loosely slung over their shoulders. They ambled past the young man, who offered a smile. They offered none. He wandered back inside to find his five-year-old daughter marching into the kitchen, proclaiming she was hungry. Father and daughter sat at the lengthy oak table and he began pulling out various spreads to eat with the bread he had baked mere hours ago. He walked to the corner of the room, pulled out a pail of milk from underneath a blanket and poured the creamy, fresh liquid into a glass for his daughter, whose eyes immediately widened. The pair moved outside and sat in silence, completely comfortable in each other’s company. The picture of family bliss emanating from them, however, did not last long. The hunt had begun. The resonance of cartridges ricocheting off wood reverberated around the cottage, causing fierce tears to meander their way down the girl’s fragile face; she wept silently. The hunt had never seemed quite so loud or quite so close before, the man thought, oblivious to the evident discomfort of his daughter. A farmer’s evident distress now too added to the din of the hunt. As soon as the raucous noise of barking dogs and shotguns had begun, the farmer gazed over at his flock of sheep, scurrying towards the lane outside the cottage where the young man and his daughter, now in his arms, sat watching. The sheep, which stayed in their close formation, were moving rather quickly away from the farm, away from the hunt. The blue seal imprinted on their precious wool was being eroded by grasping thorns as they scurried through foliage. A wail of despair could be heard from the farmer, who, as anticipated, gave chase. The sheep were now no more than a few paces from where the young man sat with his daughter, their coats knotted and tousled; only on some did a hint of blue still seep through. The young girl, having perked up, was seemingly radiating glee; her
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