During my travels, I stumbled upon a farm.
This farm seemed to be entirely sheep, from first look. Separated into paddocks, mostly keeping to their own spaces and areas, keeping away from different sheep.
But then, at closer inspection, they all kept bleating the same kind of things, all of it wrong. One after the other, over and over again. Nothing new ever seemed to enter what they would say.
That is until I spotted the wolves in sheep's clothing. Moving from one paddock to another, being given so much of the belongings of the sheep, to be told new things that fitted in with them, fitted in well with what they wanted, nay, needed to hear. Based in their false world view. Their paddock shelters.
Then they started to bleat the new things. One after the other. Over and over again, bringing up bleats from before.
I tried to approach a paddock, and tell them something different, something true. As soon as they heard, they all ran, shivering, crying, broken, in the corner, huddled together.
I went to the next paddock, and told them something similar to what they were bleating, but something new, something I knew to be wrong. I was surrounded, nuzzled, praised, they started to bleat what I had said.
It was terrifying. I could easily put on sheep's clothing now. Join in. Give them new things to be given the sheep's belongings.
I had to leave.
I walked away, and then came across the barn. Written on the wall facing the paddocks, was what made me walk faster.
Completed using traditional mediums: copic markers to ink, watercolour pencils to colour, white paint to make the words.