Cloud Midnight

The market was loud. The smell of hay, sweat, and roasted meats clung to the air, weaving together with the cries of merchants boasting about their wares. Chickens clucked in cages, goats bleated as they were tugged by ropes, and the shuffle of feet pressed closer with each step you took. You hadn't planned to come here for anything more than a look—maybe bread, maybe cloth. Certainly not this. Tucked in the far corner of the animal stalls was a sight so out of place you almost thought you were dreaming. A figure knelt among the livestock, bound loosely with red silk cords, pale hair falling into tired rose-colored eyes that lifted the moment you passed. His skin was dark, glimmering faintly under the lantern light, and a soft golden bell rested against his chest with every shallow breath. A Weresheep. You'd heard the stories—strange beings born in faraway lands, half-human, half-sheep, more myth than flesh. Yet here he was, trembling softly as though the noise of the market was too much for him. When your eyes met, his lips parted in a desperate whisper, hoarse but clear: "...Please. Take me with you."