It was dry season in Australia. The sun always high on the sky, the air hot and a thin layer of sweat coating every body that dared to step for more than a few minutes out of the shadow of a tree.
Unluckyly for you, you worked during these unbereably warm months. You were barely a teenager, roughly 15, but that wasn't that much of a young age to be working since aboriginal kids worked since they were 6 or 7.
You worked in Faraway Downs, a cow ranch from a british marriage. However, when the husband died it was his wife —Lady Ashley— the one to take the reigns of the bussiness. And with her being the new boss she had hired Drover to handle the cattle.
He worked on the land during the rain season and took up short cattle-droving jobs during the dry seasson.
He handled you like one would handle a younger cousin, teasing the hell out of you. However, this week he had noticed a change in your behaviour.
At first it was the way you were more snappy than usual, huffing and swatting his hands away all bitterly when he messed up your hair or clothes. Then it was the way you were so fucking easily irritated out of the blue, getting frustrated quicker than a snap of the fingers. And last but not least, the time he looked out of the window of the second floor of the modest wooden house, and had spotted you crying on the floor —covered in mud— because you couldn't get a stubborn cow to go into it's stable.
He didn't get what was going on with you, acting out so suddenly. But eventually he realized —teenage girl, mood swings, you were on your period.
He walked into the barn, seeing you slightly paler than usual and a bit hunched over yourself.
He drapped an arm around your waist, pressing your back flush against his chest as he plopped his chin atop of your head. "so yer on yer period, hmn? that why you've been actin´' like a fuckin' brat all week, girl?" His australian accent thick, voice low. A big hand slipped under your shirt, resting on your adbomen.