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Not the Old Ways
Aviva
“I know that feels better,” Freya says, frowning at the frantically bleating sheep, who is now sheared clean and pretty much naked as it gallops off to join its herd. She wipes her brow, squinting into the sunlight as she gathers up an enormous handful of raw wool and carries it over to the creek where I’m crouching in the water, rinsing another batch of wool until it shines a soft white. “Who’s next?”
“That one,” I laugh, tilting my head to the giant, gray and black ram with spiraling horns that looks like he wants nothing more than to kill us both. He stamps his hooves and lowers his head in emphasis, snorting and shaking his fuzzy head.
“That fucker,” Freya growls, tucking her hair behind her hairs and stretching out her arms over her head. “He’s been getting in my way all morning.”
“I can take him, if you want.”
She shakes h
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