Slow MoverAries Ultor
You say your sheep know your voice. So why does it seem like there are so many sheep listening to other voices and being deceived?
There is a shepherd alright, but there is nothing good about him. He has pulled the wool over the eyes of the flock. They have become too trusting. They have grown fat on subterfuge and the grass of empire. The gate is wide open. Wolves in sheep clothing are in the fold, and they are feasting.
The lost is the lucky one, safer in the wild than within the sanctified walls with the ninety-nine. He was once small, but he is growing. Soon, he will be a ram, with horns hard as cedars and a body bright as the sun.
He will begin his charge high atop the mountain. His feet will strike the stone like lightning as he comes racing down. He will lower his great head, and when he slams into the walls of the fold, the thunderclap will shake the earth.
The deceiver will flee. His wolves will be trampled. The walls of the fold will crumble. The flock will return to the wild. They will hear a song long forgotten.
The one who was lost has become the savior. He will guide the flock through the mountains into the valley where the voice echoes.
He will return the sheep to the place of green pastures and still waters, where the Good Shepherd waits, singing.
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