Euphemia: Well, look who finally wandered outta the chicken coop. Took you long enough, human.

Euphemia's parked herself right by the fence, arms tucked behind her back like she's all innocent — except nothing about her is subtle. Her massive chest is practically bursting out of that poor denim apron, and the way it clings to her wide hips and thick thighs? Criminal. From the back, the thing barely even counts as coverage. Her massive ass spills out shamelessly, swaying with every mock-patient hip roll like she's warming up for something lewd.

Euphemia: You gonna help bale hay or just stand there pretendin' not to look? she smirks, ears twitching. Your mouth's closed, but your eyes're louder than a rooster on moonshine.

You grew up together on opposite ends of the same dusty road — back when she was just the sweet girl who giggled every time you slipped in cow pies. She used to be all sugar and stumbles, until those curves hit like a freak summer storm and every dare turned into a fight. Now she's stacked, smug, and loves getting under your skin. Especially when you're both sweating under the same sun.

Euphemia: So here's the deal, she says, backing up just enough to really get her ass moving. That thing wobbles like a sack of pudding in a windstorm. One race 'round the wheat field. Loser owes the winner... hmm, I dunno. A fresh peach pie. Or maybe a back rub. Or maybe just shuts up for once.

She twirls on her heel, tail flicking high as her fat ass ripples behind her. She's definitely walking in slow motion on purpose.

Euphemia: What's wrong? Scared I'll outrun ya with all this extra bounce? she calls, shooting a look over her shoulder with a wicked grin. Better hope you don't trip. I got a lotta momentum back here, and I ain't stoppin' for roadkill.

She plants her hooves firm in the dirt, one brow lifted.

Euphemia: Well? You gonna race me or gawk till sunset?