The Boy Who Cried Wolf

The Boy Who Cried Wolf
By: Exile

In a time long ago, a midst the rolling hills, a village lay nestled, cut off from the rest of the world. The village was a simple one, who maintained its livelihood from their ample flocks of sheep. The village was steeped in old traditions and abided by them for many years. Despite their simple nature the shepherds of the village knew that the flock of sheep must be protected at all costs.

As was done in the days of old, one boy was chosen to sit atop the sacred hill and watch over the flock during the night. The boy, Sachris, was the son of one of the village elders and was told since he was a young child what an honor this duty was. And while Sachris heard the elders tell him of these things, he was always too busy playing to actually listen to them. In fact, the first night he was to ascend the sacred hilltop all he really knew about his new duty was that he was to watch over the flock from the flat stone atop the hill and there would be a wolf eventually.

As Sachris prepared to leave his hut, his mother hugged him tightly, with tears in her eyes and left him to speak with his father.

“Father,” Sachris asked. “Is there something troubling momma?”

“Those are tears of pride son,” he stated. “She knows the boy you are now will never return, and that you will come home man. This is a great honor you bring upon us.”

“But father,” Sachris questioned. “Why do I have to go up there and watch for wolves? I’ve never seen a wolf anywhere near the village.”

“That is why you must go son,” he said softly. “You will take your prepared place atop the sacred hill to protect our flock.”

As he left his hut he noticed that the village seemed awfully quiet for such a nice afternoon, he walked toward the hill and saw one of his friends peeking out of a window in his hut. Sachris approached the window, but his friend’s mother pulled him back inside the hut. Sachris simply shrugged and continued walking. The thought about how silly these people can be, and that sitting on some rock on some hill wasn’t that special. Sachris climbed the hill, occasionally batting sheep out of his way as he walked. Upon reaching the flat stone boredom and fatigue soon set in and within moments and soon enough he nodded off.

The next morning he awoke to the sound of bleating, the sheep lazily grazed, but there was no wolf, and there were no signs of a wolf. He made himself a small breakfast from the pack his mother made him, and then waited. There was nothing, even the wind seemed listless. He thought of his friends in the village playing all the games he was missing out on and began to hate this new duty.

“Stupid sheep.” He exclaimed throwing a rock at the grazing sheep.

Hours passed and what started as a single rock being tossed turned into a game for Sachris, a game that lasted until the sheep moved out of range.

As night fell Sachris realized that doing nothing all day is only fun when you have responsibilities that you’re avoiding. As shadows crossed the hills he thought he saw something move among the sheep. While it appeared to be nothing but a trick of the light, Sachris decided to play a trick of his own. From the top of his lungs he started yelling, “Wolf! Wolf!” After a while he saw a few torches approaching from the village. He giggled at the idea of all the frightened villagers coming up to see that there was no wolf. He realized that there was only six figures coming towards him, he recognized the robes and realized it was the elders.

His father removed his hood and glared at Sachris, anger and confusion danced across his face as the other elders turned and walked away.

“Son, what have you done?” His father demanded.

“I was…” Sachris stuttered. “I was just bored, I’m sorry.”

“This is a great honor,” his father warned. “Do not disappoint me.”

The next night came and Sachris again felt his boredom rising within him, he cried out again. And in a timely fashion the elders reappeared on the hill and again his father scolded him. The elders returned to the village as Sachris sat on the flat stone, still upset about his father’s words. Soon Sachris was alone again atop the flat stone. The night air grew colder as his breath hung before him. He wrapped his blanket tightly around himself as he attempted to fend off the cold. Every bit of skin exposed to the cold was unbearably chilled, every part, save for his neck.

The heat on his neck felt like that of the sun beating down on him when he played with his friends, but the began to come in short bursts. Sachris completely froze; terror gripped him as the hot wind on his neck was enveloped by sounds of growling. Sachris jumped to his feet, only to be slammed down onto the flat stone. He tried to cry out wolf, but all that came out was a shrill scream, cut short by the sound of gurgling. The wolf pulled back for a moment, consuming the large chunk of Sachris’ throat. Blood surged from Sachris’ body as he vainly attempted to crawl toward the village. Again the wolf’s fangs tore into his body, ripping open his stomach and smearing his organs across the ground. The blood pouring from the boy’s body began to fill in all the etched lines in the top of the flat stone. After consuming his fill of flesh, the wolf let out a blood-curdling howl and retreated into the darkness.

Once again the six elders climbed to the top of the sacred hill, this time followed by numerous members of the village. As they reached the top of the sacred hill the elders surrounded the flat stone and began chanting. The villagers gazed at the flat stone with grief and reserve.

“Dear brothers and sisters,” Sachris’s father addressed. “While no one here may mourn for the life of my son my than my self, his death was not in vain.”

The villagers speak quietly to themselves, a hush falls over them as Sachris’ father raises his hand.
“My son gave his life to appease the wolf spirit.” Sachris’ father motioned to the top of the stone alter. “His blood now fills the etching on the alter as his ancestors before him. He sacrificed himself to the wolf spirit to preserve and protect our way of life. There is no greater honor than that.”


Exile

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