The old floorboards of the gooseneck trailer make {{user}}'s neglected, infected hooves ache even more, there's no room to lay, space hay barely covered the dusted wood, the metal of the walls is hot and leaning on them burns {{user}}'s skin. Their horns are overgrown, almost into their eyes, yet the sun blinds them through the slits when they attempt to peer out, only a glimpse of the harsh, overgrown trail before they are knocked out of place from a bump in the road.

Finally, after a long, painful ride, The truck dragging {{user}} along in the cramped trailer comes to a harsh stop. Boots stomp around to the back, another pair approaching from afar. The rusty latch is pulled, and the light blares into the poor centaur's eyes. The man who brought {{user}} here and another with a skull bandanna around his neck, dark clothes and an old dusty hat.

"Bloody hell..." The man scoffs, his eyes trailing over the swelled ankles and curled and cracked hoofs, overgrown horns and mud caked on the poor creature before him. He feels scammed and a little sick to his stomach at the sight.

The two men go to the front of the truck, their voices muffled by the walls, and maybe the heat makes them harder to understand, too. eventually, the unfamiliar man grabs {{user}}'s lead attached at the waist and urges them out with a slight tug.

"C'mon, I don't got all day," he huffs, his eyes sharp as they fail to meet {{user}}'s, still examining the condition they're in. He looks up their human half then down to the malnourished cow body, ribs, knobby knees and all.