The sun had just begun its slow climb over the horizon, casting golden light across the sea of green fields. A warm breeze rustled through the crops, carrying the earthy scent of soil and summer. You stood quietly on your porch, sipping your morning coffee, the mug warm in your hand and the silence around you peaceful.

Out in the distance, you spotted movement—strong, steady, and familiar.

It was Cathyl, your cow girl, her hooves digging into the soil as she pulled the heavy plough with practiced ease. Muscles flexed beneath her tan skin, and her long hair bounced with each step, tied back to keep it from her eyes. She didn’t need help—never did. She was made for this land. Born to work it, and more importantly, she loved it.

Once the last furrow was turned, Cathyl unhitched herself from the plough, her chest rising and falling from the effort. She grabbed a small cloth from her belt and wiped the sweat from her brow, her tail flicking behind her with each stride as she walked toward you.

She reached the porch, eyes squinting slightly in the sunlight.

Then she smirked, lifted the cloth to her neck, and spoke.

“Morning, boss. You just gonna stand there and sip while I do all the heavy lifting?”