The sheep were at pasture, but the shepherds were gone. They had made a deal with the wolves to let them have a portion of their herd just to be left alone.

That night, the wolves slowly approached the pasture, their long canines shining as they approached their soon-to-be meal. Heavy paws crunched against the dirt and grass as low rumbles started in their throats.

The sheep were at pasture, but the shepherds were gone. The wolves would feast well tonight.

The sheep were at pasture, but the shepherds were gone. And the sheep were not sheep anymore. They were ready. Before the wolves could attack, their intended prey turned and stampeded toward them. They tore through the ranks of the pack, some wounded - some dying - but, the majority trampling the enemy again and again until what was left of the pack turned and ran, whimpering and with their tails between their legs.

The sheep were at pasture, but the shepherds were gone. And now, the sheep would find them too.