‘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.

The crow called again, its harsh cry carrying across the fields as Amy followed Sarah towards the farmhouse. The mist was beginning to lift, revealing the gentle slopes of the surrounding countryside, where sheep grazed in the damp grass and hedgerows glistened with dew.

Amy shoved her hands into the pockets of her fleece and hunched her shoulders against the morning chill.

‘How many more you reckon before breakfast?’ she asked.

Sarah glanced at her watch. ‘Depends how many decide to drop their lambs while we're making tea.’

‘So, all of them, then.’

Sarah laughed. ‘You're catching on.’

They crossed the yard, passing the old tractor with its flat rear tire and a collection of buckets that seemed to have accumulated in the same place for as long as Amy could remember. A robin hopped along the stone wall, cocking its head as they passed.

Amy stopped for a moment to watch it.

‘What you looking at?’ Sarah asked.

‘Nothing. Just that little bird.’

‘Well, don't let it distract you. I've seen you lose half an hour watching a spider.’

‘It was building a web.’

‘Aye, and you were watching it like it was doing something remarkable.’

Amy smiled. ‘It was.’

Sarah shook her head affectionately and pushed open the farmhouse door.

Inside, the kitchen was warm and smelled of yesterday's bread and the last of the woodsmoke from the range. Sarah filled the kettle while Amy peeled off her muddy boots and tucked them beneath the bench. Her whole body ached, but there was a pleasant heaviness to the tiredness, the sort that came from doing something worthwhile.

She sat at the kitchen table and rested her head in her hands.

‘You all right, love?’ Sarah asked.

Amy nodded. ‘Just tired.’

‘You've earned it.’

Sarah placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her, along with two thick slices of buttered toast. Amy looked at the plate with undisguised gratitude.

‘You know,’ she said, picking up a slice, ‘I used to think shepherding was mostly walking around fields and whistling at sheep.’

‘And now?’

‘Now I think sheep are determined to make life as difficult as possible for anyone trying to look after them.’

Sarah laughed so hard that she nearly spilt her tea.

‘You've got that right.’

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, listening to the kettle tick as it cooled and the occasional bleat drifting in through the open window. Amy watched the sunlight creep across the kitchen floor, warming the worn flagstones one patch at a time.

She had come a long way to find herself here. There had been days when the work had seemed impossible, when the cold had settled into her bones, and the endless demands of the farm had left her wondering whether she was strong enough to keep going. Yet each morning brought something new to learn, and each evening brought the quiet satisfaction of knowing she had done her best.

She thought of the lamb they had delivered that morning, its tiny legs wobbling beneath it as it tried to stand for the first time. She had felt the familiar flutter of excitement when it finally found its feet, leaning unsteadily against its mother's side.

There was something wonderful about that moment: the sheer determination of such a small creature to find its place in the world.

‘Sarah?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do you ever get tired of it?’

Sarah lowered her mug. ‘Of what?’

‘The lambing. The long nights. The worry. All of it.’

Sarah considered the question.

‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘Anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or hasn't done enough lambing.’

Amy laughed.

‘But then,’ Sarah continued, ‘you get a morning like this. You see a little one take its first breath, and somehow all the hard work seems worth it.’

Amy nodded, turning her mug between her hands.

‘That's what I thought.’

Sarah reached across the table and gave her hand a brief squeeze.

‘Then you're in the right place, lass.’

Outside, the morning had fully arrived. The mist had rolled away from the valley, leaving the fields bright and green beneath a pale blue sky. Somewhere beyond the farmhouse, a lamb called for its mother, and another answered from the far side of the yard.

Sarah stood and stretched, wincing as her back clicked.

‘Right. Enough sitting about. We've got a farm to run.’

Amy groaned theatrically but rose to her feet, pulling on her boots and fastening her fleece.

The air smelled of wet grass and fresh earth. A breeze stirred the leaves along the hedgerow, and the distant hills seemed to glow in the early sunshine. Ahead of them, the barn doors stood open, revealing the familiar rows of pens and the busy, bleating world within.

Amy paused at the entrance and looked back towards the fields.

For the first time in a long while, she felt no need to wonder what might lie beyond the horizon. She was exactly where she wanted to be, doing something that mattered, learning from someone who believed in her.

Sarah called her name from inside the barn.

‘Coming!’ Amy answered.

She took one last breath of the cool morning air, then stepped into the warmth and noise of the lambing shed, ready for whatever the day might bring.