Morning in Selojati Village always arrived the same way: thin mist, cold air clinging to the skin, and the sound of cows waking up earlier than humans.
I stood in front of the barn, holding a bucket of damp grass whose smell—honestly—was closer to a mild chemical weapon than animal feed. My hands were used to it. My nose wasn't. But this was my life.
My name is Raka. A cow farmer. Born into a family of cow farmers. And unless a miracle happens, I'll probably die as one too.
"Easy, easy… everyone will get their share," I muttered as I opened the barn door.
Four cows turned their heads at the same time. Three of them let out ordinary moos—hungry, simple, exactly how cows were supposed to be.
One didn't.
He stood at the far end. Slightly bigger than the others, with pitch-black eyes and a head tilted just enough to look like he was judging something.
Or someone.
His name was Whitey. Because he was white. I wasn't very creative.
I stepped inside and began pouring the grass into the feeding troughs one by one. I had just finished the first when—
CRASH.
My bucket was knocked aside. Grass spilled onto the ground.
"Hey! Who—"
I turned around.
Whitey was standing calmly again, chewing slowly. His expression looked innocent. Too innocent.
I sighed. "Alright. Guess I was just careless."
I picked up the usable grass and put it back. This time, I was more cautious. I kept my distance from Whitey.
I poured.
Safe.
I moved to the next trough.
CRASH.
This time the bucket completely toppled over.
Grass scattered everywhere. I stared at the floor, then slowly lifted my head.
Whitey was chewing again. Faster than before.
Almost like… he was enjoying it.
I narrowed my eyes. "That was you, wasn't it?"
The cow stopped chewing.
He stared at me.
For a long moment.
Then he snorted softly, stepped back half a pace, and turned away—like a cow that had just been offended.
I let out a small laugh. "Yeah right. As if I'd seriously suspect a cow."
I bent down again and cleaned up the mess. This time, I held the bucket with both hands and turned my back slightly toward Whitey.
I hadn't even started pouring when—
THUD.
The barn door slammed shut.
I turned instantly.
The wooden door I had left open was now tightly closed. The latch had slid perfectly into place.
I froze.
It couldn't be the wind.
I was the only human here.
Slowly, I turned toward Whitey.
He stood near the door. One horn lightly touched the wood. His eyes were fixed on me. Calm. Focused.
I swallowed.
"…Did you just close the door?"
Whitey mooed once.
Short.
My heart began pounding faster than it should.
"O-okay," I muttered, forcing a laugh. "Probably… just a coincidence."
I stepped toward the door to open it.
Before I reached it—
Whitey took one step forward.
I stopped.
He lowered his head slightly, blocking my path. He didn't look aggressive. Not angry.
Just… aware.
Like someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
"You're hungry, right?" I said quickly, grabbing onto the safest excuse I could find. "Yeah, yeah. I'll finish feeding you first."
I went back to the bucket and poured the grass quickly. One trough. Two. Three.
Then Whitey's turn.
I hesitated.
Then poured.
He didn't eat right away.
He looked at the grass. Then at me. Then back at the grass.
Only after I stepped back two full steps did he begin chewing.
Slowly.
Neatly.
I stood there stiffly as a strange unease crawled from my stomach up to my neck.
This was a cow.
It was supposed to be a cow.
So why did I feel like I was being watched?
I glanced at the door again. Still locked.
I swallowed and carefully moved toward it, trying not to make any sudden movements.
Just as my hand reached the latch—
Whitey stopped chewing.
And this time, he stepped toward me.
He stopped just inches away.
I could smell grass on his breath—warm, heavy, and somehow… thoughtful.
"H-hey… relax," I said softly, raising my hands a little. The kind of reflex humans had when facing something they didn't understand. "I'm just opening the door."
Whitey lowered his head.
Not to charge.
More like… to examine me.
I shifted my foot sideways, trying to circle around him and reach the latch from another angle.
He moved with me.
Perfectly.
Not too fast. Not too slow.
As if he already knew where I was going.
"Okay… this is getting weird," I muttered.
I stopped moving.
So did he.
We stood there in silence. The barn suddenly felt smaller. I could still hear the other cows chewing and snorting softly, but the sounds felt distant—like they came from another world.
"Do you… understand what I'm saying?" I asked, half-joking, half-desperate.
Whitey blinked.
Once.
Then tilted his head—exactly like a person thinking.
I held my breath.
"No way," I whispered.
I let out a dry laugh, trying to chase away the cold creeping up my spine. "Listen, Whitey. You're a cow. A C-O-W. Your job is to eat, sleep, and… well… be a cow."
Whitey let out a long breath.
Not an annoyed snort.
More like the sigh of an adult tired of hearing nonsense.
I froze.
"That just now…" my voice came out hoarse. "…that was just my imagination, right?"
Whitey stepped aside.
Making room.
I didn't move right away. My mind scrambled to rearrange everything I believed to be normal. But my body reacted faster.
I grabbed the latch and pulled.
Click.
The door opened.
Cold morning air rushed in—sharp and real. It slapped my senses awake.
I stepped outside.
Nothing happened.
One step.
Still safe.
I turned around.
Whitey had returned to his trough, chewing calmly like an ordinary cow.
Very ordinary.
"Unbelievable," I muttered. "I really need more sleep."
I closed the barn door and locked it again, making sure this time. I slapped my own cheeks twice.
"Hallucinations. Just hallucinations."
I walked away a few steps, then stopped.
Something felt off.
I turned back.
Whitey was staring at me through the wooden bars. His gaze was sharp and focused—not empty like the others.
And when our eyes met—
He winked.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
My heart dropped straight into my stomach.
I stepped back. "Don't… don't be weird."
Whitey went back to chewing.
Calm.
As if nothing had happened.
I stood there for a long time, until footsteps approached from the house—my mother calling out.
"Raka! Are you done yet?"
I let out a breath of relief. The world felt normal again.
"Yes, Mom! Almost done!"
I turned and walked away.
But just before I left the barn behind, I heard a small sound.
Knock.
Wood being tapped from the inside.
Once.
I stopped.
Didn't dare turn around.
Behind me, the sound of Whitey chewing stopped.
I stood frozen.
The echo of that knock lingered in my ears. Slowly, I turned my head.
Whitey stood right behind the wooden bars. His head slightly raised, horns nearly touching the top beam. His eyes locked onto mine.
Unblinking.
"What do you want…" I murmured, more to myself than to him.
No answer.
Of course not.
He was a cow.
I forced my legs to move. One step. Two. My heart still raced, but my mother's voice from the house grounded me.
I walked away toward the well to wash my hands. Cold water hit my skin, calming me slightly.
"Lack of sleep," I told my reflection on the water's surface. "Starting tomorrow, no more staying up late."
That's when I noticed something else.
Normally, after feeding time, the cows would be noisy—pushing, mooing loudly, protesting life itself.
Today, they weren't.
I turned back toward the barn.
All the cows stood neatly.
Too neatly.
Their heads all faced the same direction.
Toward… Whitey.
And Whitey—
stood in the center.
I blinked, certain my eyes were lying.
They weren't.
The other three cows looked at him, as if waiting for instructions.
Whitey tilted his head slightly to the left.
One cow followed.
To the right.
Another followed.
My stomach went cold.
"This… has to be a dream, right?"
I stepped back without realizing it. My foot hit a small stone, nearly making me fall.
The sound was loud.
Tok.
All the cows turned their heads toward me.
At the same time.
I swallowed hard.
Whitey stepped forward once.
Then stopped.
He didn't approach the door—just stood there, as if making sure I saw it.
And I did.
Clearly.
He nodded.
Not random.
Not accidental.
A nod.
I took another step back. "No. No, no, no."
I turned and almost ran back to the house. My breath came short, my chest tight, my thoughts tangled.
When I reached the porch, my mother looked up.
"Why are you so pale?"
"I—I…" I stopped. What was I supposed to say? That my cow was smarter than me? That he was giving commands?
I shook my head quickly. "It's nothing. Probably catching a cold."
She frowned but didn't push. "Breakfast soon. Don't stay outside too long."
I nodded and went inside. But my thoughts stayed in the barn.
A few minutes later, I peeked through the window.
The barn looked normal.
Cows eating. Moving randomly. No order. Nothing strange.
Except Whitey wasn't there.
I frowned.
He was usually the first to the trough.
I opened the back door and walked slowly toward the barn again. Each step felt heavy.
"Calm down," I whispered. "If he really is weird, you can just sell him. Problem solved."
I stood in front of the barn.
Empty.
Whitey was gone.
His rope lay loose on the ground. Not broken. Not snapped.
Untied.
I swallowed.
And on the ground near the barn door were cow footprints leading toward the back field.
I followed them with my eyes.
At the end of the trail, on slightly damp soil, was something written.
Not in paint.
Not in blood.
Scratched with a hoof.
The letters were messy, but readable.
"FOLLOW."