(A/N: This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decided to split it in order to not overwhelm anyone with walls of text. I realize I might be a bit late to the Animal Farm fandom, but having fallen back in love with this wonderful story, I decided to write my own tale. Let's see how far I get before I abandon it.)

Chapter One

A blanket of sunlight had stretched across the English countryside that late summer morning. The farmhands of the Golden Hill Farm stumbled and grumbled their way across the courtyard, carrying the various foodstuffs that would serve as the animals' breakfast. One farmhand in particular, a rather shabby-looking man who constantly grumbled complaints and swears under his breath, had a bucket of slop in each hand, and was headed towards the pigpen. Some of the porkers had already emerged from the stone building that acted as their sleeping quarters, and were snuffing at their troughs, searching for food. The farmhand grunted in annoyance.

"Oh, get back, y'stupid beasts…" he spat, aiming a kick at the fence. The porkers scattered, some running back into the building, while others gathered in a corner, their eyes darting about wildly. With a satisfied smirk, the farmhand proceeded to filling the troughs. The pigs, however, continued to keep their distance. Their hunger might've clouded their judgement before, but now they knew well enough to stay away until the farmhand had gone. They watched on, following the farmhand's movements as he walked over to the corner of the pen opposite from the troughs. Another pig, a young Gloucestershire Old Spots gilt, was tied to the fence by her neck. For the entire time the farmhand had been at the pigpen, she had been sitting in her corner, watching him intensely. The human and pig met each other's eyes, and in that instant, an aura of mutual hatred emitted from the both of them.

"So," the farmhand began slowly. "It's been, what, a week since y'last been slopped? Must be hungry, eh?"

The gilt remained silent. By this time, all of the farm's pigs were watching from their side of the pen, not a single one of them going to eat from the troughs. After a moment's silence, the farmhand snickered.

"Heh...looks like you're startin' to learn your place. I'll slop ya today...if there's any left for ya, that is."

The cruel farmhand laughed again as the gilt narrowed her eyes at him. He then leaned over the fence, tipping over one of the pails to deliver the last of the slop. It was at that moment that the gilt suddenly sprang at him, squealing sharply. She, of course, couldn't get far due to the rope, but the sudden action was enough to frighten the oppressive farmhand. The pail clattered against the dirt, and the gilt could see that barely a mouthful of slop still remained within it, not that she was surprised.

"You little—!" the farmhand snapped, his face becoming a bright shade of red. He ranted for a moment, swearing and pointing at the gilt, but not quite managing to put together a complete sentence. Finally, he pulled out a whip that had been intertwined with his belt loops, and with a fierce yell, he attacked.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

The rest of the pigs could hardly watch, huddling against one another and wincing at each blow. The gilt, however, continued to sit and stare, only allowing small grunts and whimpers escape her maw. She wouldn't squeal, not for someone as cruel as the farmhand.

"Archie."

The farmhand, Archie, froze at the sudden voice. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting a man nearby, a Border Collie waiting beside him. This man was the owner of the farm, Mr. Irons, and the collie was one of his sheep-herding dogs, Dodger. Archie grinned nervously.

"Ah, m-mornin', sir!" he greeted. "Er...just finishin' up with the pigs…!"

"Mmm," grunted the old farmer. "None of them are giving you any trouble now, are they?"

"Oh, no, sir, not at all!" Archie tried to put on a reassuring smile. It failed to convince Mr. Irons. "This one's just had a taste of the whip. She knows who's charge, heh!"

"Well, that's good. Let's keep it that way. Dodger! Come!"

Archie watched in silence as his employer walked off, the Border Collie in tow. He then turned back to the gilt, his glare returning.

"Enjoy that slop, pig," he seethed. "'Cause that's the last yer gettin' for a long, long time." And with that, Archie stormed off, grumbling and cursing all the way. A silence followed, the the hearts of all the pigs finally slowed down. The porkers began making their way to the troughs to eat, while the gilt leaned down, lapping up what little food she had been provided with. A young boar, a Yorkshire pig named Plato, trotted up to her with a sigh.

"I wish you'd stop antagonizing Archie, Joan," he said. "You'll end up starving one of these days, if he doesn't snap and kill you first." Joan, who had finished her incredibly small breakfast and had began licking the bruises now forming on her skin, turned to Plato and snorted.

"He'd never do that," the gilt replied, an air of confidence in her voice. "Irons would fire him without a second thought."

"Only because you're supposed to be one of his breeding sows. If you were just a porker, it'd be a different story. These are dangerous times for us animals, Joan. You shouldn't-"

"I know, I know," Joan interrupted, rolling her eyes. "You don't have to lecture me all the time, Plato."

Plate sighed again, shaking his head, before reaching down and grasping the bucket's handle in his maw. As he pulled the bucket away, Joan stared at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting you some more breakfast," was the boar's reply as he made his way to the troughs. Nudging the porkers aside, he pushed the bucket into the trough, and scooped up as much slop as he could. The porkers, of course, began to argue against this.

"Hey, Plato, this is our breakfast!" one of them snapped. "Joan had hers already!"

"Oh, hush…" grunted Plato. "Stop being so selfish. You lot can afford to eat a bit less anyway, unless you want your slaughtering to come sooner rather than later." It was those words that had silenced the porkers, and begrudgingly, they allowed the Yorkshire to carry over the slop-filled bucket back to Joan.

"You didn't have to do that…" said the gilt quietly.

"You're my friend; you'd do the same for me. Now eat, before Archie comes back for his pail."

The rest of the morning went by quietly for the pigs. Joan enjoyed her extra breakfast, her tail wagging a bit. How she had missed having a full stomach. But alas, such was the penalty for being a free-spirited animal these days. Ever since the Animal Rebellion on the Manor Farm (or Animal Farm, as it was now called) earlier that summer, England's farmers had gotten more and more cruel, and the Golden Hill Farm was no exception. Sure, it was no paradise beforehand, but compared to how the animals were treated now, it might as well have been. Food was no longer a right, but a privilege given to animals that did their work and was obedient to the humans. The farmhands carried their whips more frequently, and would often attack the animals just to instill fear in their hearts. Truly, in trying to keep the animals from rebelling, they had become just as wicked as the infamous Mr. Jones. Unlike the creatures at Animal Farm, however, Golden Hill's animals lacked the spirit to rebel...well, most of them, anyway. Joan was known by the animals and humans for her high energy and refusal to take orders. It had often gotten her into trouble in the past, but these days, with the humans fearing the idea of an animal revolution, the punishments had gotten more severe. Despite all of that, Joan's spirit was never broken, and the other animals couldn't help but admire her for it. It gave them a bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, things would get better.

The hours continued to melt together, until finally, night came. The farmhands had left for the day, and Mr. Irons was just finishing up his nightly rounds. He walked slowly between the stalls and pens, staring down any creature who caught his eye. Dodger was at his side, as usual, shooting apologetic glances at his comrades. He had no desire to see their fellow animals living in fear, but what could he do? Finally, Mr. Irons headed inside of his home, leaving Dodger to head towards the main barn to meet his mate, Mary, and his young puppies, who had been born during the spring. At the pigpen, most of the pigs had retreated inside, some already fast asleep. Joan, still tied to the fence, was lying on her side on the dirt, being careful not to roll onto any of her still-healing bruises. The air was quite chilly that night, however, so sleep was hard to come by for the gilt. For a while, she tossed and turned, snorting in discomfort. It wasn't long before Joan gave up, sitting up and gazing, forlorn, at the rope keeping her tied to the fence. The thought passed her mind to gnaw through it; it'd take a an hour or so, but with her sharp tusks, she could manage to free herself. But even if she did, where would she go? Animal Farm was nearly an hour's drive south, and walking would not only take much longer, but would be very dangerous due to oncoming vehicles or wild animals. Not to mention, Joan would be leaving the other animals to live on in misery, something she had no desire to do. The gilt sighed; was there anything she could do?

"Good evening," said a voice, pulling Joan from her thoughts. With a surprised squeal, she looked up in the direction of the voice, and spotted a pigeon that was perched on the fence. It was a bit of an odd sight; usually, all the pigeons had retired inside of the main barn at this hour. Joan wasn't one to stray from a conversation, however.

"Hello," the gilt replied. "Can't get to sleep as well?"

"You could say that," replied the pigeon, taking a moment to pull a loose feather from her breast. "Actually, I'm a representative from Animal Farm, sent by one of our leaders, Snowball." Joan's eyes widened.

"Really?" The gilt paused, looking around to see if the coast was clear. She then looked up at the pigeon again, her tail flicking in interest. "I think this might be something everyone needs to hear. Hold on; I'll wake the others, and we'll meet in the barn."

The pigeon nodded, and took off towards the barn, while Joan stared at the rope again. Her spirit had been reignited by the meeting of this representative, and with a low grunt, she bit down on the rope, chewing as hard as she could. The rope was dry and bitter, and Joan wanted so badly to just spit it out, but she knew she couldn't. She pulled and tugged, thrashing her head back and forth. The fibers began to rip and tear, and by what could only be described as a miracle, the rope snapped. Joan was free. For a moment, the gilt couldn't believe it, staring, wide-eyed, at the the two ends of the rope. She took a step forward, then another, and another...and to her joy, she wasn't held back. Joan picked up her pace, the excitement continuing to swell within her, and she entered the pig's shelter. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she took a moment to take in the sight of where she once slept. Joan then shook her head; now was not the time to be distracted.

"Everyone," she called in a sort-of whispery shout. "Wake up! Wake up!"

The pigs began to stir, mumbling incoherently as sleep still clung to them. Plato was one of the first to find his senses, and he looked over at Joan, his jaw falling in shock.

"Joan!" he gasped. "You're free…!?" The other pigs were also stunned, eying the limply-swinging rope dangling from Joan's neck. Joan couldn't help but stand a bit taller in pride.

"That's right," replied Joan with a whisk of her tail. "But there's no time to talk about that. We need to get out of her and gather up the other animals. A representative from Animal Farm's come here."

Immediately, the pigs began to whisper to each other, some sharing in Joan's excitement, while others expressed their concerns. Those eager to meet the pigeon began following Joan outside. The gilt in question had begun digging away at the dirt under the fence, and one by one, the others began to join her, until there was just enough space for the pigs to squeeze out. Plato was among those pigs who had followed Joan, but rather than feeling joy or anticipation, he shared in the worry of the of the other pigs.

"Joan," he called, trotting towards the fence. "We shouldn't do this. We'll all be punished if we even think of following in Animal Farm's footsteps."

"We'll be punished no matter what we do," Joan argued. "We've been tortured for too long, Plato. It's time for action!"

"Joan…" Plato murmured, but the gilt had already made off for the other stalls. The boar watched the other pigs as they followed the Gloucestershire, pacing left to right apprehensively. He was torn; sure, it would be wonderful to be free from their human oppressors, but...at what cost? So many things could go wrong...Animals could die...Plato watched on for a few moments, before finally stamping his trotter and snorting.

"You'd better be right about this, Joan…"