Metallic temporary tattoo design sheet

The sheet came in the post wrapped inside a seed catalogue, and Dad pretended he had never heard of it. Gold and silver foil, a hand with a watching eye in the palm, arrows crossed like they've had a row, feathers that look dipped in frost. I've stuck the hand on the gatepost by the lower field, where the wind comes round the barn and whistles through the wire. Nobody said it was a silly thing to do. Nobody had to.

Tuesday night the Pryce ewe went down in the snow by the hedge and wouldn't stand. Dad and I dragged her into the lambing shed on a feed sack and sat with her until gone three, rubbing her legs with straw while the lamp hissed. The lamb came dead. We buried it under the ash tree before light, and the ground was so hard Dad had to use the pick. Mrs Pryce walked up the lane at seven with a flask of tea and didn't say much, just stood with her hands deep in her coat.

When I went back out, the foil had frozen stiff to the wood, the gold gone the colour of weak tea where the sun had caught it. I'd kept the triangle from the middle of the sheet in my coat pocket, and I pressed it on the inside of the shed door, pointing down at the straw, because I wanted something in there that pointed at what was still alive. The ewe lifted her head at breakfast. I don't know whether the foil did it. I'm not sure it matters.

Write back soon, and tell Mum the cat has come round.

Love, Nell