by Viktoria Ani Mikail
Once a shepherd had got lost in the mountains during a storm, when it was raining very heavily and lightning was constantly appearing in the sky.
Before that he had sat on a rock to play the flute while his sheep grazed on grass, but later, when he got up, he saw that they had all disappeared. He had wandered far away from his city trying to find them, thinking that he was going the right way to find the animals, but he’d actually come to a completely different place.
It was a small village that was up very high in the mountains. The villagers there had welcomed him and told him about their village, but the shepherd had never heard about it or seen it before. Everyone in the village had lived in multi-storied houses, worn colorful clothes, and they’d spent the whole day in the mountains picking sweet smelling flowers and everyone had always been happy there.
The shepherd had really liked it there and during the course of a few days he’d forgotten about his own city and sheep. He’d never wanted to leave that happy village again. Why should he have gone home if it was better there? One night he fell asleep, and, in the morning, opened his eyes to see that he was laying on the same rock, the flute was laying by his side, and the sheep were still grazing grass.
It turns out that he’d fallen asleep on the rock. That magical village had been made up by his imagination. A shame, he thought, but if there’s no place like that in the world, then his town is the best.
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