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Sprung
Sheep, Tristan decides, are definitely his favorite.
Horses are certainly more elegant, and cows are quite useful, and dogs have that love of humanity on their side—well, most dogs—but for sheer inoffensiveness, sheep win by a landslide. They’re sweet and fluffy and too small to do any real damage to a poor, defenseless, extraordinarily handsome young veterinary student.
But the thing he loves best about sheep is how they only really factor into the veterinary life at his favorite time of year. Words like “lambing” and “spring” mean to him bright mornings on green hillsides between farm trips, with Jim. Jim, who stretches out in the dew-damp grass in his shirt sleeves and smiles at Tristan in that affectionate way, while the April sun brings out the freckles on his nose and the flecks of copper in his hair. Jim, who spends most of the season shirtless and whose eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs at Tristan’s stories. Jim, who makes Yorkshire bearable and the snows recede. |