Time-honoured distress cries from a distant farmhouse draw Breath out from the forest.
‘Maaah,’ a ewe bleats mournfully, trying to lick her cold, inert lamb into existence.
‘Why isn’t it crying?’ An anguished mother implores, as a midwife tries to feverishly massage warmth into a newborn, slowly turning blue.
Breath’s former host’s heart had stopped, but the lungs last gasp was robust.
The lamb mewls feebly, raises its head.
Weak but stable, the newborn wails.
Breath had been bestowed with sufficient life force for two.