Dr. Elara Lee of the Lamhaven Institute has put forward a theory that manifestations of the Sleeping Android have been occurring at irregular intervals since the earliest days of mankind. As evidence, Lee offers folktales from the oral traditions of cultures around the world. Hidden within these stories, she believes, are keys to uncover the nature of the Android and the autonomous sheep generated by its dreams in response to words spoken within the Android's hearing.
“These stories come to us across thousands of years and many generations of retellings,” Lee writes. "Human migrations bring them far from their point of origin, perhaps out of Africa, across Asia, and into Europe and the Americas. We must collect and compare dozens of versions in order to trace the common motifs back to a common origin in history.
“For example, Greek mythology gives us the story of Polyphemus, the giant shepherd encountered by Odysseus, based on a traditional tale that was already ancient in the time of Homer. Many details have been layered atop the original story, in order to provide an obstacle for an epic hero on his journey home to Ithaka, but the core of the story can be extracted and compared with other variants to recreate an older tale.
“The Tale of Boro is my best reconstruction of the story as it may have been told around campfires over ten thousand years ago, but I will continue to refine this amalgam as additional variants are found.”
The Tale of Boro
In the heart of the ancient kingdom of Akwaba, nestled in a valley between the Great River and the Whispering Hills, there lived a giant named Boro. Unlike other giants who were known for their strength and fierce tempers, Boro was a gentle soul, a shepherd to a flock unlike any other, for his sheep were not of wool and flesh, but of metal, with fleece of silver and gold, copper and bronze, each unique in form.
Boro was a giant of few words, whose days were spent tending to his flock amidst the hills. When Boro tired of walking, he would sit beneath the old acacia, its branches stretching wide like welcoming arms as his sheep grazed around him. When Boro tired of sitting, in the way of the giants, he would sleep for many years at a time. His sleep was deep and peaceful, undisturbed by worldly worries.
As human generations passed, Boro’s loyal flock remained close by the sleeping giant, except for a mischievous few who wandered, from time to time, into the realm of man, to a certain village where they became known to the people.
The villagers spoke of Boro’s metallic sheep with awe and reverence. Some believed they were magical beings, bestowed upon the world by the gods. Others repeated secrets they claimed to have heard from the sheep, whose eyes glowed like embers as they shared tales of far-off lands and ancient times.
There were even some who swore that if one could follow the sheep back to their shepherd and whisper just the right words into Boro's ear while he slept under the acacia tree, more metal sheep would emerge from his body, born of the whisperer’s dreams and desires.
One day, a girl named Yara moved into the village with her family. She was curious and brave, with eyes that sparkled brighter than any metal sheep. She had heard tales of Boro and his flock from travelers who passed through their former village, and she was determined to see them for herself.
Yara ventured to the Whispering Hills, guided by elusive gleams of metallic wool in the sunlight, where Boro’s sheep had their fleece pulled by branches and thickets along their favored path. In the valley between the hills and the river, Yara located the sleeping giant under his acacia tree, guided to the spot by snores that echoed like distant thunder.
Yara caught sight of Boro’s sheep for the first time as they grazed in a pasture that stretched out from the acacia tree in all directions. They were magical beings indeed, thought Yara, for she felt a warmth spread through her heart with every breath she took in their presence.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, Boro stirred slightly in his sleep. The sheep gathered close around, their metallic bodies clinking softly against one another. “We are called to leave,” one of the flock announced, and so they all agreed.
Yara watched as one by one, the metallic sheep leaped onto Boro's body, disappearing beneath his skin until there was but one left, a small ewe made of burnished bronze.
The last sheep looked at Yara with eyes that held the wisdom of ages past. "I am Kweku," it said in a voice like distant chimes. "And you are Yara, a seeker of ovine gifts, yes?”
“Yes,” Yara affirmed. ”That is, if it is not already too late for me to speak my wish.”
The bronze ewe considered. “There is time yet before the dawn, and many things that our powers might yet bestow, but be warned, child. Our gifts are not to be taken lightly."
Yara nodded solemnly. She did have a wish, one she had carried since her family lost everything they owned, the wish for abundance, for prosperity that would never fade away. But she also knew the dangers of greed, for she had seen gold transform friends into enemies and turn families against each other.
"I wish not to take, but to understand," Yara said, " I want to learn what makes Boro's flock so special, so that your gifts might endure beyond your presence."
The bronze ewe regarded her steadily, then began to hum a soft tune, the same song Yara had heard the villagers singing as they worked, as they played, and at their communal gatherings. The ancient song had always been hummed for as long as any of the villagers could remember, brought to them on the wind from a distant source. It was the song of the sheep, Yara realized, and Kewku now paired the notes with words.
The bronze ewe sang of ancient times, of battles fought and won, of loves lost and found. She sang of the power of unity, of how even the smallest member of a flock could make a difference when they stood together against the wolves. She sang of Boro, who had once been a great warrior king before choosing the simple life of a shepherd.
With each tale, metal sheep reemerged from Boro's body and lent their voices to the song. The growing chorus gathered around Yara, eyes glowing as their tales unfolded and as their truths were told.
Yara listened intently, committing each word to memory. As the moon rose high above, she began to sing along with the bronze ewe in a voice clear and true. By dawn’s first light, the words were burned into her head.
“Now do you understand?” Kweku asked. “Have you yet learned the true power of Boro’s flock?”
“You are dreams,” Yara laughed with joy. “You are the dreams of great Boro!”
The sheep exchanged glances, and Kweku bowed her head slightly before speaking. "We are born from dreams, Yara. From the desire to protect, to nurture, to grow together. That is our magic. But you and the rest of your villagers are the dreams of a greater shepherd still and possess a greater set of gifts."
As the sun peeked over the Whispering Hills, the metal sheep returned to their shepherd and burrowed back into his skin. Yara looked for the path that would take her home. When she looked back over her shoulder at the old acacia tree, the sleeping shepherd and his metal sheep were gone, never to be seen again in the Whispering Hills or in the realm of man.
