Tears welled in the young shepherd’s eyes, pooling thousands of stars into a single blaze just beyond his eyelashes. He felt the lamb’s tiny head drop against his knee. He looked down and was shocked to discover that it had stopped breathing. Trying to remember what he had seen Solomon do, he wiped the stringy mucus from its muzzle and held it upside down by its back legs. He then spun in place, twirling the lamb as high above his head as he could, hoping the force of motion would draw the mucus and water from its lungs.

Jesus felt his heart lift when, after only a few moments, the animal’s legs begin to kick. At this he slowed his pace and gently lowered the creature to the ground. The lamb coughed and shook its nose, slinging mucus and water into the air. When its airway cleared, it found Jesus’s fingers and began to suckle.

“No, no, there is nothing there,” the shepherd said. He brought the lamb to its lifeless mother and placed it before her. The lamb gently rut its head into her belly, drawing the milk, which it sucked noisily from her teats. Jesus sat back on his heels and marveled at the mother’s power, even in death, to nourish.

As the lamb continued to drink, Jesus worked his eyes deep into the nest of stars overhead. Nearby, obscured by the darkness, he heard a second pack of wolves cast its howls into the night air. The first pack echoed in reply. The wails floated like eerie ribbons wrapping about themselves. The predators were closing in.

Jesus shuddered and gazed down.

The ewe lay against the dirt, her one eye wide and unblinking. Having failed to save her, he could not bear to leave her to the wolves. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he slipped his knife from its sheath.

Before wielding his blade, he gave thanks to the ewe, and to his own mother, for their sacrifice. Then, with a heavy heart, he bent to his difficult work, praying he could finish before the wolves attacked.

Keeping watch on a hilltop above, Rahim spotted a slow-moving figure emerging from the dark. Certain that a lone wolf had drifted from the pack, the shepherd leapt to his feet. He prepared to shout out a warning. Then paused. As the figure drew closer, its shape began to crystallize. And, to Rahim’s surprise, the figure had not four legs, but two.

“The boy arrives!” he yelled.

Dumbstruck, the shepherds leapt to their feet. Together they watched in disbelief as Jesus lumbered toward them, emerging like a spirit from the dark. The young shepherd’s shoulders bent under the weight of the ewe’s glistening, freshly skinned carcass. His legs trembled beneath its weight. His tunic hung loosely, splattered with blood.

“What in the name of …?” someone whispered.