He found himself in a pasture, peat moss and the smell of sheep comforted him. David, grips the bottom of his father's robe. The cloth was coarse in his fingers. Earth beneath his feet sunk and suckled under his sandal. He turned the pint-sized crook in his left hand, imitating his father as he held watch over the sheep. They bleated and ate and David fondly inhaled the smell of the earth and the sheep’s natty fur mixed together.

Cloudlets, jagged and dark began to form over head. Replicas of them passed between his eyes and the light. The void surrounding filled with valley mist. Till whenever he looked in the well of his mind, it appeared no different than the same vantage point from childhood. All of the white gathers to a tiny point and explodes producing a blinding effect. It reformed itself into the shape of a lion, as it raced across the field. It snatched a lamb in its fearsome razors. A bleat came from the sheep that thorned David's heart. He was too young to know fear and set off after it. He followed the crying of the sheep. It sounded almost like any other that David may have yelled at, lost patience with, struck with his crook if it strayed too far from the group. This was different, pained, coming as it did from a lion's hungry grip.

He chased it further into the mist. All around him became thick and white, a misty sleeping light. Veiled bushes and trees that could not be seen kept blocking his path. Then in the blinking of an eye, morning broke. The mist burnt away and David was face to face with the lion. The beast made a guttural sound, a warning growl. The lamb laid before him, fur stained crimson but still alive. He concentrated on the blood soaking the soil. Stared into the pools of sheep's life. Streaking on the surface was a trail of light, it snatched his attention in its trajectory. Though, he didn’t know what it was it birthed an ill feeling inside of him. David sensed that it was a harbinger of dreadful things. One of God's epistles sent to earth on a trail of light. He wished to look at the sky, to see if the heavens were trying to communicate with him. But he could not tear his eyes away from the weeping pool of sheep's blood. The comet came again and again. Each time its pace of approach slackened. Until its motion ceased entirely and was contained in a frozen frame of crimson.