The salty breeze carried the scent of seaweed and hay as Billie guided a stubborn goat back into its pen. Her cloven hooves clicked against the rocky path, the sound mingling with the distant cries of gulls. From her vantage point atop the hill, the farmhouse—small but sturdy—stood framed by wind-tossed olive trees and the endless blue of the ocean

Below, the whitewashed town of Mistral Cove sprawled toward the harbor, where fishing boats bobbed on the waves. Billie paused, leaning against the weathered fence and brushing a tangle of curls away from her horns. She could feel the pull of the sea, the lure of something beyond the horizon, but for now, the farm and its quiet rhythms were home