I am a shepherd.
That does not mean that I specifically look after sheep although some of those under my watch do happen to be sheep. I know a few ponies from up north that do exactly what you’re probably imagining and they claim that it’s an almost magical experience watching those little crystal ewes bound tirelessly across the meadows. Each of those shepherds would always be smiling, too, as they recalled the memory. The energy with which they carried out their duties is what initially impressed me, but what at first looked to me like unflappable devotion turned out to be something more substantial. Truly, that special something is what kept me watching them long after the crowds of tourists had moved on to more exciting attractions.
I think a lot of us take it for granted that we have been blessed to live on the lands to which we have been born. Many experience the smiles and bounding joy of those crystal ewes and they believe that those expressions are the product of something inherent to almost every creature in Equestria. I know that’s not true at all. My brothers, my sisters, and those countless shepherds that have tended to the great masses have seen firsthoof that it’s not true. I have seen the same for myself.
Most everybody will encounter a grumpy individual or someone displaying greed or a lack of compassion at least once in a day. There are cynics, thieves, and brutes mixed in with the generous, kind, and thoughtful. For most of us in our everyday lives the latter outweighs the former by a large majority and with that knowledge those folks trot on into their pleasant sunsets each evening. They may be aware but choose not to think about what lies outside the borders of their cities or lurks in the shadows of the deep forests and caverns. Even with the near constant influx of monsters and threats many ponies choose to continue their lives as though an invisible shield ultimately protects them and watches over them as they sleep.
That’s good. I want them to go to their shops and schools without having to worry or consider what might happen if the worst came to pass. They deserve to sleep soundly at night with their eyes closed and their doors and windows unlocked. Every last mare, stallion, colt and filly has the right to feel safe. That is what every shepherd desires for their flock or herd.
I stood on a low hill at the edge of a forest and looked down over the open meadows of a park. Beyond that park was a town. It was not my town. My own home was far away to the south, sprouting out of the sands of Appleloosa. I was here, looking out over this place, because although I loved my home I knew that my place in life, my gift, could not be reserved only to serve a select few. As the shepherd that I am, my flock was larger and greater than any one single group or village. So there I stood, one of too few watching over so many.
There are many kinds of shepherd. Some are talented and skilled in the stewardship of their charges, ensuring that everyone is content and has a clear purpose. Others are gifted with deep empathy and look after the emotional and spiritual needs of their flock, offering love and warmth in times of need or sorrow. A hearty number travel far and wide to make sure that their flocks are well-provisioned and provide them the very best care and chance at comfort that they can manage. You probably know a few individuals like these or at least cross paths with them once in a while.
Then there are we few, we hopeful few, who choose to stand by and march down a different path. It is one that we each pray will not need to be tread upon because if we must then all other options have been exhausted and no other avenue lay open and clear. We stand, often silently, but always watchful and alert. Always ready. Always hopeful.
I am a shepherd. The citizens of Equestria are my flock.
I am their spear and their shield.
A shepherd must watch over their flock.
The hairs on my back stood on end and my mane bristled at a scent carried to my nostrils on the wind. It was earthy and sharp, like a freshly cut lawn after a thunderstorm. There was also an unmistakable stench that crept in over the top of the natural smell. It was the smell of dead things.
I knew what was approaching.
The sound of it reached my ears as I turned; the squeal of young saplings bending but not quite breaking and the creak of dried branches. A pair of unnatural lights, little points of amber against the shadows of the underbrush, starred out at me with steady, unblinking hunger. The birds and insects of the field grew silent as a low growl thrummed across the grass and set the blades quivering.
I calmly tapped twice on a small gem that was embedded in my armor as I unfastened my lance from its cradle lock and let it swing into position against my right side, business end forward. The gem vibrated twice in return. Message received. With motions I had practiced and drilled into the memories of my muscles I slipped the shield from my back and snapped it across my withers, locking it into place on my left shoulder.
The timberwolf, its bulk easily twice that my own, lifted one of its front paws and crouched low to the forest floor.
I was not afraid and I knew that my confidence was not arrogant nor was it boastful. Not once have I bragged about my prowess in combat. Neither do I believe myself to be invincible or even a master of my craft. I felt no fear even though I was staring down a creature which bore a desire to end my life. Though an undeniable truth, that grim fact did not weigh on my mind. No, I felt no fear because I was exactly where I wanted to be, where I was born to stand: between danger and those who could not defend themselves. Far better that it be myself than some poor soul who had done nothing but trotted through life with aspirations of peace.
I dreamed of peace and I hoped for quiet tomorrows, but I trained for battle. There were far better ponies out there than I to pursue the paths of peace; ponies that deserved every chance that I could give them to make those plans a reality.
I swiveled one ear as a bell sounded somewhere in the town below. Distant voices rose above the warning clamor and I knew ponies would be vacating the open park fields and heading for shelter. Other shepherds would be coming too.
There are many types of shepherd in this world. All of them are courageous in their own manner, living by a shared set of values and their own personal codes. I have my own too. They are simple and straightforward but above all others there is one principle, one constant in my life that guides my every action and decision: a shepherd must look after their flock and, when necessary, fight off the beasts.
Silently I was joined by my fellow shepherds, one to either side of me. The shifting of their armor and deep, steady breathing were the only words we needed. Lances readied and hard eyes boring into those of our shared foe, we stood firm. There was a universal agreement between us shepherds, a single outcome with no other alternative: no danger nor foul monster or malicious fiend would ever pass through so long as even just one of us remained standing.
The world grew still and quiet. My mind, body and soul existed in this one moment. Another low growl drifted through the air and a second pair of jaundiced eyes joined the first pair. The newly arrived timberwolf crouched alongside its partner in the shadows, vines for muscles tensing and bunching with barely contained power. The new arrival huffed once and the first released a snarling howl.
The timberwolves sprang. My fellow shepherds and I braced our lances and angled our shields to receive the charge.
And together we stood as shepherds for our flock.
