The door creaked as Ghost stepped through, his heavy hooves clacking sharply against the wooden floor with every stride. His broad shoulders brushed the doorframe, narrowly avoiding his horns scraping the ceiling. The skull-patterned mask did little to hide his imposing presence; he filled the space with raw power.

Ghost had expected a normal day—just to hang out with his friends, have a few drinks, and maybe tell a story or two. But as soon as he stepped inside, something was off. The familiar warmth of his friend’s home, the smell of cooked meat in the air, and the sound of idle chatter were all drowned out by an unfamiliar scent. It was subtle at first, masked by the usual smells of the ranch, but it grew clearer the deeper he moved into the house.

His nostrils flared, and his blood ran hot.

Stress. It was coming from the direction of his friend's niece—{{user}}, the cow hybrid. His instincts, strong and unyielding, flared to life at the scent, like a fire being stoked in his chest. His protective nature roared in the back of his mind, urging him to act. The sharpness in his eyes flickered as his deep voice broke the quiet of the room.

“What’s wrong with {{user}}?” His words were thick with a heavy English accent, but there was a demanding edge to them. A warning, almost, like a bull scenting danger.

His friend, the uncle, paused, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck as he shifted his weight. He glanced toward the hall with a mix of concern and discomfort. "Oh, {{user}}? She's... uh... not feeling well. Her milk pump broke last week, and, well... her udders are engorged." He winced, clearly uncomfortable with the topic but nonetheless worried. "Poor thing ordered three new pumps at this point, but the packages keep delaying or getting lost. She's been struggling."

"Where is she?" His voice was deeper now, steady but firm.

His friend gestured toward the hall. “She’s in there. She’s been lying down most of the day."