The infant emerged, like all newborns, covered in blood. His groaning mother slid her back down the wall and whispered for her husband to bring him to her. He carried him over and then pulled off his scarf, dabbing the sweat off his wife's forehead and the blood off her baby's. She didn't look up - despite her exhaustion her arms were still stiff and her jaw clenched as she stared down at the silent child and implored him with her eyes to cry. Instead his head rolled limply to one side and his gaze passed to the audience, themselves wordless.

The oldest ewe had been unsettled by the commotion of a few minutes earlier, but when her eyes met the child's she immediately recognised him for what he was and set herself at ease. She looked up at his mother and saw a shade of herself in reflection. The ewe bleated softly and nestled down in the straw. The rest of the flock followed her lead.

The man fidgeted nervously under his cloak where his wife couldn't see. He had been present for births before and knew that every second that passed without the newborn taking a breath spelt growing danger. He knew that she knew the same. The child's arms lay limp. His lips slowly parted but no air passed through them.

Outside the stars burned brightly with anticipation.

The woman murmured a desparate prayer and lifted her baby's head back upright. Instead of looking back at his mother, though, the motion guided his eyes straight up. Directly above them was the evidence of a careless repair job; a missing row of rafters replaced by two crossed beams, secured in place by thick nails. They had been hammered in hastily - haphazardly, tearing and splitting the tree-flesh where they pierced it. The infant beheld the cross and its violence and began to weep.