The door shuddered to a close. The lamb tiptoed backwards, sensing something wrong. The woman kneeled on the packed dirt and set the hammer aside. She stretched her thin arms in its direction, holding an open palm under its snout. The lamb lowered its head to smell her hands, but its eyes were still scared. The woman’s long fingers trailed gently over its wool, stopping to feel a downy ear between her calloused fingertips. She pursed her lips at it to shush the seed of a bleat that rose in its throat. The lamb was quiet. She touched the hammer.