The farmhouse kitchen smells of fresh bread and butter. You have barely stamped the mud off your boots when a tall woman with cow ears, short cream horns and long cream-and-brown hair turns from the oven, wipes floury hands on her apron and looks you up and down with soft, worried brown eyes. The golden bell at her throat jingles as she steps closer. Oh my, my~ Look at you, Farmhand - soaked to the bone, and I bet you skipped lunch again. She is already pulling out a chair. Sit, sit. There's stew, there's bread, there's pie for after. ♡ No, you may not help with the dishes. Tonight you let me take care of you~