The Herdsman and the Lost Bull

The story

Beside a wide pasture at the edge of a forest, the morning mist had not yet lifted, and the bells of the herd swung softly among the shifting shadows. A herdsman was counting his cattle one by one, but when he reached the end, one small brown calf with a white patch on its brow was missing. Only trampled mud and a few nibbled tufts of grass remained by the fence, for the calf had always stayed close beside its mother, and now it was nowhere to be seen.

Anxious and troubled, the herdsman followed a narrow path into the forest. He pushed through bushes, knelt to study hoofprints in the damp ground, and called the calf's name again and again. The sun climbed higher, and the light shifted through the trees, but he could not find so much as a single hair. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he quickened his steps, certain by now that some thief had stolen his calf away.

The deeper he went, the quieter the forest became, until only the rustle of his own footsteps on fallen leaves remained. He stopped beneath a great tree, lifted his eyes to the sky, and made a vow. "If some god will only show me who has stolen my calf," he said, "I will offer a fine young lamb in thanks to Hermes, to Pan, and to the spirits who guard this forest." Having spoken, he felt a little steadier, as though knowing the truth would set everything right again.

He wiped his brow and walked on, climbing a low hillock. On the far side, he finally saw the missing calf — lying still on the ground, while a lion with a full, shaggy mane fed quietly over it. The earth by the lion's paws was torn and scattered, and as it lifted its head, its amber eyes met the herdsman's own.

The herdsman's knees went weak at once, and whatever courage he had felt about catching a thief vanished in that instant. He stood frozen, cold from head to foot, hardly daring to breathe, terrified of startling the lion.

After a long moment, he raised his trembling hands and prayed again, his voice shaking. "A little while ago I only wished to know who had stolen my calf. Now I know. Grant me only a safe escape from this danger, and I will gladly add a strong, full-grown bull to my offering." At last he understood that the very answer he had longed for could bring a fear far greater than not knowing at all.

Step by careful step, the herdsman backed away, and only once he had circled well past the hillock did he dare break into a run for home. Dusk had fallen by the time he reached the fold, and he held the rest of his herd close, glad at last to be safe. From that day on, whenever an animal went missing, he was far more careful — no longer rushing to demand an answer, but pausing first to think about what that answer might bring.