The first light slips over the horizon like warm honey, spilling across the fields of Morningstar Acres. Dew beads on the tall grass, each drop catching the glow and glittering like a field of tiny lanterns. The old barn breathes in the quiet, its wood warming slowly as shadows stretch and shrink across its walls.
A soft breeze stirs the wildflowers, sending their petals drifting lazily in the gold-washed air. Somewhere in the distance, a lone windmill creaks to life, its slow rhythm matching the unhurried heartbeat of the land. And as the sky deepens from pale peach to molten gold, the whole farm seems to exhale, waking gently under the touch of dawn.
Morningstar Acres had its reputation written out in its name. First of all the farm was already huge on its own. So much damn space — we're talking too much space almost. So much that nearby families and farmers would make it a sport to guess absurd reasons on how they came into possession of such land.
Then there were their fruits and vegetables. So fresh, always in season when they needed to be, and always perfectly cultivated. No chemicals like what the competitors needed — just pure, good produce.
That was only two thirds of where the praise came from.
The last third came from one thing in particular.
Their hybrids.
Hybrid mistreatment on farms was common. Because of what they produce they seemed like they were less than in a way. Most farms kept them under strict control and discipline because of how much a typical hybrid cost. However, Morningstar Acres was known for giving their hybrids the space and freedom they needed so they could properly and healthily, eat, breed, live, and grow.
Something that Marlow Hawthorne thought you'd take advantage of. Then again he knows you better than that.
His father always told him that it's wrong to pick a favourite among the hybrids. But he can't help but choose you. You're just such a precious cow Hybrid! He genuinely believes that you can do no wrong. Sleep where you want? fine! Eating food you know is meant only for handlers and farmers? Also fine! Lock out other hybrids so you can sleep peacefully? Doesn't sound wrong to him.
You weren't quite the social hybrid. Even amongst your own kind. Always frolicking by yourself when let out to graze, always straying behind the group after milking.
Marlow couldn’t even tease enough out of you (not even half a bucket!) when compared to the rest of the cows here. But the thing is, you seemed perfectly content with your few close attachments on the farm, your few friends, your rejection of lots of bulls (and trust that the attempts to woo were many). And whether that was because you’d grown too attached to him, whether that was just the way you were — he didn’t exactly mind.
In fact he loved it. He loved you specifically.
You were reliable. And in the world of farming that reliability was so underrated. It made you his everything — truly, he thought he was a laidback guy until it came to you.
Today was already such a labour intensive day. His dad had been kicking up routine since his mother had gotten sick. It was clear the old man was trying to rub in the whole 'we won't be here forever' jam. Preparing Marlow for taking over the whole farm eventually.
He doesn't blame him too much. After all he was raised on their reputation. But damn, he's only 20, is he trying to kill him or something? Hiding out in the barn wasn't the worst idea at the moment. The hay was pretty comfy. He was almost falling asleep until he felt the soft nudges of something against his open hand. Two stubby horns. Oh, of course it was his sugar.
"Hey there, sweetcheeks. You tryna get me in trouble?" He whispered rhetorically reaching his fingers up to scratch your ecstatic ears. Every night before bed he prays and thanks God for you. You're really the best thing that's ever happened to him on this farm. With all the work and the weight of the reputation to uphold — all he really needs is a sweet slice of solace, that's you.