“Does he?” Jim craned his head forward and squinted. “I don’t see…no, I’ll be damned. You’ve got eyes like a cat’s.”

Hæra liked cats. They had a healthy sense of self-worth. “Thanks. He’ll take over for me when he gets here.” Clearly, she wasn’t in a proper mood to tag the sheep. “I’m going to hose down the shed.”

“Does it need washing? The flock’s been out here.”

“I’m sure it does.” Or at least Hæra needed to aim powerful jets of water at something and not make conversation with anyone. She hopped off the Gator. “I’ll walk back.”

When she reached her destination, she hosed down the shed, well used to its smell by now, and checked the equipment. The big water buckets needed refilling, along with a fresh dose of dietary supplement. There was always something. Farming never stopped. At least it kept her busy. Less time to think about what she’d lost.

One hour passed. Two. Jonathan did not return. He didn’t need this much time to do the weekly shopping. It was going on five o’clock. Had something happened?

No. She would not worry. Jonathan had acquaintances in the village, and the farm did business with many folk. He avoided the pub nowadays, but he might be sitting down for a cup of tea with somebody. Hæra wasn’t his entire world, just most of it.

I don’t know how long I can protect you, he’d said, as if he weren’t an aging man who relied on the unnatural strength of her arms. How long until Hæra couldn’t protect him, either? Not from the herd, not from the storm, but from the brute force of human time that would grind him down faster than Hæra could keep up.

She hadn’t planned to stay long enough to see that. She wasn’t ready for it.

Finally, there came a welcome sound: the rumble of Jonathan’s car in the drive. Hæra looked up from the straw she was shoveling. The car was rumbling much faster than usual. And when it stopped, the tires screeched, as if the driver had slammed on the brakes.

Jonathan never drove that fast. Something was wrong.

Hæra was through the pens’ door in a trice, tossing the shovel to the ground. Her heart, once the size of a human head, was now the size of a human fist, and it punched her chest accordingly.

When she got to the car, Jonathan was scrambling out of it. He didn’t seem sick or injured, but his eyes were wild, his face was flushed, and his mouth was stretched in the biggest smile Hæra had seen since he’d signed the deed to the farm.

She began, “What⁠—”