He had been trying to catch up to her for quite some time now. She was always at the head of the flock, always trying to lead by example. She had been like this since they were young, he remembered. There were times when he mistook her for his mother, the same nagging tone, the repeated warnings, the constant worrying. Despite all that, however, he could not bring himself to do anything but love her. She was like that. For all her thousand faults, she was still the most flawless creature that he had ever laid his eyes upon. And so, he had fallen in love.

They had been going for about four hours now, never stopping for a break in between. She was a slave-driver, that one. The conditions were good, a soft breeze blowing gently through the group, refreshing them as they moved.

His movements were automatic, a product of his unconscious. He devoted no thought to it. As with every day, he thought only of her. She filled his mind so completely that sometimes he began to worry about what he would do if she was gone.

The wind hummed peacefully in his ears, and he found himself lulled into a half-sleep, something which all of them had perfected, for it gave them the ability to go on for hours and hours without stopping and yet not feel tired at the end of the journey.

He heard something, and as he looked around, he sensed that all of them had heard it. An indistinct noise, rising and falling in pitch. Suddenly, he knew. He could smell man in the air and knew what would follow.

Another voice intruded. It was deeper, and more commanding. Suddenly, he knew what would follow, and he tried to stop it with all the power of his mind. Oh God, let it not happen, let it not happen. And it happened.

As their flock veered away from the disturbance, the report of a twelve-gauge shotgun rang out, tearing through the peace and quiet. The sound rang again and again, a death knell, and he knew that some would not go home today.

"Nice shot Papa! I think you nicked one. There! There! They're turning left Pa! Try again!"

He felt it, and knew that he that would not see the end of this journey. He looked around, and saw her lying on the ground, one wing mangled and bloody, the other flapping weakly, and realized that she would not go home too, and for an instant, for both joy and sadness welled up in his heart.

The father and his son picked their way back carefully through the fields. A smile lit up the son's face as the father ruffled his hair affectionately. They would not go hungry tonight. Over the father's broad, peasant's shoulders were slung two prizes, two large, unplucked, snow white pigeons, washed clean of blood.

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