When the fates decreed that Hank Trubbs would enter the world, they must have been a bit distracted—he is neither strong nor quick, he is not especially beautiful, and he certainly isn’t very bright. When his mother, the barmaid at a roadside tavern outside Sandpoint, is asked about him, she explains, “Aw, but my son, he never causes no trouble like the other little boys, and he’s not been sick but a day or two in his life. He’s a real keeper, my Hank.”
This is what she always told him growing up. “Don’t worry ‘bout those nasty tallfolk boys and gels making fun of you what for yer slow talkin’ and your weedly arms, my lad. You’re a real keeper and others but me will come to be seein’ that in due time.”
Hanks’ struggles with the other children in the countryside beyond Sandpoint never made the boy bitter—he took his lumps, and usually managed to stand up again after getting knocked down. These fights left him with a homely sort of wisdom, a tendency to forgive and forget. He also tended to hang around on the outskirts of town with the livestock, and on the outskirts of the cliques at the school his mother sent him to.
When asked about himself on the first day of school, he stammered, “I’m uh a real keeper sez me mommy.” So they let him have the position as keeper of the school’s herd of petting livestock. Gozreh or Mother Nature some other force must have smiled upon the Halfling lad who worked so hard to improve the lives of his best friends, the flock of sheep. Gradually magic began to manifest in the child, and a local druid, recognizing the lad’s potential, taught him the rudiments of druidcraft and eventually, druidic. This took nigh forever, but let’s face it, most druids have to work hard on languages, which, after all, helps keep it “secret.”
One day a traveler from the scorched deserts of the south found himself with an odd conundrum. His camel gave birth many miles away from home, and he had to leave Sandpoint before the young beast was capable of the trip. He finagled an export tax break by donating the odd sheeplike creature to one of the town elementary schools. The town academy quickly packed the ornery and stinky beast to the country school beyond the walls. The teachers dumped the young camel into the sheep herd, reasoning that it looked like a sheep, so it should be happy with the sheep. This would have ended disastrously, as the young camel had a pronounced habit of snapping at anything that came within reach, and hawking a loogie on anything that didn’t get close enough to bite. Fortunately, Hank’s good natured resilience to punishment meant that after many a sickening spit shower, after countless deep flesh wounds that his nascent druidic magic usually sufficed to heal, the orphaned camel got tired of trying to drive him away. It began to process its separation anxieties instead of lashing out, and gradually came to appreciate the little squirt of a Halfling that insisted on bringing it treats. He (the camel) even let up on the sheep and the other schoolchildren. A little.
“I’ll name you ‘Cammy,’ because you’re a camel,” said Hank one day, as he struggled to comb the various layers of muck out of Cammy’s wooly coat. “It’ll be easy to remember,” he said, and smiled, dodging a lunge that might have removed his little Halfling nose had the attack been more wholehearted. The two grew ever closer, and druidic magic began to work upon them.
Then, one day late in the semester, the unthinkable: Hank wandered out to the school paddock to a scene of horror. A sheep had been mauled to death, decapitated, its blood and guts and brains scattered everywhere. Hank rushed to its side, wailing, “SHEEPY McSPOTFACE! NOOO!! Cure Light Wounds!” But it was too late. The magic just made the bloody goo jiggle a bit.
Hank found Cammy and the other sheep cowering in the corner of the byre. “Cammy my camel friend,” Hank said seriously, “I’m a young man now, even if I’m in the eleventh grade for the fifth time. And somebody’s done killed Sheepy, and that makes me real mad. We gotta stop whoever it was and save the rest of our friends and the friends of all the other sheepkeepin’ folk in this region.” Cammy looked determined, and nodded. At least, Hank thought so.
And the two friends set out for Sandpoint, to save the flock, and to exact the stern vengeance that would allow Sheepy’s soul to rest at peace.