"Little Lamb; who made thee?"

[seph-hazard.livejournal.com]

Robbie laid a comforting, fraternal hand on his kid sister's shoulder. “It's too late already, duck”, he said softly. “He's too weak, it happens sometimes. Don't take it so hard every time.” The small girl's golden-yellow eyes were turning to water, but her face was hard. “It isn't fair”, she said, stubbornly. “He's only two days old. That's not fair.” Robbie shrugged his broad shoulders. “Life 'ent fair. Leave him now. Don't you think it's better for him to be with his ma tonight? We'll fetch him in the morning, when he's gone. The ewe won't care by then. They don't feel things like we do.” Ruby shook her head, the ungainly mass of copper curls quivering as she did. “He's cold, that's all. I'm going to keep him warm.” Robbie rolled his eyes. He loved his sister, but wished she wouldn't be so sentimental all the time. It was only a lamb, after all, and a boy one at that: if it hadn't been born so weak it would have been shipped to the slaughterhouse in six months anyway. “Well, it's no skin off my nose if you want to catch your death in here all night. I'm going in, anyway. Don't stay here too long, Ma'll throw a fit if you're not back in by bedtime.” He turned and walked out of the chilly barn, through the sheep pens and back towards the farmhouse. He knew that if he tried to make his sister come with him she'd refuse, but he was cross with her now - he'd be the one to get it in the neck if she stayed up too late or caught a chill. “Bloody sisters”, he muttered under his breath as he tramped across the grass. “Bloody girls.”

Now alone in the barn, Ruby sat crosslegged on the hay-strewn floor and pulled the tiny lamb into her lap. It wriggled a little as she did, mouth working for a teat, and with the mother ewe nowhere to be seen Ruby let him suck on her little finger to comfort him as she concentrated on keeping him warm. She imagined the heat of her own body seeping through into his, warming him through and lending him strength. She sat like this for over an hour, staring down at his tiny black face and trying to picture a healthier lamb in his place, struggling from her grip and skipping over to his mother with clumsy, knobbly legs.

Her own mother came in after a while, harassed and irritable, annoyed that the girl had disappeared again. “Come in now, our Ruby!”, she snapped when she saw her sat there on the cold barn floor. “You shouldn't sit in the cold like this, and it's past your bedtime. Put the lamb down! Honestly, girl. They're born wrong sometimes. That's nature. You need to wash your hands and face and drink your milk before you go to bed.” Frowning, Ruby cast about for the ewe and carried the weakly squirming lamb over to her, gently setting him down at her hooves before reluctantly following her mother back to the warm house.

By the following morning, the tiny lamb had begun to make a full recovery. Robbie only grunted when his sister told him the news. “Sometimes it happens that way, duck,” was all he would say. “Don't take it so much to heart.”