Chapter Six

 

On Simon's next visit, he wasn't up to a ride around the corral, Patrick explained. Clinical visit the day before, with jabs that were supposed to help mitigate the side effects of his scheduled treatment, ones that made him extra tired. But he insisted on coming anyway.

Dimitri was just as happy to nibble oats and crisp crumbs from someone's hand. Lucy had found the grooming kit in the old grain shed, and let the little boy brush the llama's wool in the barn, out of the way of the hot sun and the dust from the two baby llamas playing a game of tag.

It was still warm. Lucy held Llarry's bridle, and Simon's father sat in a chair nearby, looking fidgety whenever Simon rested too long between brushing, as if his hands were used to keeping busy. Maybe he felt like he should do something to help his son. Maybe he was afraid it was too hot today, and that's why the rest periods felt long. The barn did feel stuffy when the breeze died down.

"I have some lemon juice," said Lucy. She tried to think of something helpful, and this was all she could think of. "If someone would like a glass, the pitcher is full." She had made some in case they were thirsty. "Or there's a kettle filled on the hob."

"The lemon sounds lovely for a warm day like this," said Patrick. "I'd like a glass. Simon would like one, probably, wouldn't you, Simon?"

The boy nodded. He was busy brushing the llama's haunches, getting out bits of straw stuck in the wool.

Lucy started to go, but Patrick got up from his chair. "Don't worry, I'll fetch it," he said. "Just through the door, wasn't it?"

"To the right. The pitcher is on the counter by the sink," she answered. "There are glasses next to it." She wanted to do it herself, but maybe he felt he was being polite. She didn't want to be rude.

"Ta. I'll be back in two ticks, Simon." He left.

She stayed behind, holding onto Llarry, who was being very patient. He didn't mind being brushed, or being trimmed, as if it was all perfectly normal and not at all dull to stand here.

"Llama fur feels different from wool," said Simon. "Why is it?" He sounded curious.

She didn't know. "Because they're different types of animals," she said. "In the animal family." This sounded right. "I mean — they're not really like big sheep, are they?" She made a joke.

"That would be completely weird." He laughed. "Like, something a mental scientist would do. Like, someone in a weird comic."

Lucy agreed.

"You should enter Llarry in a competition," said Simon.

"A competition?"

"Yeah, you know, for animals. Where they, like, walk around the circle and win awards because the judges decide they're the best. Llarry's the best. He'd win every ribbon."

"Why do you think that?" Lucy asked. It was a funny idea. Truthfully, she did not know how llama shows worked — if judges looked at wool or at posture, or at something more discretionary. Say, teeth or eyelashes.

"Because he's brilliant. He was a champion before, I saw his ribbon."

"He was?" That did not sound quite right to Lucy.

"He won a ribbon, the blue one," said Simon "It was hanging up in the barn when we came before. He was best of show. Dad said it was a long time ago, he saw the year on it. It was from a long time ago."

"Where was the ribbon?" Lucy didn't remember it.

"On the wall." He pointed to a place where some old bridles were hanging, and a harness that had been chewed through by rats, above the hay manger. "It's gone now. It was, like, old and ragged and stuff."

Lucy was quiet. She wondered if this was from Joseph's time. Surely Llarry had not been a prize-winning llama who somehow ended up on this farm. Did Llarry have a pedigree she did not know about?

"It would be amazing if he won again. Like, he's brilliant, he's the absolute best one. He'd be on the internet, probably, like with his own hashtag."

"Or get his photo in the paper," said Lucy. This sounded a bit old-timey, she realized in afterthought.

"Yeah, like in the old days. You could put the picture in a frame," he said, excitedly.

Simon's hand fumbled the brush, as if his fingers momentarily became tangled with each other, mix-up leading to collision. The brush fell to the floor. He tried to pick it up and bending down seemed to make him feel dizzy. His body began to pitch to one side, and Lucy put her hand down to keep him from falling.

"Simon?" She heard Patrick. He set three glasses on a nearby overturned bucket and bent down by his son. "Everything all right?" His words were anxious.

Simon nodded. "Dizzy," he said. "My head ... feels woolly."

"Let me help you. Just lean back. It's just the injections being a bit fickle, that's all." He sounded soothing now, the anxious part buried somewhere again. "There we go. Feel a bit better? I've got some nice lemon juice here. Little sips might help."

The little boy's face was very thin. Lucy could see shadows under each eye, becoming noticeable again as the rush of blood left. As always, his skin looked pale and waxy without the additional color.

"I'm okay." Simon managed to nod. "I felt a bit funny. I feel better now."

Patrick gave him a glass of lemon juice. He handed one to Lucy also, and smiled. "Sorry about that," he said. "Something always seems to happen the moment I turn my back. It's a bit nerve wracking, to say the least."

"It's okay." Lucy was not afraid, only tense. It made her anxious, the first signs of a crisis. She wasn't certain what to do, if one should ask questions, or dial emergency services immediately.

"He's all right now." Simon bent down beside his son. "Feeling better?" he asked. The little boy nodded again. "Good. Let's have a bit of a rest, then we can go home."

"I want to finish brushing Llarry first. I'm nearly finished. Just this side, please?"

"Okay. But then we'd best go home. Rest in front of telly for a bit."

Lucy walked with Llarry to the corner of the pasture. He would often watched people leave the farm. His ears always perked and twitched, as if listening to cars driving away. Or listening for someone to come back.

She stroked his fluffy neck. There were no cars in the lane, nobody waving goodbye, everything around the bend and moving into the distance. Across the lane, the sheep in the field were grazing in a slow formation which silently mowed all newly-leafed vegetation.

She walked back, finding the baby llama and alpaca were still chasing each other around the corral. Newton was fumbling up from a recent fall, plodding after Lillibet in a rocking-horse motion again.

Lucy had her phone in her pocket. She switched on the video capture, and filmed Newton. He clambered up again after stumbling, pausing to look her way, as if showing off. He wobbled, gaining traction again, and continued plodding after her.

She edited it with the video software, putting the cartoon filter on it. It began with the real-life video of Newton, up to the point he stumbled, transforming gradually into a moving drawing after he regained his feet and began bounding along, using a 'fade into' transitional feature to make the effect seamless.

She liked the finished version. It felt rather fun, yet poignant. She titled it ' Newton the Brave.' She loaded it to the video program linked on the shop's media page, and to the video account for its social media also.

Thinking of Nancy's advice, she put hashtags. A program that analyzed short descriptions and video trends generated them for her, things that were supposed to be trendy or meaningful. She plugged in the links with a simple click, and clicked the 'publish' button on both account pages.

It was a simple process, as easy as posting a game demo. Newton the Brave was now live.