TEN Valentin
TEN
Valentin
Thunder rattled the barn. Frightened moos blurted as lighting strobed through cracks in the walls, casting menacing shadows over the floor.
“Shh.” Val stroked Grunta’s shoulder, hooking an arm around her neck. She kicked her hooves in the hay, letting out a quietly pained bellow. “Shh, girl. Any minute now, alright?”
Grunta panted, eyes wide and rolling, and Bruna stamped a hoof nearby.
“Patience, you old biddy.” He glared at the heifer standing guard. “She’ll calve in her own time.”
Bruna rolled her eyes and huffed, turning sharply as the barn door slammed open.
“Sorry!” Lurenz hollered, dropping an armful of supplies to wrestle the door shut with both hands.
“What are you doing?” Though his voice was rough with exhaustion, relief coursed through Val.
Grunta had labored since dawn, far longer than normal, and Bruna was worse than any human midwife, fussing over her friend and bullying Val if he so much as closed his eyes.
The herd had grown used to Lurenz working among them and beside Val.
With any luck, Bruna would let him close his eyes and rest now that fresh hands had arrived.
“Bringing you supper,” Lurenz replied, appearing at the stall’s edge. Bruna turned broadside, blocking his entry. Lurenz rose on his toes, lifting his chin to speak over her back. “And blankets.” Liquid sloshed and he raised a sealed pitcher. “Onna demanded I bring you ale.”
“Wise Onna.” Valentin tried to rise, and Bruna swiveled her head around, pinning him with an angry bovine glare. “Come on,” he whined. “I’m hungry.”
She snorted, and moved less than a foot to the side. Lurenz clutched his goods to his chest and squeezed through the narrow gap. Bruna followed closely, snuffling his hair and hooking her chin over his shoulder to inspect the contraband he brought into the calving stall.
“How is it going?”
“Not good.” Valentin patted Grunta’s cheek. “She’s labored too long and has not progressed.”
“What does—” Lurenz’s cheeks paled. He glanced at Grunta, throat bobbing. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means we will a mess of your stall.” Valentin tipped his temple to Grunta’s. “Sorry, in advance.”
“It is alright.” Lurenz set the blankets, ale, and parcels aside and stroked between her eyes.
“She kept you with us past the snow melt.” A soft, sad smile graced his lovely face.
He kept his eyes on Grunta, an avoidance Val had learned well as the weeks progressed.
Sorrow lurked there, darkening the lakewater blue despite Val’s assurances he would return in the fall.
“Grunta can tear the barn down for all I care if it gains us another few days.”
“Lurenz,” Val started, but what was there to say that had not been spoken in the small hours of the night? What promises could he make that he had not already kissed into his lover’s skin? “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.” He settled a blanket over Grunta before nestling into the hay. Deft fingers picked the wax seal from the ale and he offered it to Val. “I am here as long as you need me to be.”
Forever, Val thought, unable to speak it into being.
“Val,” Lurenz hissed and shook his arm. “Valentin!”
“Hm?” He swept his arm out, grabbing Lurenz and wrapping him tight against his chest.
“Gods, Val—can’t breathe.”
“S’alright.” He rolled onto his back, hugging Lurenz to his chest. “Better?”
“Anything but.” He wriggled, working a knee up to Val’s chest and pressing. “There’s hooves and this–this sac thing. I tried to let you sleep but it has been stuck there for some time.”
“Hooves?” Val blinked, his weary mind whirring into wakefulness.
“Hooves. Hooves.” He was up in a flash, darting around Grunta, groaning on her side mere feet away.
Her hooves scored the earthen floor, and true to Lurenz’s word, hooves and the water sac were fighting for a shared exit. “Oh, Gods, Grunta.”
He crouched and raised her tail, studying her progress. “How long has this gone on?”
“I am not sure.” Lurenz hovered behind him. “Half an hour? Longer? I did not—you were so tired, and when you fell asleep, I—”
“You did fine, Lurenz.” He gripped his leg and squeezed. “We all needed the rest, and now it is time to work.”
“What do I do?”
The panicked tremor in his voice remained, so Val spouted instructions with practiced ease. “Fill the trough, pitch fresh hay.” Another glance at Grunta had him adding, “And fetch the grease from the larder. I think the little one is breeched. Do you have any lye?”
“Lye?” Lurenz paled further, eyes rounding like dishplates.
“Or vinegar, I need to clean my hands before I—Lurenz!” Val swatted his leg. Bright blue eyes snapped to his. “Grease, trough, and hay, sweetheart. Vinegar or lye if you have it. Grunta has made it through worse, and this is my life’s work. Go.”
“Right,” Lurenz rasped and ran from the stall.
Muscles in his back cramped and pinched, but Val did not dare stop.
He readjusted his grip, grateful for the cuffs around his wrists to keep the rope secure.
Bruna glared at him from Grunta’s head and Lurenz paced behind him, muttering and stopping every few seconds to gasp and flutter his fingers at Val’s shoulder.
“Once more, girl,” he grunted and lowered his stance, thighs screaming.
He heaved with all his might, pulling as Grunta bellowed through her contraction.
Without any forewarning the calf pushed free.
Val staggered back at the sudden slack in the rope, colliding with Lurenz and bowling them both over.
“Oh, Gods.” Lurenz exclaimed, pushing Val off and grabbing a clean blanket from the pile. He darted to the calf, as Val had instructed an hour before, shoving fingers in its mouth to clear the airway and sobbing with relief as a tiny, plaintive moo whimpered forth. “Oh, Val, she’s alright.”
“She?” He groaned, unbuckling a cuff and massaging his wrist. “Grunta, another girl?”
Grunta mooed and stamped her feet, straining against the stock Val had wrestled her into.
“Do not listen to him, Grunta, you did perfectly.” Lurenz rubbed the blanket vigorously over the calf, cleaning its fur and warming her up. “A miracle worker.”
“Her?” Val raised his arm, still shiny with grease. “I had to turn the calf.”
“And how many calves has Grunta had?” Lurenz challenged.
“Three.”
“How many have you delivered?”
“A dozen a season. I do not see what that has to do with—”
“A master, then. Your life’s work, is that not what you said? And sweet, perfect Grunta has only done this thrice.”
“You are a menace,” Val muttered, unable to hide his grin. “As soon as I am clean, I will get you for that.”
Lurenz beamed, the sorrow that had haunted his smile over the last few weeks wholly erased by joy. He patted the calf, expression softening into something Val did not dare to name. “As soon as you are clean, I will let you.”