Inspired by that faun shepherd imagine.
Átolmos had left the wilds to live among humans not because he liked them but because he had discovered the human job of shepherd. Oh, how he loved sheep! He was quite content to spend his days among a flock, and not just because he was really a faun. He was more like half-goat than half-sheep anyway.
It was easier to hide his true species than he thought it would be. A hand knitted cap handily covered his tiny horn nubs, and a combination of a long tunic and oversized boots that had been stuffed with straw hid his other less than human features. The boots made him walk with kind of an odd, waddling gait, but no one seemed to really care. He was quite a bit shorter and slighter than most men, but that didn’t cause much of a stir, either.
Over time, he worked his way from minding the flocks of others to managing his own. Each of his girls had her own personality, and he much preferred them to any humans in his acquaintance. Each year, he hired the use of a farmer’s ram to breed his sheep and felt a little jealousy as he watched them swell with new life year after year.
This year had been a surprise for multiple reasons.
“My old ram passed away,” the farmer explained as Átolmos gaped in awe at the impressive replacement ram. It was larger than the other one had been. That its predecessor had died was not terribly surprising. The old ram had been getting slower and weaker for some time, and the last few breeding seasons, there had been several ewes that had not even fallen pregnant.
“Will I need to pay a higher stud fee?” he asked. He did not make very much money that did not go toward other expenses.
“No, no. The usual price is fine.”
“Wonderful! Please bring him by next week.”
The young, virile ram was much more…enthusiastic than the old ram had been. Átolmos stayed in the field to watch the breeding. You know, to make sure his girls were all okay. If he’d pleasured himself a bit while keeping watch, could he really be blamed? He had fallen asleep in the field and woke to find that the ram found him just as pleasing as any ewe.
He wouldn’t lie–it had been most satisfying. He may even have indulged in the act several more times over the week he had the ram for stud services. He didn’t think anything would come of it.
However, one month later, his belly had a noticeable and very firm outward dome.
Átolmos stared down at the swell and chewed his bottom lip. He really had no one to blame but himself. For now, it could be hidden under his flowing tunic, but that would only work for a while. He began to make plans to move his flock out into the hills for the duration of their gestation and his own, away from any prying eyes in town. Gathering supplies and making other arrangements took time, though, and he was approaching two months in–halfway gone–by the time he was ready to leave town.
His belly was now spherical, hanging low and heavy on his abdomen. His hips ached with the pressure already, his skin oh so tight and itchy, and he still had so much longer to go! The waddling was even more exaggerated now.
He had sewn extra panels into his tunic, but his burgeoning tummy still pushed up against the scratchy fabric, curves scarcely hidden at all.
“Are you sure you want to go up into the hills?” his elderly neighbor asked with one white brow raised. Átolmos had asked her to keep an eye on his tiny cottage while he was away.
“Yes. I have heard that it is healthier for the ewes and their lambs.” He really had heard that somewhere, even if that wasn’t the main reason.
“I suppose the hiking will be good for you, too.”
He had blushed at that, but better everyone think he was putting on weight than to suspect he was growing a lamb in his belly.
The long trip out of town was exhausting. He was not as nimble as he used to be, after all. He found a lovely, sheltered valley away from any unwanted eyes and was quick to settle in and discard the clothing that was uncomfortable for him on a regular day and almost unbearable in his current condition.
Over the third month, his womb pushed outward even more until he could no longer quite reach the front and he wondered how much bigger he could possibly get. He really shouldn’t have because then it started bulging out to either side.
He began to feel movement in that third month as well. He quickly came to the realization that he was having more than one lamb. Twins were quite common for sheep. It was just his luck.
Moving around was getting harder and harder. His belly was terribly heavy and everything ached. His drum-tight uterus had pushed all his other organs up against his lungs, making breathing hard and leaving little room to fill his constantly growling stomach.
He occasionally grazed along with his sheep, resting some of his burden on the ground. It put uncomfortable pressure on his stretched skin, but it gave his poor bones a break.
He could only imagine how ridiculous he must look as his sides ballooned out ever further to either side of him. Sometimes, his lambs would jostle and roll around, and he could only bleat softly in dismay and watch the bizarre contortions of his flesh.
One miserable, bloated day flowed into the next, and he began to lose track of time. Every ewe seemed to be blowing up as well. The ram had done his work well!
Finally, one by one, the ewes began to deliver their lambs. Big, strong lambs that he occasionally had to help guide and pull out of their laboring mothers. There were several sets of twins and a few single offspring, as though the sheep’s bodies had decided no thank you, one of these very large lambs was plenty! If only his own body had gotten that memo…
The last ewe had delivered her lamb, but Átolmos was still stuffed to capacity. He gently rubbed soothing ointment into what skin he could still reach and anticipated and dreaded his own looming labor in equal measure.
He woke suddenly in the very early hours of the morning, wondering what had disturbed him in the quiet darkness. He was about to try to go back to sleep when another contraction squeezed down on his giant belly painfully. It was time! He rolled over onto his hands and knees, which was the best way he could think to duplicate the way sheep birthed.
Labor usually went pretty quickly for his sheep, as far as he could tell, so he thought it might be the same for him. Alas, the sun crept slowly over the horizon as he panted and groaned through wracking pain after pain. Finally, he felt himself spreading open tortuously. He dug his fingers into the grass and dirt. Every limb was shaking, but he reached one hand back to feel below his tail.
There he felt the tips of two small hooves and he groaned in dismay. He already felt as though he were being torn in half and scarcely any of the first lamb was even out! His muscles tried their best to bear down and push, but they had stretched so far they seemed woefully weak. He wailed and great, fat tears rolled down his cheeks as his offspring inched its way out of him. At last, gravity took over and the last half of the body slid from him in a rush.
He panted and moaned. He ought to check on the baby, but he couldn’t seem to do anything but quiver in place. He heard a sheep approach him from behind and lick at the lamb on the grass. Átolmos let out a quavering laugh when he heard a high bleat indicating the lamb was alive, if not terribly happy.
He had just enough time to wonder when his labor would start up again before the contractions began anew. It seemed only logical that the second lamb should be easier, as everything had already been stretched by the passage of the first, but that didn’t seem to be the case. It hurt just as terribly and moved just as slowly. Why oh why had he ever been so foolish as to wish to be like his pregnant ewes?
His throat was dry and sore from crying, and his eyes were swollen. Snot dripped unchecked from his nose because it was all he could do to stay upright, let alone wipe his face. Every hoarse lament tore its way out of him like the lamb was battering its way out.
He fell over onto his side as he felt the second lamb fall free. There! It was over and he had survived.
He felt kicking and stared down at his still swollen belly in horror. Triplets?! It was not unheard of but it was very rare. He ran shaky hands over the hard globe of his belly and cried some more. He couldn’t get back up again–he just couldn’t! He lay there on his side and waited for nature to just take its course. The contractions continued, one on top of the next, but nothing was moving.
“Get ahold of yourself!” he mentally scolded. Something was wrong, and if he didn’t want to die, he was going to have to figure it out. His tummy had gone down enough that he was able to feel around his abdomen. It was painful to push into the tender flesh, but he needed to feel what was happening inside.
The lamb was turned wrong. He needed to prod it back into the proper alignment, but he was certain his arms, which currently felt like limp noodles, were not strong enough. He looked around desperately and saw an old section of wooden fence nearby.
He dragged himself over and pulled his belly up and onto the lower rail. he let his weight fall against the fence, pushing the wooden bar in and against the stubborn occupant of his frantically contracting womb. There would be bruises there later for sure. Slowly, he felt the lamb begin to shift and turn and practically sobbed for joy when he felt the front hooves enter his swollen and sensitive birth canal.
It hurt even more than the first two had, and he was far too exhausted to push. With the last of his strength, he hooked both arms over the top rail of the fence and hung there, letting gravity do most of the work for him. He felt his aching hips circling weakly, whether to help things along or trying to escape the pressure and pain he wasn’t sure. He spread his legs as wide as he could. Surely, he was tearing open! The body of the third lamb seemed to be pulling all of his insides out behind it.
He heard the lamb hit the dirt and collapsed himself, everything going dark.
He awoke sometime later to realize that he was still alive. Three sheep with single lambs had adopted his own triplets, taking care of him as he had taken care of them. One lamb was particularly large, and he was certain it had been the third he birthed.
He reached down to examine himself and found he was miraculously not torn, just very swollen and stretched out of shape. The area around his nipples was also swollen and sore. Eventually, without the lambs to nurse there, that would subside, though it would probably be very uncomfortable for some time.
“My goodness!” His neighbor remarked when he returned with his flock and so many new lambs. “It’s been a bountiful year for you, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed,” he agreed, resting one had surreptitiously over his belly, still sore and swollen weeks after giving birth. In the moment, it had all been the purest agony, but now he felt… Empty. “If I am very fortunate, perhaps next year will be even more so.”
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