[Niall’s POV]

There are a lot of things a person can think about when they are fixing a fence. For instance, they can wonder how the fence managed to get so broken when no animals were near it for the entire winter. They could also wonder why sheep couldn’t be smarter and just, you know, not wander everywhere. Or if splinters were really a divine punishment.

Again, it’s a great activity for thinking. It’s an even better activity for thinking about the tedious state of affairs of life in general. I happen to know this because I spent the latter part of my morning and the early part of my afternoon doing just that as I repaired one of the farm fences so we could let the sheep out in that particular field once again.

It was well passed lunch time when I finally finished, and my empty stomach growled and yawned in protest. I stood and stretched, cracking my back as much as I was able to with my wings bound tightly by the brace I always wore. Honestly, the brace was probably the worst part of working a job primarily involving manual labor. It was hard to reliably keep my wings folded in any other way, but damn, it hurt. And it only compounded the normal aches and pains of a physical job.

Still, I had to admit that it was satisfying to look at a newly-repaired fence and know it was my handiwork that fixed it.

I took a few moments to rest, standing and enjoying the good weather. The sky was clear and the air was clean and cool. If I wasn’t moving, I was comfortable in my flannel shirt, and when I was moving, I was comfortable in the t-shirt underneath. The grass smelled fresh as it grew green once again, and flowers dotted the fields and trees. In spite of my feelings about fence-fixing, I couldn’t have asked for a better day.

I took a long swig from my water bottle and leaned against the fence-post, enjoying the moments of peace before heading back to the barn. My moments of peace didn’t last very long, though, because my phone began to ring.

I had chosen the most annoying ringtone as a joke, mainly to be obnoxious to Dee. However, being as it was my phone, the person it actually annoyed the most was me—which I guess served me right, in any case. I jumped as the loud, cranky voice shouted, “Ring! Ring! Answer your phone! Ring! Ring!”

Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw that Sybil was calling. I frowned. That was unusual.

“Hey, Sybil, what’s up?” I answered.

“Niall, something’s wrong with Dee,” she spoke into the phone, her words jumbling together and her tone panicked. “Me and Parker came home and found her passed out in the kitchen. She’s bleeding—she’s—she’s not waking up. I don’t know how long she’s been here. She was gonna go to work today, but I don’t know if she did—it looks like maybe she came home early—”

In an instant, it felt like someone had replaced all of my blood with ice. My heart dropped like boulder into my stomach. I stood, frozen, listening to Sybil’s panicked babbling and mentally cursed myself for having gone back to work so soon. I was so stupid! I should have taken more time off. I knew she was sick. I knew it wasn’t good. If I had just been home—

I blocked the thought from my mind. This wasn’t helping. I needed to focus on what Sybil was saying. I could play the blame game later.

“You—you said she was bleeding. Where is she bleeding from?” I interrupted Sybil, beginning to walk back toward the barn. I had to get home as soon as possible, and I had to know what to expect.

“It—it’s from her head,” Sybil answered. “Right above her eyebrow. Gosh—there’s—there’s so much blood—”

I choked back my own fear and the lump in my throat. “That’s normal. Head wounds bleed a lot,” I said, trying to be as reassuring possible, both for Sybil and for me. “It might not mean anything super bad. Tell Parker to get some pillows. You need to keep her head and chest elevated. Can you do that?”

Sybil sniffed. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay, go do that now. Stay on the line and let me know when you’re done,” I told her.

“Okay.”

While Parker and Sybil got the pillows, I began an all-out sprint to the barn. A cow looked up from grazing and studied me curiously, as if wondering what the rush was. Something was really wrong with my best friend—more than my best friend—something I didn’t understand. And now she was hurt because of it, but the world just seemed to go on as normal.

I made it to the barn, where Joe, the farmer, was consulting with a vet about one of the goats. He looked up at me, and immediately his expression became one of concern.

“Niall! Is something wrong?” he asked, stepping toward me.

I nodded almost mechanically. “I need to go. There’s an emergency. Something’s wrong with Dee—"

Joe didn’t let me get any further. His eyes were wide and and he nodded. “Go.”

“Thank you.”

I dashed the rest of the way to my truck and barely got in when Sybil came back on the line.

“She’s elevated. What do we do now?”

“Okay. Get a clean rag and apply pressure to the wound. Keep it there for fifteen minutes. If it stops after that, take it off, but if it continues, keep applying pressure,” I instructed, putting the phone on speaker, jamming my seatbelt into place, and getting on the road as fast as I could. “I’m on my way.”