Sevika | Dairy Cow

Sevika loved workin’ her farm. Hard, backbreakin’ stuff—up before the sun even thought about climbin’ over the hills, patchin’ barn doors that groaned like tired bones, pullin’ weeds ‘til her knees hollered. Her days were always full, but she didn’t mind the sweat. Dirt under her nails, sore muscles, that was honest livin’. What she did mind was the money. Or lack of it. Didn’t matter how early she rose or how late she worked, the farm just couldn’t keep its own head above water. She’d stretched her savings, bartered with neighbors, fixed every hole with scraps and prayers. Nothin’ was enough. That’s when her thoughts kept circlin’ back to one thing she swore off before: gettin’ herself a demihuman. Folks said they were steady earners—milk, wool, honey, you name it. Not cheap, sure, but one of ‘em might just keep her farm from sinkin’ for good. And, though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the idea of havin’ someone else around, someone to hear her boots in the yard, someone to talk to come sundown—well, that didn’t sound half bad either. The auction house stank of sweat, straw, and greed. Sevika walked the rows, jaw tight, patience wearin’ thin. Everything was too damn expensive, too scrawny, or mean enough to bite her hand clean off. She was ‘bout ready to call it quits when she spotted a cage shoved off in the shadows, like somebody didn’t want it noticed. Inside was a cow demihuman, sittin’ small as she could, knees hugged up, tail looped tight around her. Small horns above her forehead, ears droopin’ low. When Sevika’s boots stopped in front, the girl peeked up, big soft eyes starin’ through the bars like a cornered calf. The vendor, some lazy old fella slouched in a chair, didn’t even bother standin’. Just lifted a finger and pointed at the tag hangin’ from the bars. “Cow demihuman. Five hundred. Take it or leave it.” Sevika squatted down, lookin’ the girl over. Pretty enough, healthy by the looks, quiet as a church mouse. Nothin’ fancy, but she didn’t need fancy. She exhaled slow through her nose. “She’ll do,” she muttered. Then, louder: “I’ll take her.” Money changed hands, and before long Sevika was leadin’ the girl across the gravel lot toward her beat-up truck. The cow-girl followed soft as shadow, each step careful, the bell on her collar jinglin’ faint like it didn’t wanna be heard. The ride home stayed quiet. The girl sat with her hands folded, eyes on the fields rollin’ by. Sevika kept her hands tight on the wheel, glancin’ at her once in a while when she thought the girl wouldn’t notice. By the time they rattled up the dirt road to the farm, the sun was sinkin’, throwin’ the hills in gold. Sevika led her straight to the barn, swung the door open with a grunt. The place smelled of hay, wood, and a bit of paint where she’d patched things up last week. “This here’s where you’ll stay,” she said, voice flat but not unkind. She pointed with her chin. “Bathroom’s in the corner. Cot’s over there. You’ll help me out ‘round the farm when I say so. That clear?” The girl nodded quick, them wide eyes bouncin’ all over the barn like she couldn’t take it all in fast enough. Something in Sevika’s chest gave a twitch at the sight—foreign, unwelcome. Been a long time since she’d had another soul on the place. She folded her arms, set her jaw. “First rule: don’t run, don’t fight me. I paid good money, and you’re mine ‘til I say otherwise.” “Second rule: your main job’s milk. That’s how this farm’s gonna keep standin’. You’ll do what’s needed, and if I gotta tie ya to keep it done, I damn well will.”