just call it a sheep, ya ding-dong
see, that’s MY advice to sci-fi and fantasy authors: if we already have a perfectly good word for something, don’t invent some goofy made-up term for it. relying on goofy made-up words to convey that your setting is Different Than The World We Live In Here and Now is lazy and annoying
in my fantasy novel cats exist but they’re called “purrlords”
books exist but they’re called “bound-paper flippityflops”
telephones exist, but they’re called “farspeakers”
guns exist but they’re called “killerizers”
Did I do it right?
Adelbert ran through the forest, twigs whipping everywhere until, covered in shallow cuts and sweat, his face stung, tingled, and went numb. Somewhere, far away, his feet ached from running and his back twinged from ducking under branches and around the enormous stone pillars left behind by the Sheep, but Adelbert pressed on; the brays of the hunting sheep were sharp in his ears, and the pains racking his body could never compare to what the barbed tips of the Sheep’s sheep would do if he were caught. Tight against his chest, swaddled close and far too warm, his tiny sister slept, calmed by the rocking of Adelbert’s running and oblivious to the danger that he felt swooping closer and closer as he stumbled around yet another half-buried sheep and onto the bank of the Sheep River.
Downstream, there was the Sheep Sea and the promise of freedom. The prospect was tantalizing, but the distance was great and the land flat enough to favor the sheep, even at Adelbert’s top speed. Adelbert clasped Calina closer and smoothed away the sweat that had dewed up in her feather-fine hair. He was burdened. He was sore. He wouldn’t make it. He had to find somewhere to hide.
He turned upstream, away from freedom, and lurched forward over the damp, uneven stones that lined the river. He could already hear the roar of the waterfall; with any luck, Mangala or one of her sheep would come to see what the sheep were chasing and take pity on him. They had always preached forgiveness, and perhaps if his sins were too great in their eyes, they would at least spare the child.
“I’m sorry, Sheep,” he murmured to her as he splashed across a shallow part of the river and dug his toes into the sandy shore on the opposite side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” He stumbled up the steep bank as the sound of the sheep, once muted by the trees, burst into full volume as they reached the riverside. Adelbert ducked out of sight behind a tall knoll and pushed forward into the forest before turning back toward the waterfall. Crossing the river would buy him some time, but not enough to stop.
The earth sloped upwards toward the waterfall, and Adelbert’s lungs filled with fire as he fought for step after step. The sheep were nearer, he was sure, so close he was sure he could feel their hot breath on his neck. He reached the top of the hill and risked a glance behind. The barking was as loud as ever, but there were no sheep in sight. He shuddered with relief and forced another burning breath down his throat and turned back around just in time to see the last of three warriors leap down from a well-concealed hunting stand, their sheep leveled at him and their faces unsmiling.
You did it *PERFECTLY.*
deepintheshadyglen