the goatherd

Kazim liked his goat.

Its wispy, auburn beard fluttered in the occasional, merciful afternoon breeze. It's kind eyes held a steady, almost stoic gaze even when the sun's rays meted their impassive, unrelenting punishment to anyone venturing out into the highlands at that time of day.

On days like this, he sought comfort in what he took to be Gizli's silent wisdom. He felt something inside her akin to old Katja's spirit, that guided him down the narrow paths that led to the valley floor. The other day, she had suddenly lurched to the right on her way down, and made Kazim chase her for a hundred or so yards right through a thicket around a sharp bend, before he was struck with the most breathtaking view of the Korradh range miles away, the highest vantage anyone he knew had seen them from. It was as if Gizli knew.