Jeremiah knelt under the shade-giving branches, hunched near the rump of the camel. The mother’s grunts and head rears did not distract him from his duty. He would hear neither Noah’s calls, the slap of her sandals, nor the trumpet wail. The shrieks of the Canaanites and their judgment would be but a breeze upon his cheek. Perhaps today was not a bad day to be deaf and mute.
    As she drew closer, a waft of blood and urine filled her nostrils. Her eyes watered. The air smelled like a slaughter.
    She waved her arms to gain her fellow shepherd’s attention.
    He glanced at her, but in in his eyes, the usual glisten of light brown sparks had disappeared.
    On the ground, the calf’s front legs and head were visible. Hazy, white film covered the babe. The mother craned her neck and snorted. Her calf’s head jostled forward but did not shift farther out of the womb. Was the calf stuck?
    Kneeling by her fellow shepherd, Noah brushed the thick shield of skin from the babe’s nose. The wet sheet clung to her hand. She stretched out her arms and motioned a pull. Her thumb indicated she would be the one to finish the birth. Surely, Jeremiah could see her arms were slighter than a man’s and would easily slip into the womb. Would he accept her help or be stubborn?
    Jeremiah’s brow furrowed, his arms wrapped tight around the babe. He hesitated and tugged once more. Huffing, he released his hold and nodded toward the camel.
    She grabbed the castoff birthing and rubbed it on her arms. Her stomach wretched at the feel and stench of the fluid. The sun’s heat did not help the odor either. The sour taste of grain sizzled on her tongue, tightening her jaw.
    Staring at her, the babe’s brownish-black eyes beheld her as if she were its only hope.
    “God is the give of life. Not me.” She brushed the soaked calf’s head with her fingers and slipped her hands in the camel’s womb. The mother attempted to kick. She mouthed a short prayer. “It will be over soon,” she said to the anxious camel. Hopefully, she spoke the truth.