Blackbelly Sheep Novels & Stories

Noong nakaraang linggo lang nireregla si Tala, saktong isang buwan pagkatapos ng ika-labing dalawa nitong kaarawan. Pinagmasdan ni Mahalia ang anak habang inaayusan niya ito bilang paghahanda sa nalalapit na kasal. Black beauty, ito ang madalas na hambing ng mga tao kay Tala. Namana nito sa ama ang kabuuan nitong itsura gaya ng kayumagging kaligatang kulay, bilugang mga mata, matangos na ilong, at manipis na mapululang labi. Mahahabang pilik-mata, makinis na kutis, tindigan, at pangangatawan naman ang nakuha nito sa ina.

My father sighed, his smile remaining as he adjusted his black robes, each piece of clothing he wore crafted from the finest cotton; yet easily manoeuvrable in battle. I smiled up at his armoured breast plate, once again noticing that he still wore the armour of the stag after all these years, vast antlers reaching across his broad chest. I shifted my eyes towards the sheath by his side, the large jewel at the hilt of his long sword breathtaking as the red shone through his black cloak; informing me that he still did not trust the members of the council enough to remove his weapon in their presence. Smart. I believed that each one of them would betray him were they given a chance, taking the

Aiden guesses, not that it needs much guesswork. “A ghost,” I nod. “His horse is a stallion. Blackmarsh has mares. There have been foals that we don’t have another explanation for. They’re not ghosts, they’re perfectly normal horses as far as anyone can tell. They’re very, very good horses. Promises Kept is one of them, Keppy for short. He’s one of Katie’s competition horses.” “Ghosts can do that?” He sounds dubious. I’d never have guessed it was possible either, if I hadn’t seen the evidence. “What about Bellmouth, does he have puppies?”

The expression on Xyrielle’s face also instantly changed, and she could not help but stand up in unison along with her few friends as they looked toward the big black steel cage. “Mr. Babel, is there still something else inside that big cage?” Xyrielle asked Mr. Babel, who was next to her. Mr. Babel’s eyelids twitched slightly. “Yes, Miss Xyrielle. There is a huge black bull inside the cage. That is the only bull with a white horn, and it looks a little strange and eerie. That is the reason why it has not been released yet!” As Mr. Babel spoke, he hurriedly used his body to block Xyrielle’s body.

Zephyr nodded. The mounts looked to be good ones, but from what he observed, they did not seem to be any much stronger, more wild animals than bred beasts. “Wait a minute,” just as Zephyr was about to leave, a herd of black horses appeared within vision, each possessed a black horn on their heads. “Shadowmeres!”

“Remember, black is your color. Bye now.” She hangs up and I get out of the car, slamming the door. How did my cousin get all the grace, poise, and beauty in our generation, plus a metabolism that could burn through a brick wall? It wouldn’t be so bad if Auntie Jen didn’t consider cellulite worse than a criminal record. It doesn’t matter that I’m generally a decent person. As soon as I outgrew a size four, I was officially the family’s black sheep. At least black is slimming. Do black sheep look less fat than white ones? Are sheep even fat? Or do they just look that way because of their wool?

He'd just stood next to her, silently watching and letting her know he was there if she crumbled. She followed him inside the barn and took stock. Baa-baas rent the air and the scent of straw mixed with soil clung to the crisp cross-breeze. He'd rounded up a third of the flock and had some penned on one side of the large space, the rest in the outer holding area just beyond the open rear doorway. Roughly a hundred sheep stalked around while her faithful black and white border collie, Bones, sat idly in the middle of the room, awaiting orders. To the right was a sturdy wooden table where they could roll the wool and a large crate already on a skid for easy transport.

“We just heard he was selling some interesting wool and thought we would check it out.” Sighing, Mary looked at her peaceful lambs and lowered her voice. “You would need a reservation to get any of his wool,” she shook her head. “It’s probably easier for you to find black wool that had been dyed instead. The stubborn old shepherd refuses to let anyone else near his flock and is extremely foul-tempered. He claims that black sheep are superior to all other sheep and would go to extreme lengths to breed and obtain the blackest sheep into his flock.”

“I raise them for their wool, soft aren’t they?” The pups exchanged glances, subconsciously clutching the creature’s fuzzy wool for comfort. Paisley, intrigued by the idea that the tall sheep might belong to someone, peeked out from behind the llama’s front leg. “Do they have names?” “Some of them do.” The man confirmed, sitting on the ground now that the children weren’t actively running away. “That one doesn’t though - you could give it one.” He offered. The pups exchanged another series of serious looks. “Really?” Riley questioned suspiciously.

I’m trying to figure out what I saw. There. Again. Then something large and dark moving through the undergrowth at the edge of the woods. Then it breaks into the open. A massive dog, easily eighty or ninety pounds, with matted fur and visible ribs showing through its coat. Some kind of shepherd mix based on the shape of its head and ears. It stops at the tree line, about a hundred yards away, staring at us, at the sheep. “Everyone stay calm,” I say quietly. “Don’t make sudden movements.”