Chapter 5: Lambing Barn

At three in the morning the lambing barn was warm, loud and full of ewes.

Fionn had his arm in one up to the shoulder.

The lamb was wrong.

He felt it with his fingers, a hind leg folded back, the tail turned toward the opening.

The ewe strained and bawled against his wrist.

"Breech," he said.

"Pull it," said one of the night hands, from the rail.

"If I pull it, I tear her."

"Then she tears."

The other hand laughed.

They were Gorka's men, two of the six who worked the lambing shift, and they had been looking at Fionn sideways since Claim Night.

"Maybe the stray's too busy being in heat to learn the job," the first one said.

Fionn did not answer.

He pushed the lamb back in against the ewe's straining, found the folded leg, and cupped the little hoof in his palm.

His own heat had been rolling under his skin all night, and his hand was not entirely steady.

He breathed through it.

The hoof came forward.

He found the second one, and drew both legs out together, and the wet little body slid into the straw in a rush.

It lay still.

Fionn cleared its nose with two fingers, rubbed its ribs with a handful of straw, and blew into its face.

The lamb sneezed.

It kicked, and bleated, and the ewe turned and began to lick it.

"Good," said a voice behind him.

Fionn straightened, sweat on his lip, straw to his elbows.

Mikel stood in the aisle with his arms crossed over his chest.

He had been there some time.

"About time you were useful," Mikel said, loud enough for the rail to hear.

"Get the next one, Casey. Don't keep the ewes waiting while you play doctor."

The two hands snickered.

Fionn wiped his arm on his jeans.

The words had stopped hurting a long time ago.

But tonight, with the memory of the sheep wagon in his body, they landed hard, and he wanted to hit back.

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