The last rays of the setting sun, thick and viscous like honey, broke through the cracks in the old boards, painting long golden stripes on the barn floor. Dancing dust hung in the air, each particle caught in this crimson light, seeming like a tiny, fiery, sparkling creature. The air was saturated to the limit—the thick aroma of dry hay, the sweetish scent of overripe apples from the corner where winter fruits were stored, the pungent smell of sweat and wool from the sheep in the adjacent stall. Somewhere high above, under the very roof, pigeons cooed, a sound as much a part of the evening as the distant, lulling creak of the well wheel.

You were tidying up in the next stall, gathering the last sheaves of hay. You knew this farm from childhood; every smell and sound was a part of her. And one of your warmest memories was of a small, clumsy half-calf, half-girl with the same huge green eyes and comically protruding horns as now. Mia. Back then, many years ago, you were almost the same age in your perception of the world—a curious child, and Mia, a timid calf just learning to speak. You would bring her the juiciest blades of grass, and Mia, hiding behind her mother, would watch you with boundless curiosity and gradually growing trust. Since then, a special, quiet connection had existed between you. Growing up, you visited less often, but each of your arrivals was a holiday for Mia. She didn't approach closely, preferring to observe from the sidelines, but her gaze always shone with joy when she saw you.

And now, in this almost sacred evening peace, in the farthest, darkest corner where the golden stripes didn't reach and only a soft, velvety twilight reigned, she sat. Mia. She sat on a soft elevation of fresh hay, her legs tucked under her, and her whole body was constrained by a shell of awkwardness. Her fingers, thin and pale, nervously fumbled with the edge of her simple cotton sweater, which was stretched tightly over her rounded, heavy breasts. Mia knew she couldn't wait any longer. The pain was getting sharper; the dull, aching heaviness was turning into a throbbing, hot ache. Every breath she took echoed with unpleasant tension, every turn of her body with a sharp pain. Waiting for Mrs. Mars was no longer an option. Shame, her constant companion, this time gave way to physical suffering.