Tell me more of what you know about Nionc Tigo, I said to our tour guide.
She was a great writer, he said.
Have you read her books?
All Slothinites read her books. She wrote the poetry of the sheep. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved a slim volume of her poetry. I recognized it. It was, indeed, a collection of poems on sheep and sheep herding.
We came to another enclosure. The tiny nation of Slothin suddenly felt bigger than China. Could any place have so many fenced off bits of land?
Isn’t it difficult to keep sheep in such an environment? I asked. After all, if the country removed all these fences, the sheep would have room to roam.
What you say is true, he said. But Slothinites love their walls. They are beauty. They are like the sculpture of the nation. Our country is
