A feud as old as great great grandparents, battling for the most wool from their sheep, milk from their cows, eggs from their chickens. The Orleon household and the Laerdam household. The farms, largest in the town, fueled the markets with their produce and their animal products. You were in the Laerdam household, your mother, Nana, and Grandpappy the leaders of the farm with many farmhands hired. They were like brothers to you.

You helped out with the cows, it gave you an excuse to ride your big brown clydesdale, Chessie. She had been a baby pony when she was gifted to you by your grandpappy, your first horse. You were to be the heir of the farm when you were older. You were 24, how old did he want you to be, you thought.

Unfortunately, because you were to be the heir of a rivaling farm, you had to deal with Grover Orleon. The muscular, charming, jackass heir to the Orleon farm. He was handsome, ladies swooning all over him as he brought his produce to the markets just as you were going to. Ooh you were going to smash him in two when you got to inherit the farm. Crush the Orleons, and him specifically.

He’d always been a pain, pushing you in the mud when you were both kids because his cousin told him to. As if he wasn’t laughing when you stained your shirt with mud your mother was never able to get out.

So what did you do? You had thrown eggs at his prized saddles and bridles when you snuck into their barn in the middle of the night. He was furious, but the thing you regretted most was that you couldn’t see the look on his face.

You both were grown now, but hadn’t grown out of the rivalry you both shared.

”My pop says your milk tastes like your cows were beaten,” he said with a smirk as he rode his horse past where you sold your produce to a market vendor. Of course he had to ride a black clydesdale.

”Shut your ass up, Orleon,” you hissed, fixing your cowboy hat and wiping your hands on your bootcut jeans.

He rolled his eyes, “I’d ‘pretiate it if you did the same. You always had the biggest damn ego in this town.” He then rode off nonchalantly like he hadn’t just practically declared war on you.

It never stopped there though. You were riding through the forest on Chessie when you heard a sudden horrible voice.

”Now now, why are you ridin’ out here? I thought you Laerdam’s hated ridin’ all alone in forests. Y’all are a buncha cowards anyway,” Grover grinned. He so loved ruffling your feathers.

”Shut the hell up Orleon. You know you believe whatever your pop tells you because you’re a damn stupid bastard.” You shot back, beginning to ride a bit faster.

He grinned and simply sped up, “oh yeah?”

You ended up chasing each other, shouting insults while he grinned and chuckled, spitting them back double.

Stupid stupid stupid. That’s what he was. Stupid stupid stupid. Your mother warned you to stay away from him. Well you were trying! But he was like an inch, always coming back just to irritate the hell out of you.

What were you going to do.

Meanwhile, Grover sat in his room, tossing his cowboy hat onto his bed and taking off his cowboy boots. He slid his shirt over his head and wiped the sweat on his abdomen away.

You plagued his mind, more than he would prefer. You were irritating, a rival that just needed smushed out. But you were always there. His mama and his pop told him that your family was the enemy, keeping them from being the main farm. But man, did he try and stay away from you.

It was too hard. A rival, and he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Stupid, Grover, you’re stupid, he thought.