It seemed like there was no end in sight. Henry Wicker looked up at the bright blue and cloudless sky. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. The cloudless sky, typically welcomed this time of year, was foreboding of more trouble.
The drought had produced a stranglehold on everything in the area, and months had passed without rain. Crops were withering, and the harvest looked to be a dismal one this year. And most of the people in this area were suffering.
Among the creatures suffering were Henry’s cattle. He continually had to drive them further and further to find water.
If something didn’t change, then his cattle would die.
Henry pushed his herd farther than he had ever done. There must be a water source somewhere over the next ridge. His footsteps crunched on the dry grass with every step. The bright uninhibited sun beat down upon him, causing him to sweat and tire. He pulled a long drink from his water skin and continued.
He walked behind his cattle, from one side to the next, keeping them in as straight of a line as possible. As his cattle vanished down the other side of the next hill — a new area for him — he held out a bit of hope. He said a little prayer and reached the top.
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