved his head but maintained a beard. It was greying in patches, leading Phashar to assume it had been thinning on top before being completely removed.
“We did a quick count and think two of the sheep are missing," Nulgim said.
Phashar paused, looking around the clearing and the woods on both sides. He surveyed the land, wondering where the sheep might have gone. He replayed the events involving the sheep and the wolves, recalling how he had driven them away. Then he remembered that a few sheep hadn’t run in the same direction as the others.
“I’ll look for them and be back before nightfall,” Phashar said.
“I can go,” Yered offered. “Your father wouldn’t want any danger to come to you or Palluw.”
“Yered,” Phashar began. “I’ve got my blades and this club.” He patted the side of his leg where the blades were secured with the club. “I promise to be back before nightfall. If I don’t find the sheep by then,” Phashar paused, gazing into the depths of the woods. “Then nature has been well fed.”
“What about Philistia?” Nulgim asked.
Phashar paused and considered Nulgim’s words. Aphek was located in the territory of the tribe of Issachar. Technically, there were ten tribes in Israel, while the other two united to form Judah. Issachar was situated on the western side of the country, placing them close to foreign empires that frequently went to war with Israel. One of these, Philistia, posed a problem for the Israelites for many generations.
Aphek had enjoyed peace for most of its existence, but there was talk in the city regarding the ongoing war between the Israelites and the Philistines near Gibbethon. The town was a fiercely contested battleground, as Israel believed it belonged to them, while the Philistines claimed it as part of Philistia.
“I doubt any of them will be close,” Phashar replied. “Gibbethon is far.”
“They battle across different parts of the region,” Nulgim noted. “Your father is concerned about war approaching Aphek.”
Phashar snorted and shook his head. “Father has his reasons,” he said. He looked at the servant and smiled, “But that doesn’t mean we should cower in fear.”
Nulgim glanced in the direction Phashar had indicated while searching for the lost sheep. He sighed, slumped his shoulders, and returned his gaze to Phashar. “I take it you’re still going?”
“Yes,” Phashar replied. “I’ll be quick.”
“And what if you encounter any soldiers?”
Phashar grinned and tapped his swords once more. “If there are any unwashed heathens, I’ll make sure they know they’re not welcome here.”
