"I suppose." Rupert studied the lamb as warily as it was staring at him. Papa had been around sheep his entire life; he was used to lifting heavy weights on the farm, and had the muscles to prove it corded under his tattoos. Rupert could run, he could hit or kick a ball, and he could bring down a player on an opposing team, but he really wasn't used to holding on to heavy, wriggling animals.
"Here you go." Papa hefted the lamb at him, and Rupert's arms instinctively tightened around it. The lamb began to bleat loudly, and kicked its legs against him. It weighed at least as much as the day-old Shetland foal that Hamish's stockman had given him to hold while they were trying to get its dam out of a bog.
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