of sheep, Nalle informed me, would have been reluctant to let me near even if I were human, because sheep are sensitive to strangeness of any kind—let alone a stranger in their midst. As a dragon changeling, it will be a long while before the herd accepts me.
We followed the nervous animals across half the plains—or so it felt—until we came to a corral. A sheepcote, Nalle explained. But rather than enter it like they’re trained to do, the whole flock fled around it—clearly to avoid me—so that I had to stay back and allow Nalle to catch the ewe she needed. Once the animal was tied and being given incentive foods to make her stand still, Nalle milked her and eventually the animal let me approach and feed her, and then attempt milking her too.
It was a poor, poor attempt.
“Squeeze the teat,” Nalle had instructed. “No, no. Grab it from the top and close your thumb against your finger once you’ve trapped the milk. Good. Now pull it down from the bag. You can be firmer than that. Let me rephrase: you’re not going to hurt her. Grab it and squirt that milk out—there you go. Well done!”
I felt like I’d accomplished the nigh-impossible.
Now I hold the creature’s offspring, who is all reluctance about suckling from a pool of milk rather than the source. “Why can’t we feed the little one straight off its dam?”
“Because she rejected her. Most moms are great but this one is a bit dim. Every spring, she delivers her babies then she bunts them away. If we don’t catch her when she’s lambing, the baby dies because she won’t clean it off or keep it warm or let it nurse. And sheep always deliver in the worst possible weather. If there’s a storm, preferably with driving rain or frigid snow, then it’s perfect. Wait til the wee hours when everyone wishes they were dead asleep and the whole flock goes into labor.”
“That’s horrid,” I exclaim. I look around us at the truly mad-sounding animals. While the lambs are the color of a night sky, the adults are snow white with black legs and faces. They look fluffy-soft, but that’s not the case at all once you get up close. In fact, touching them makes your hands come away somewhat greasy. Lanolin, Nalle explained. The scent wasn’t unpleasant, and in truth, it reminded me of Nalle. She smells very sheep-ish, although she laughed when I told her so.
Looking at the herd, I’m unable to determine which of the sheep milling around us is the one we milked. I’m glad I wasn’t born a lamb. The whole flock looks exactly alike. “Why do you keep the female if she’s so poor a mother?”
“Because she’s a decent milker. When a ewe has twins or triplets and can’t keep them fed well, the bad dam’s milk can supplement them. Plus, we can drink it too. And make butter.”
“Butter? What is butter?”
Nalle’s cinnamon bark-colored eyes gleam. “Ohhh, wait til you try it. We’ll add salt to the milk and have you shake it into butter.”
Shifting the lamb on my lap, I consider her offer. “I’m already growing famished just hearing this.”
“Okaaay, back to work. No getting famished while holding the pita-sized morsel. And you just coughed up a bull! Really?”
“What is a pita?”
She gives me a firm stare. “Feed the lamb, don’t eat the lamb.”
“I won’t,” I tell her, and wiggle the bucket to entice my wooly friend. “You must be hungry. Try it, little one.”
I dip the lamb’s mouth in the rapidly cooling liquid, and this time, she begins to swallow it. Her long tail begins wagging wildly.
“What will we do after this?” I ask Nalle, fingers sinking deep into the tight mat of wool on the lamb’s back.
“Figured I’d pack supplies for our journey. I want to be prepared for… for whatever we’ll find when we get my brother back.”
Her brother, ah. Of course her mind is with her sibling. I feel selfish for only looking forward to catching rest beside her. Because I don’t know her brother, I don’t share her urgency to retrieve him. I’m happy to do it, but his plight doesn’t consume my thoughts.
Not like the way fears for him plague Nalle.
“On foot, it would take days to reach the Qippik village. But with you, if you fly me…” she trails off, afraid to ask this favor, I think.
“I will fly you, drhema,” I assure her softly. No matter what she asked of