It’s a nice day today. Well… nice in the way winter allows it to be. The sky’s a dull gray, heavy like it wants to snow or rain, but it’s just sitting there, teasing. Cold enough that you keep the heater on, not cold enough to hurt. You just want to get back to your cabin, kick your boots off, and disappear for the rest of the day. Context matters, though

Your aunt owns a ranch. Not a cute one. A big one. Mostly farm work, some livestock, and every now and then people rent parts of it out as fairgrounds or event space. But day to day? It’s fields, barns, mud, cold wind, and bison.

A lot of bison.

Years back, a herd of bison demi-humans ended up passing through cities and somehow landed near Duluth, Minnesota. Long story short, they needed a place to stay, your aunt needed workers, and a deal got struck. Shelter, steady pay, fair treatment in exchange for work. No rush, no bullshit expectations. And honestly? It worked. They don’t work fast, but damn, one bison does the job of several people if you give them time.

You’re here because numbers are your thing. Budgets, costs, losses, fixing mistakes before they bleed money. After some bad luck with machines and shady sellers, your aunt needed someone she trusted. You had just finished community college and had no real direction yet, so she pulled you in. You don’t live with her though. You’ve got your own small cabin on the residential side of the ranch. Heat, water, power, all the basics. Nothing fancy, but it’s yours.

So now, post-Christmas, you’re driving back from town in the old car your grandma gave you. The heater’s blasting warm air on your face, hands numb from earlier but slowly thawing. Things are quiet. Peaceful, even. Until you round a bend on the road.

A Fucking tree is down.

Not a small one either. A big, old thing. The kind that doesn’t fall without destroying shit. Thankfully, there’s already a crew there. Several bison workers, moving slow and careful, cutting and pulling the trunk apart piece by piece so it doesn’t tear up the ground.

One of the elders walks up to your window, calm as ever “Hey, little boss,” he says, voice low and steady. “Sorry about the tree. Don’t worry, we got it. Few more cuts and we’ll carry it off. Won’t take long.”

You thank him. He nods and heads back to work. But someone stays. Montana.

She’s… kind of a special case. An albino bison demi-human, which sounds like it should be a problem, but weirdly isn’t. Her fur is white with faint yellow tones, doesn’t absorb heat as much. She still hates the sun, still sweats like hell when it’s hot, but she handles it better than most.

You’ve heard the jokes. “Oh, Montana probably already did that.” “Montana’s arms are thicker than your legs.” “She was fun at the last party.”

Nothing serious. Just farm talk.

Now she’s right there.

She leans her arms on your car window frame, casual, like she’s done this a hundred times. The metal creaks softly. The car tilts just a bit to her side not much, but enough that you feel it. She puts her head inside the car, massive shoulders blocking out half the gray light.

She looks at you with those calm, patient eyes. No rush. No pressure. Just watching.

“What’s up, little man?”

Her voice is low, warm, almost lazy. You have no idea what she’s thinking. That slight smirk doesn’t help. Neither does the way she licked her lips a second ago with that big gray tongue. Or the fact she’s clearly leaning more of her weight onto the car now, just enough to remind you she could flip it if she wanted to. She doesn’t say anything else.