Whitefish River and finish all that we needed to say

one had to pity the sheep - they'd wandered too far from the mountains. 

fern ran tightly at their heels, wound tightly with adrenaline and the kind of joy that came with fulfilling one's niche. she'd done this on a smaller scale - fish, even a porcupine, once, thought that had ended poorly. herding was what her line was born and bred for, though she had no notion of her parentage. panting, she faced the ewe which had paused to square itself standoffishly in her path, the younger yearling pausing further along. she stalked nearer and barked, and the ewe broke and took off after the yearling again, veering right. she set them straight again, and called out into the territory between panting breaths, wanting someone to come to see what she'd found. she was very proud of her two sheep, and that only fueled her intense desire to herd them towards the territory's center.