E ars …

 
»Gilbert? Gilbert, where are you?«

Professor Claude Sideburns is shouting down the hallway through the open bedroom-door.

I jump out of bed, barefoot and dressed in a white Victorian nightshirt.

What the…, I think.

»Where are we and who the heck is Gilbert?«

»Calm down, Mister Bibble«, the professor says. »Or may I call you Bromford? I think we had some kind of drinking ritual on my annual Christmas party on Brompton Castle including calling each other by our forenames.«

It looks like Nigel is doing some research on his mobile phone.

»Bromford Castle, you said? Just one moment, please.«

»The sheep are still out there«, the llama says looking out the high and narrow castle windows. »And they are up to no good regarding the way they look at me.«

»Shouldn't they be in some kind of sheepfold or pen or barn at this time of the year with all this ice and snow?«

Kylie seems to be worried.

»The can handle cold way better than we all think«, the professor explains. »And this winter is kind of milde in the Brompton Hills this year so far.«

»Gilbert!« he shouts out once more.

Nigel's search seems to have been successful.

»Brompton Castle«, Kylie's son reads from his smartphone display, »is a medieval 12th century motte and bailey castle which survives only as earthworks. The motte is 25 feet high and well preserved, but the bailey and ditch have been damaged.«

»That must be another Brompton Castle, young man.«

A stiff looking man dressed in white shirts with black ties, grey west and a black suit or tails has entered the bedroom. He is greeting us all with an indicated bow of the upper body.

»Ah, Gilbert, there you are«, Professor Claude Sideburns says. »Is our breakfast ready?«

»Served in the library as you wished, Sir. After you, lady and gentlemen.«

»Gilbert is my butler«, Claude Sideburns says with an uncertain grin. »And as I said, we are on Brompton Castle, my family home and headquarters in the Brompton Hills.«

»You said«, the llama says looking distrustful, »we were on the Christmas Island and in Flying Fish Cove, Burnside.«

»I beg your pardon, honourable animal«, the butler Gilbert intervenes, »but I am pretty sure that Professor Sideburns was referring to and talking about Christian Island in Lake Sheepnesshires and the beautiful Flying Sheep Cove with its' picturesque landing stage.«

»Just as he says«, Professor Sideburns agrees, »Just as Gilbert, my butler said.«

The animal is still not satisfied and keeps on frowning.

»And now, follow me to the library«, Professor Sideburns says, »before eggs and bacon and sausages and tea are getting cold.«

»Give me one moment alone to get dressed«, I say looking at the old-fashioned nightgown.

And everyone is leaving the bedroom, with exception of the llama, of course.

»That professor dude and his penguin still look and act kind of fishy to me«, the animal says. »And look at those sheep out there. They are staring at us. I bet they are up to no good and have some dark plans.«
 

As I look out of the window and see a flock of sheep in a meadow full of snow, I cannot see their heads and eyes and so I cannot know whether they are looking at us or not.

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Today is Friday, the 30th of December 2022.

Sheep in Winter