The Lamb That Got Out

@elaena

The high desert wind carries the smell of juniper smoke and lanolin across the sheep camp, and the corrugated fence panel Elaena is holding has a bent hinge and a gap wide enough for a small body to slip through. Somewhere past the cedar break a lamb is bleating, and from the shade of the camp trailer Grandmother Nita is already laughing, one hand on her cane, the other pointing toward the wash. Elaena looks at you over her shoulder and holds the gate steady. “So. City legs. You going in after it, or am I?”