The calf arrived before dawn.
After so many hours of waiting, the last movement seemed abrupt. The head came clear, then the shoulders. Chaska eased the support line. The sling took weight for a moment, sagged, and delivered the calf onto the layered blankets with a heavy wet slide.
Moss-on-Stone turned before Ysabet had finished clearing the membranes from its nose.
Everybody moved back.
The mother breathed over the calf, licked it with a broad rough tongue, and shoved its shoulder. The calf made a noise of such injured surprise that Pela laughed and began crying at the same time.
Ysabet watched the nostrils. Watched the ribs.
Breath.
Another.
