‘Now then, just let the little darling come.’ Sarah’s tone was soft and reassuring. Amy held out her blood smeared hands, I can do this. Sarah edged a little closer as the lamb gained momentum, but Amy was ready and sprang into action when, at last, the slimy new life tumbled from its mother onto the thick bed of straw. Working swiftly, she cleared the gore from the lamb’s mouth and nose with her fingers, whilst her eyes sought the tell-tale rise and fall of its abdomen. Sarah eased the mother’s head round so she could smell and lick her baby. Amy got to her feet, arching her back and grimacing. She looked down, her chin on her chest, her shoulders rising and falling as she considered the ewe and its baby. When she looked up her wet eyes met Sarah’s. Sarah smiled, ‘Well done lass’, she said, ‘we’ll make a shepherd of ya yet’. Amy lowered her gaze as she patted her hands together, casting off fronds of blood stained straw. Sarah reached over and picked out a piece of straw from Amy’s hair, ‘You’ve come such a long way.’ she said. Amy looked up at her, tight lipped, and nodded, ‘It’s all I dreamed of.’ Amy glanced upward as one of the caged fluorescent lights flickered. The stuttering hum of the light awakened her senses, and she looked down the length of the barn, at the rows of birthing pens she’d help build with freezing hands. It seemed to Amy that all the sheep, hundreds of them, were all bleating at the same time. Between the pools of light, she saw wisps of vapour rising and her chest rose as she inhaled the stale aroma of damp wool and cut grass. Sarah lifted the latch on the gate and followed Amy out of the pen. They both leaned on the fence looking at the newborn. Amy yawned. Sarah looked at her watch, 'Sun'll be up, come on.' She led Amy outside and they screwed up their eyes as the first rays of morning met their weary faces. The air was cool and fresh and a skulking mist lay on the hushed green fields. 'I reckon we're about halfway done Amy,' said Sarah, retrieving a tatty pocket book from the back of her jeans. Amy's bottom lip curled and she rubbed her nose as she watched Sarah flicking through the grubby pages of the book. Sarah paused on a page and ran a finger down a list of quickly scrawled notes. She glanced at Amy and then took out a short bookies’ Biro from the breast pocket of her combat jacket, 'And that last one makes one hundred and fifteen,' she said, licking the end of the Biro and adding a note. Amy did the maths as Sarah cocked her head and looked blankly into space. 'Another ten,' said Amy matter of factly, putting her hand to her mouth to hide another yawn. '…and then we'll be halfway there,' she continued. Sarah fixed Amy with her eyes, defeated, she snapped the book shut. They both laughed. The call of a distant crow drifted by on the gentle breeze; answered inevitably by the bleat of a nervous sheep, somewhere in the impenetrable mist.