“Those aren’t cows, are they?”
A frown flashed across Alala’s face but didn’t linger. She was aware he was deflecting but had apparently decided to let it be. “No, they aren’t.”
“What are they then?” He squinted again, trying to pick them out a distance that made the lumbering beasts look to be the size of street dogs. “They look, I’m not sure. Something about the faces.”
“It doesn’t really matter what they’re called, but they are spirits. So’s the one herding them. Sometimes they might be sheep, or goats, or geese, or cows, depending on where they are. They’re harmless, for the most part. They lure in the young for a romp or two and lead them off somewhere. I think the story is that they used to help coax the young to leave home and find other villages safely to make sure small settlements didn’t become too…” She cleared her throat. “Insular.”
“Ah.” He felt his face go red, looking away from the field. “Should we tell Quintus and Palra?”
“I think they’ll be fine; they seem to be keeping their distance and I don’t recall anyone in that company who looked like they’d be making decisions fueled by youth and the conviction that the being they met five minutes ago is their destined true love.”
