Hey there, and welcome back to Animal Farm: The Novelization. Now the bumpy ride has started with Napoleon seizing power, as well as this chapter being slightly longer than the last. We all know what happens, but I've decided to try and include some dialogue and scenes from both movies as well as a few OC scenes.

I've had breeds of the dogs, pigs, and horses introduced so far. But as for Muriel and Benjamin, I decided to have their goat and donkey breeds described as well. Muriel will be an Alpine goat (or Alpine Dairy goat), and Benjamin will be an Aniatina donkey (a breed from central Italy).

Uploading Date: October 24, 2021

Enjoy!


Chapter 8: The Windmill

So the animals began working on the windmill. They worked like slaves throughout the year, but they did not complain. Most of them were happy to work for their prosperity and future generations and not for thieving humans. They had to work a sixty-hour week to make ends meet, and Napoleon announced in August that they should work on Sundays as well. Any work on that day was voluntary, but anyone who didn't work on Sunday still had reduced rations. "Feels like we don't have a choice," Sam had remarked about it one day, though it was out of earshot of the pigs.

Along with the work on the windmill, the harvest hadn't been as successful as it had been with Snowball in charge. Two fields that were supposed to have been sown with roots in the early summer were not sown because the plowing wasn't completed early. Winter was going to be harsh this year.

Not far from the farm was a limestone quarry, and there was sand and cement found in an outhouse. Finding the building materials was the easy part. But the hardest part came from breaking the boulders. They couldn't break it apart with pickaxes or crowbars because they couldn't stand on their hind legs to do it; for the birds, their wings were useless for picking things up. But gravity solved this problem: The animals - and sometimes the pigs, though they would complain of the extra hard work that they were doing - would drag the boulders up to the top of the quarry together and let them drop so that they would break. The horses were able to carry cartloads, the sheep and Elijah the camel would drag one single boulder at a time, and even Murial and Benjamin worked together with an old cart.

But it was slow and hard work. It would take a day to even break one boulder, and even then, a boulder would sometimes fail to break. When it came to this hard work, however, Boxer was a champion. Anytime a boulder would slip and the animals would cry when they were being dragged down a hill, Boxer was there. The Clydesdale would strain himself against the rope and put a stop to the rolling boulder. Just seeing him at work - climbing up the slope little by little, breathing fast, his hooves clawing at the ground, and his flanks coated with sweat - was enough to motivate the other animals.

"Just don't overdo it," Clover warned him after he had pushed a boulder into the quarry to break it. "If you work too hard, you'll only tire yourself out."

"Or die," Benjamin put in.

But Boxer would never listen to them. "All we have to do is work harder," he told them while he continued his task. "I must work harder. Comrade Napoleon wants it done, and he is always right."

Soon, Boxer arranged for the head rooster to crow for him three-quarters of an hour before the others instead of half an hour in the morning. When he had free time, he would go to the quarry alone, gather broken stones, and drag them down to the windmill with no assistance. Of course, Clover, Benjamin, and Elijah had helped with some of the even heavier loads, as did the cows and bulls.

If the animals had no more food than they had in Jones's day, at least they didn't have less. The advantages of having animals feed themselves and not humans would have to take a lot of failures to outweigh the good. The animals' way of farming was more effective and saved plenty of labor. Jobs like weeding could be done by geese and hens in a way that would take minutes when it would take humans hours to do it. All in all, they were decent when it came to food. Still, as summer went on, they needed supplies: nails, string, dog biscuits, oil, and iron for horseshoes. The trouble, however, was that none of this could be made on the farm. They would also need seeds and manure, tools, and machinery needed for the building of the windmill. How they were to be gotten, no one was able to guess how they would.

At least, until one Sunday morning.

"Comrades," Napoleon said on that Sunday morning once the animals had gathered, "Animal Farm will start trading with other farms. The needs of the windmill must come first, with no exceptions. So I am making arrangements to sell a stack of hay and part of the current year's wheat crop. If we need more money, later on, we'll make it up by selling eggs in Willingdon. The hens should welcome this sacrifice as their contribution towards the building of the windmill."

When the shock of the words died down, the animals couldn't help but feel uneasy. They remembered Old Major saying that there were to be no deals with any human beings: no trade, no using money. All of the animals remembered passing such resolutions after banishing Jones...or at least, some of them did.

The four porkers who had protested the abolished Meetings raised their voices timidly, but they were promptly silenced by the dogs growling at them. Then, as usual, the sheep broke into "Four legs good, two legs bad!" before Napoleon raised his trotter for silence.

"There is no need for you to come in contact with human beings; we have worked it out," he went on. "I intend to place this burden upon my shoulders. An attorney in Willingdon - his name is Mr. Whymper - will act as an agent between Animal Farm and the outside world. He will visit the farm every Monday morning and receive his instructions. Long live Animal Farm!"

And after the singing of 'Beasts of England' and the saying of "Long live Animal Farm", the animals were dismissed. But they couldn't help but feel a little confused.

"Didn't Old Major say not to trade?" Boxer was asking Benjamin.

"It's always the same," muttered Benjamin. "What goes around comes around."

That afternoon, Squealer made a round of the farm to set the animals' minds at ease. "Comrades, you must be shaken and surprised that Comrade Napoleon had decided to trade with other farms. But the truth is, no law against trading has ever been passed, let alone suggested. It's just a figment of your imagination, probably from lies concocted by Snowball."

"It still doesn't seem right," remarked a hen. She and the other hens were still startled by Napoleon saying that he would sell their eggs.

"It may not seem right to you, but are you certain that your memory isn't fooling you, comrades?" Squealer asked in a sly tone. "Are there any records of such a ruling? Hmm? Is it written down anywhere?"

It was certainly true that there was nothing written about a law forbidding trade. So most of the animals were happy to find that they were mistaken.

Starting on Monday, this Mr. Whymper would come to Animal Farm and receive his orders from Napoleon. He was a sly plump little man, a solicitor in a small way of business but sharp enough to realize that the orders would be worth having. On the first day, the dogs had tried scaring him by running to his truck and ferociously barking at him before Napoleon called them off. The animals watched his coming and going with dread and thus avoided him as much as possible. But most were happy to see four-legged Napoleon delivering orders to two-legged Whymper and somewhat adapted to the new arrangement.

"This is as I said," Benjamin would tell anyone who would listen one night, neither being happy nor upset about this new arrangement. "Life is going to go on as it usually does...badly."

The nearby farmers did not hate the prosperous Animal Farm any less; in fact, they hated it even more. Every farmer guessed that Animal Farm would go bankrupt sooner or later and that the windmill would fail. They would meet in the public houses and prove to one another using charts that the windmill would fall; if it did stand up, then it would never work.

And yet, they grudgingly respected the animals for managing their affairs. It started when they began to call the farm Animal Farm instead of Manor Farm. They had also severed ties with Jones, who had given up hope of reclaiming his farm and gone to live in another part of the county after a nasty divorce with his wife. Except through Whymper, there was no contact between Animal Farm and the outside world, but there were rumors that Napoleon was about to enter into business with either Pilkington of Foxwood or Frederick of Pinchfield. But they noticed that he never went into agreement with both together.

...

One rainy night, Sam and Jessie were resting beside each other in the barn after a long day of work at the windmill. Ever since Jessie had lost her puppies to Napoleon, Sam had decided to stick with her and help her out just as she helped him when he came here from America. He had even checked up on Bluebell, whose puppies had also been drafted to be part of Napoleon's guard.

As Sam slept, Jessie suddenly nipped at his ear. "Sam," she hissed. "Wake up!"

"Huh?" Sam rolled around until he was laying on his side. "What's wrong?"

Jessie nodded with her muzzle towards the farmhouse. Sam now saw why Jessie had woken him up. The lights in the farmhouse had been turned on, and there were noises from the inside.

"There's someone in the farmhouse," murmured Jessie. "You don't suppose that the humans have snuck back?"

Sam shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

The two dogs crept closer to the farmhouse, and underneath the scent of rain, they found that there was no scent of humans. Being the taller dog, Jessie got a better look through the window than Sam did. Even when Sam was the smaller dog, he still got a good look through the window, and they both gasped when they saw what was making the noise.

Pigs were occupying the once-empty house. Some were flopping down on beds and the sofa, while others ate their food at the table; it was noted that they had a lot more food than the other animals, one tossing barely-eaten apples to the floor. Pigs that were eating at the table talked among themselves and even chuckled when someone told a joke.

"Didn't Napoleon say that this should be a museum?" muttered Sam. "What's he doing living in the farmhouse?"

"What are all the pigs doing in the farmhouse?" Jessie questioned back. "This makes no sense. Most of us were there when we agreed that no one should live there." She looked over at the bed and seemed to bristle. "And they're sleeping on the beds! Isn't that against one of the Seven Commandments?"

Sam got down from the windowsill. "I have to admit, Jessie: I'm not as much a believer in Animalism as you are, but the pigs are breaking the rules on that barn wall. They're behaving like humans."

He had just finished speaking when fierce barking made Sam and Jessie jump. Some of the younger dogs in Napoleon's Animal Guard had spotted them and were barking at them, four altogether. With a sniff, Sam could tell that out of those four young dogs, half of them had belonged to Jessie.

"Puppies!" Jessie exclaimed, trying to speak over the barking. "Stop it! It's me, your mother! Don't you recognize me?" She tried appealing to Bluebell's puppies as well. "Your mother Bluebell also misses you!"

But the nearly-grown dogs paid no attention. They kept growling and barking, neither knowing nor caring that she was their mother. They weren't complete adults yet, and yet they were already as fierce as wolves.

"Kids, that's enough," barked Sam, stepping forward. "You don't need to keep barking - "

He was cut off as one of the bigger dogs - a large male with the build of a Rottweiler but with Jessie's tricolored fur - lunged at him. Sam felt the air being knocked out of him as the bigger dog pinned him to the muddy ground, tearing at his fur. Sam struggled as hard as he could while he yelped, the attacking dog sinking his fangs into the fur around his neck and right shoulder.

"Stop that!" Jessie was scolding, her voice frantic. "Get off of him! He's a friend!"

The bigger dog paid no attention. Sam tried shoving the larger dog off of him, but two more were at their littermate's side, preparing to help their sibling. He fell back into the mud, hopeless and outnumbered.

They were about to tear at him more when a shrill squeal forced the dogs to retreat, and the dog attacking Sam got off of him. It was too late for Jessie and Sam to run back to the barn. Squealer was the one who stepped out of the farmhouse, a sly grin on his face.

"Animal Guard," he commanded, "get back inside and go to bed. I'll take it from here."

The dogs broke away from Sam and Jessie, obeying Squealer just as they did for Napoleon. The dog that attacked Sam - the tricolored Rottweiler-looking male - gave Sam a fierce look before following the other dogs inside the house. When the dogs were gone, Sam groaned and rolled over onto his paws; his fur was coated with mud, and he felt sore near his neck, but the teeth hadn't sunk deeper into his flesh.

"Now what are you two doing so late out here, eh?" Squealer demanded just as Sam had finally gotten up. "This part of the farm is off-limits to all other animals."

"We were out for a walk," said Jessie. "But the Animal Guard surprised us."

"Found anything of interest on your little walk?"

"Er..." Sam and Jessie shared an anxious look before the former cleared his throat. "No, not really. Just...what's going on in the farmhouse? I thought everyone agreed that it was should be a museum."

Squealer gave a sly smile. "Oh, there was never a ruling for it to be a museum. Has it been written anywhere? We pigs need a quiet place to work in, and that harness room wasn't going to do it. It's also more suited for our leader, Comrade Napoleon, to live in the farmhouse than in a mere sty. Does that clear your minds better, comrades?"

Both dogs were unconvinced at what Squealer had said. They had heard with their ears the pigs saying that the farmhouse was to be a museum and not a place to live in. In summation: no, that did not clear their minds in that way at all. But there was nothing more to be said, so they merely nodded.

"Now you two get back to bed," Squealer concluded. "You needn't worry about what we pigs do. We just want you all to go about your business. Good night."

The two dogs had no choice but to obey and head back to bed. Sam limped the way back to the barn, but the Animal Guard hadn't damaged him that badly. With some mild discomfort from the pain, he soon fell asleep.

...

The next morning, the animals were gathering outside the barn after receiving their orders of the week. Word had already gotten around that the pigs had moved into the farmhouse. Sam - who still felt a little sore from last night's encounter - had just arrived when he bumped into Clover's hind legs.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" barked Sam.

Clover nodded up to the barn wall, where Snowball had painted the Seven Commandments. But something about the Commandments had made some animals stop and gaze up at the barn wall in confusion.

"Muriel," Clover called for the Alpine goat, who had stepped forward. "Read me the Fourth Commandment. Didn't it say anything about sleeping in beds?"

With a bit of difficulty, Muriel was able to read the words. "It says 'No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets.'" Then she blinked and muttered, "With sheets? I must have read that wrong."

"No, you didn't read that wrong," said Jessie, stepping over to the front of the crowd. "Everyone, listen. You already know that the pigs have moved into the farmhouse, even after we all said it should be a museum. They're eating in the kitchen, and they even use the drawing room for recreation. And above all, Sam and I saw them sleeping in the beds, which is against the fourth commandment."

"Or so some thought," remarked Benjamin aloud. He narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the barn wall, with the added words in brighter white paint.

"My friends, you got it all wrong. Let me explain."

The other animals were startled as they turned around. Squealer was just coming around the side of the barn, the usual sly grin on his face, as two dogs trailed behind him. The twinkling in his small eyes told Sam that he had overheard them talking.

"As Jessie here told you," began Squealer, "we pigs have moved into the farmhouse on orders by our leader, Comrade Napoleon. We merely needed new quarters to plan things out and have a quiet place to think. You have also heard that we have been sleeping in beds. And why not? There was never a law against beds in general. A bed merely means a place to sleep. For example, a pile of straw is a bed. Humans have invented sheets, so the rule is against sheets. So we removed the sheets from the beds in the farmhouse and slept between the blankets. And they're very comfortable too!"

He paused to giggle, but that produced no chuckles from the other animals.

Even Squealer must have thought that the joke didn't go anywhere, for he cleared his throat and went on, "We, however, don't plan on being too comfortable, what with our vision and brains and all. We don't need to be too tired. But would you rather have us be too tired to carry on our duties? And most importantly: do any of you want to see Jones back?"

None of the animals wanted to see Jones back, but some of the animals wanted to protest; a few were even opening their mouths to do so. But the dogs guarding Squealer let out growls, just as the sheep launched into their usual cry of "Four legs good, two legs bad!". This left the animals unable to speak their minds out loud.

Finally, Boxer broke the silence. "If Comrade Napoleon says it, it must be right," he said with a shake of his mane.

Squealer nodded, a smirk on his snout. "Precisely," he said with a slight giggle. Before turning to leave, he said, "We pigs will need to get up an hour later than everyone else. No questions about it needed."

As he walked off and left the confused animals behind, Boxer shrugged. "I don't see the big deal about the pigs waking up later," he said. "After all, I wake up earlier than everyone else, even the pigs."

...

When fall arrived, the windmill was nearly finished. It made up for reduced food that was traded away and the failed harvest. On the day that it was halfway finished, there was clear dry weather, which was good working weather. The animals toiled harder than ever, thinking it was worth it to carry the stones to the windmill. Boxer would even come out at night and work by the light of the harvest moon for an hour or two; he worked mostly by himself, but Benjamin would also join him from time to time.

In spare moments of rest, the animals would walk around the half-finished windmill, admiring it. "How strong its walls are!" remarked a cow.

"It's amazing!" honked a goose.

"It's beautiful!" crowed a rooster.

"It'll look more amazing and beautiful when we finish it," said Boxer. He gave Benjamin a gentle nudge and asked, "Don't you agree, Benjamin?"

But Benjamin refused to smile. "Donkeys live a long time," he recited his usual phrase. "None of you has ever seen a dead donkey."

Soon, November came, and the air was getting colder. Southeastern sea winds blew in from the southwest, and it only picked up from there. The weather was now too miserable to work, so the animals had to stop. Finally, one night, there was a storm so strong and violent that the wind battered the farm buildings and blew off several roof tiles. The animals all huddled together in the barn, trying to keep warm and block out the howling wind slamming against the farm buildings. The hens woke up squawking with terror because they had all had the same dream of hearing a gun go off in the distance.

The next morning, the animals had come outside to inspect the damage. Several trees had been uprooted by the storm, and tiles had been torn off the barn roof. The flagpole had been blown down, and an elm tree at the end of the orchard had been plucked up as if it was nothing more than a carrot. But nothing prepared them for the biggest shock of all:

The windmill was in ruins.

All of the animals ran to the spot together. Napoleon - who often marched - now galloped ahead of them and inspected the damage. Yes, there it was: their hard work wrecked to its foundations, the stones they had broken and carried scattered all around the field. Unable at first to speak, they stood gazing mournfully at the litter of fallen stone. All of the work that the animals had worked on was all for nothing.

For a split second, triumph seemed to cross Napoleon's snout. Then he paced around in silence, occasionally sniffing the ground. His tail grew rigid and twitched sharply from side to side as if he was doing some serious thinking. Finally, he lifted his head, glaring around at them all with a fire in his eyes.

"Comrades!" he suddenly declared. "Do you know who is responsible for this? Hmm? Do you know who has come into the dead of night and destroyed our windmill? Hmm? SNOWBALL!" he roared in a voice of thunder.

"Snowball did this?" asked Sam, looking back at the ruins.

"Yes, Snowball has done this!" Napoleon answered with a snarl. "Out of spite for us driving him out, that traitor snuck here in the middle of the night and ruined our year of hard work! Comrades, I hereby proclaim the death sentence upon Snowball. I will award 'Animal Hero, Second Class' and half a bushel of apples to any animal who kills him. A full bushel of apples to anyone who captures him alive!"

The animals were staring around at each other. They had no idea that Snowball could do such a thing, and most believed it. At once, they began whispering ways of how to capture Snowball in case he came by the farm again.

"I don't think it was Snowball who did this," Jessie whispered to Sam. "It was quite a storm last night. Who would be so stupid to wander out here during that time?"

"Yeah," murmured Sam. "Whatever wind did this must've been powerful."

"It wasn't a wind! It was Snowball!" bleated a lamb, who had heard the two dogs talking.

"If it was Snowball, must've taken a lot of horsepower for a simple pig to knock it over," remarked Benjamin, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Already, Napoleon was sniffing the ground again. There were some tracks in the freshly-fallen snow that went into the hedges; snow would sometimes start falling in late November.

"Let's not delay any longer, comrades!" cried Napoleon when the footprints had been examined. "We have work to do. This morning, we will start rebuilding the windmill, and we will build through the winter, rain or shine, day and night, food or no food. We will teach that traitor Snowball that he cannot undo our work so easily. Forward, comrades! Long live the windmill! Long live Animal Farm!"

The animals chanted the same thing before dispersing to find the windmill materials that had scattered across the land. But Jessie and Sam were some of the few animals that stayed behind. The two dogs were sniffing around the ground and at the footprints.

"Jessie?" asked Boxer, trodding over to greet them. "What's wrong?"

"Those footprints...Sam and I smelled them thoroughly," replied Jessie.

"Napoleon isn't the only one who can smell well on this farm," added Sam. "Yes, it's a pig that made these tracks, but these don't smell like Snowball."

Boxer was baffled. "If it wasn't Snowball, who was it? It can't have been Napoleon."

"No, it wasn't Napoleon either. But I haven't an idea," admitted Jessie. "It wasn't any pig that we've smelled before."

"Who knows?" asked Boxer with a shrug. "Despite that, though, Snowball had been a good comrade. But if Napoleon says that he destroyed the windmill, it must be right."

And he walked away, leaving the two dogs to share worried glances.

To be continued...