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Young Lysander Shepard's Unlikely Friendship Lysander Shepard yawned widely, and stretched as far as his cramped quarters would allow. He had long finished his task of harvesting the cabbage and pumpkins, and had even taken it upon himself to help his father for a while, until the elder Shepard had regained his stubborn pride and shooed the youth away. Lysander had then taken to his sanctuary, a groove hollowed out in a cluster of Baobab trees. The place was the ideal size, after a little expansion with a pick ax for him. He was a bit scrawny for his age of fifteen. Most of the other farm boys, like his brother, sprouted with the harvest around age thirteen. Lysander had as well, but had stopped short halfway as if someone had accidentally unplugged him. He sighed, pushing his red curls from his line of sight. He huffed angrily as the stubborn curls fell back into place. The ruby red tresses ran through his family and all the way to Earth in some land called Ireland, Lysander had heard. He looked up instinctively, and looked round for the direction the sun was falling. 'North' He thought to himself. 'Almost time for Ralph to blow the whistle.' With that, he sprang from his place and scampered across the half empty field, spotting the foreman on the other side. Ralph Slawson was a pig of a man, physically. As wide as Lysander was long, he waddled instead of walked, and gave off the aura of a man that cares more for food than his actual job. An assumption, Lysander knew, was completely false. There was nothing going on in Mindoir that Ralph himself was not aware of. Ralph was in the fields before anyone, surveying the harvest, remained there throughout the day (which during a typical day of Mindoir was 35 C) and was the last to leave. He was a shrewd business man, and always made certain that everything and everyone was accounted for. The boy darted across the earth, bare feet lightly padding over roots and dirt, as he made his way to the man. He was inches away when Ralph called to him. "'Lo there, Ly. …and then things took a turn

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Young Lysander Shepard's Unlikely Friendship

Lysander Shepard yawned widely, and stretched as far as his cramped quarters would allow. He had long finished his task of harvesting the cabbage and pumpkins, and had even taken it upon himself to help his father for a while, until the elder Shepard had regained his stubborn pride and shooed the youth away. Lysander had then taken to his sanctuary, a groove hollowed out in a cluster of Baobab trees.

The place was the ideal size, after a little expansion with a pick ax for him. He was a bit scrawny for his age of fifteen. Most of the other farm boys, like his brother, sprouted with the harvest around age thirteen. Lysander had as well, but had stopped short halfway as if someone had accidentally unplugged him. He sighed, pushing his red curls from his line of sight. He huffed angrily as the stubborn curls fell back into place. The ruby red tresses ran through his family and all the way to Earth in some land called Ireland, Lysander had heard. He looked up instinctively, and looked round for the direction the sun was falling. 'North' He thought to himself. 'Almost time for Ralph to blow the whistle.' With that, he sprang from his place and scampered across the half empty field, spotting the foreman on the other side. Ralph Slawson was a pig of a man, physically. As wide as Lysander was long, he waddled instead of walked, and gave off the aura of a man that cares more for food than his actual job. An assumption, Lysander knew, was completely false. There was nothing going on in Mindoir that Ralph himself was not aware of.

Ralph was in the fields before anyone, surveying the harvest, remained there throughout the day (which during a typical day of Mindoir was 35 C) and was the last to leave. He was a shrewd business man, and always made certain that everything and everyone was accounted for. The boy darted across the earth, bare feet lightly padding over roots and dirt, as he made his way to the man. He was inches away when Ralph called to him. "'Lo there, Ly." The youth skidded to a halt beside the man, who was still consulting his ever-present omni-tool.

"Dammit! How do you do that?" Ralph's small mouth pulled upwards to a half smirk. "Easy, you run like a drunk varren." He finally looked up, apparently satisfied with what he saw and surveyed the boy with watery blue eyes. "It doesn't help that you've been trying to frighten me at

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