Leif's tractor chuntered underneath his seat, the old steel springs jiggling at every rut. He sat in full expectation of every rock and turn, swaying as the flat seat bobbed. It was an older machine, a classic Farmall M built before his father had been born. Deep red paint, touched up a hundred times in three generations kept the metal from rust; home-made parts whirled through the 4-cylinder I-head, just as powerful as the day it had rolled off the assembly line.

Seeing his turn, Leif twisted, slowing the ancient machine to a crawl. It moved through the opening, two massive wooden posts embedded in the tall grass on either side. Barbed wire fencing stretched back, protecting cattle within, whenever they were moved to that section. They loved this region, cropping its verdant stretches for months on end. But this year herds had been kept out, rendering the entire field lush, long, and green. Perfect for bailing hay.

Behind the old M, a long trailer bed rocked and swayed. As wide as the tractor itself, but set low to the ground, the trailer carried a half-dozen hay bales. Not the small rectangles used in show farms and horse pens, no. These were the six-foot, half-ton version; near two tons if he thought about it. Just one carried enough hay to supply a herd for a week, but moving it required the aid of machinery. Over the next few minutes, idle speculation ran through his mind, comparing the six-foot roll to the smaller rectangular version.

"What you think, Eugene?" Leif knew the dog couldn't hear over the diesel engine's sputtering. But the trotting dog glanced his way all the same, shrugging in an intelligent fashion.

"Right," he completed the turn, settling the machine on a path towards the further pastures. "Better move in bulk. Tear it apart when you need it."

The Border collie jogged ahead, nose held high, Leif knew. Strange scents ran rampant these days. Not only did fall weather spawn hunting season, but the centaur establishment approached completion. Centaurs themselves were strange beings, half-horse, half-human, presumably smelling different from anything else. What's more, they had visitors less human than themselves, not that Leif had paid attention.

There was too much work to do.

A half-smile grew on Leif's face. This was what he loved about farming; he had a full load of hay grown to its greatest potential, more than sufficient resources stashed for the oncoming winter, and a weatherproof home. It was the simple things in life, but critical – too critical to ignore. Better to enjoy what he had, while he had it. His head tilted back, smiling at the bright sun, a regular heartbeat of the sky.

The pale sun shone back, highlighting the emptiness of the unending plains. From horizon to horizon nothing blocked his view. The few trees brave enough to set down roots lacked the lofty advantages enjoyed in other regions, but compensated by thick foliage in the lower branches, strong branches, and a determination that could outlast mountains. No prairie fire had rampaged in the past century, permitting the windbreak's presence.

"Hey boy," Leif studied the road ahead. He could see a rider – or centaur – was coming, but the tall grass prevented ready identification. "Visitor."

Despite the tractor's overwhelming rumble, the dog pricked its ear forwards, darting even further ahead only to pause. Herding ran deep in the canine's blood; if it moved, it needed to move in the right direction.

Leif readjusted his grip. Old the tractor may have been, but its construction harkened to an era when well-built had been a point of pride; near solid galvanized steel from hitch to hood, over three tons fully ballasted. The enamel-coated circle rotated smoothly at his touch, heeling back in just the right place.

The oncoming rider's legs moved in tandem, following the twin ruts made by generations of wheels. Oddly, she tossed her head, sending long black hair flying.

Leif eased off the accelerator, not quite touching the brake but not adding to the vehicle's acceleration. At a distance, many folk had dark hair, but only one in the area had a black equine body paired with plaid and denim. He waited a few moments longer, letting the wheels slow, four-foot tires of black rubber cushioning the vehicle's weight. Another handful of seconds later and the forward progress halted. He considered his next action, then gave a shrug. In one easy motion he swung off the seat, vaulting to the ground. After landing he tugged off the ear protectors strapped to his head, re-snapping the device around one thigh – an old farmer's dodge.

Ahead the figure sped up, galloping towards him. It took effort, but he managed to keep his eyes on her face, despite the interesting things going on just below neck level. Once far enough away from the tractor's persistent rumble, he stopped. Waiting.

Steady hoof beats came closer, rumbling until the centauride was nearly on top of him. She came to an abrupt halt, breathing hard.

He managed to avoid the distraction that presented.

"Milord," Roanette caught her breath.

He nodded, resigned; the title hurt, but nothing could prevent the woman from using it. He'd tried.

She plowed on, unbothered by his silence. "The report lies upon your desk, but if I may say short version?" Questioning eyes barely waited for his nod before continuing, "The next group is coming today; housing is almost done, and the Center is complete. You have a few visitors waiting at the guest house, they know you're a busy man so they're willing to wait a few days to see you."

Leif kept another flinch from showing. Guest house. A difficult pair of words; by themselves innocent, but indicative of so very much more.

"Father has taken up residence in the Main Home, and wants you to know you are welcome at any time. Oh, and the centaurs are receiving a strong talking to from him, your fields will be safe."

"Hm." Leif just nodded, letting information flow over like a cool breeze.

Roanette reached back, pulling a compact container from a saddlebag positioned near the human torso. "Oh, and your lunch; Sophette was cooking and made extra. I brought a thermos as well, mint tea. I know you prefer it."

Leif accepted the package, and offered a smile. "Kind of you two. Thanks."

While her blushing was amusing, he chose to ignore how the box's contents seemed to fit its contours with calculated precision. Centaurides appeared to have poor estimation skills, given how many times they'd created too much for themselves, and just happened to have enough remaining for a farmer-sized lunchbox. The flask of tea too, seemed fresh. But how could he betray their hard work with an off-hand observation? No, better pretend that he knew nothing. But having a personalized lunch delivered at noon for the past two weeks felt … decadent.

"Are your efforts progressing?"

Leif tucked the box under one arm, letting the thermos dangle from one finger. "Eh. Could be worse."

"Good," her dark hair, tied back in a ponytail, waved in the wind. "If you desire, I could still bring in help. 'twould be only fair, as we have kept you from your harvest."

He shook his head. "Thanks, but no. Doing alright; just gotta get it done."

Hooves thudded on the firm-packed soil; Roanette seemed a little disappointed, but it had been the same answer he'd always given. He wondered if she realized that her forelegs were pawing up small clumps. It seemed rude to mention, she was harming no one. Truth be told, it was … rather endearing. The large, powerful horse-woman; shy in the presence of someone like him? She hadn't acted like that when it had just been the two of them up at The Place, an older farmhouse his grandparents had built nearly a century before. What had changed?

Leif shelved the thought; none of his business. "I'll be moving hay to the back forty, combine the next couple fields, and get it to the granaries." He cast a glance up at the skies. They remained an innocent blue-white, the heat of noon burning through the air. "Weather should hold another few days, so I can spend an hour or so home. Maybe six o'clock?"

The centauride made a half-bow motion. "At once, milord. Will you need a bath drawn? I hate to be rude, but you have a … strong … scent … sometimes …."

He just looked at her, nares flaring with almost invisible quiver. "Good thought." He shook his head; liminal senses had to be stronger than humans; he should've thought of that. "What kind of guests again?"

The female centaur gave herself a brief shake. "They are Dryalis, a rather large collection of families. I believe they may be divided into two families, if you will: the dryads and the elven. Both are very fond of nature, but the dryads tend to take their primal association to greater extremes, to be honest."

Leif tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow.

Roanette huffed, but he could see her hands wringing themselves. "How do I put this? The dryads tend to live outdoors most of the time, and wear plant derivatives in lieu of clothing. Bark, leaves and such. They are quite creative with how they do it, but the end result is a tad, ah, disconcerting. As a group, they are fairly small, but are connected to the land in a way almost nothing else is; no one is quite certain how they do it, but their gift for influencing growth is nothing short of astonishing."

He had to consider the thought for a moment. "Small, wear leaves, and warp plants?"

"Yes," Roanette's brow furrowed. "In a very small nutshell."

Leif nodded. "And the others?"

Her expression grew troubled, then pensive. "They actually possess the closest to human form among the liminals, hence the … ah … timing issue. As we discussed before, elven folk were to contact you first; then my father successfully argued for us to be second."

Questions bubbled in Leif's mind, almost tumbling over themselves – why centaurs second? It seemed the old centaur had been quite insistent on the matter. He took a long look at the centauride's face, and opted to delay gratification. "Six. See you then?"

Her expression brightened. "As you wish, milord."

Leif walked back to the tractor, grass flicking his denim-covered legs. The steady swishing sensation calmed the mind; no matter what situation arose, he could depend on the land. It never changed; demanded nothing more than what he could give. It was dependable that way; even the shifts inherent to its nature were comprehensible if enough common sense were applied.

The tractor's steady rumble swelled to its dull roar, obliterating the hoof beats as Roanette returned up the same path. Leif found himself taking a long drink from the thermos, relishing the sensation and taste of warm tea on a cool day.

His eyes bent skywards once again. "Not long now. Good thing I've got a decent start on harvest."


[Larsen Residence, late afternoon]

A little longer wouldn't hurt.

Leif adjusted the hot water's temperature upwards, increasing the amount of steam billowing in the shower. It felt good on his sore body; even using machines to do most of the work failed to eliminate muscle fatigue. Opening the harvested field to future grazing took time as well, and the barbed wire had caught on a sleeve before realization kicked in. That stung like a dozen angry yellow-jackets with a grudge.

Bandages wouldn't last under water, so he hadn't bothered re-applying the wrapping yet. There was nothing more irritating than moist adhesives rubbing the skin raw.

Sighing, Leif allowed himself another whole luxurious minute. There was no danger the hot water would run out; large families tended to plan for that. But there was work to do, people to meet, and supper to make. Seconds ticked by, marked by the slow drip on the faucet. He made a note of that; repairs were a never-ending battle in home maintenance combat.

The cool metal valve squeaked, shutting down the stream of misting moisture. Leif toweled off, making a note to do laundry the next day. Sunshine was best for drying in his opinion.

Methodically he drew on his jeans and socks, then froze. Where was his shirt?

"Forget my own head next." he muttered. After a moment's thought, Leif pulled out his shaver, commencing to finish cleaning up. It was a straight-edge, just like his father's.

With the running water shut off, Leif could once again hear the distant noise of heavy machinery. If forced he'd admit the construction company that had taken on the bid worked fast. Already the distinct signs of a small village could be seen. It was a discomfiting thought, one Leif tried to drive out through focus.

The lather smelled clean; Leif appreciated that. So much better than the strange odors a city had; mixes of diesel exhaust and fast-food, all mingled in a jumbled olfactory cacophony. His razor's quiet rasp added to the serenity; a comforting little noise so unlike the brutish sounds with which his siblings were forced to coexist. Constant traffic annoyed him almost as much as the incessant machinery. With luck, it would be done within weeks.

Thoughts jumped through his head on antelope-like leaps. There were many things to do, why would elves want him involved? Granted, being kept abreast of developments felt respectful, a factor vital to any relationship. Lack of honorable conduct wore away at individuals, reducing cooperativeness more surely than any affliction.

Finished, Leif wipe and dried his razor, then gathered laundry into the five gallon bucket serving as a hamper. Clean and feeling clean, he popped open the bathroom door, steam billowing out into the cooler hall air.

"Oh my …."

Leif looked up. Roanette stood at the far end of the hall, eyes wide and staring. To one side, lying below the book case sitting by the bathroom door, rested his shirt. It must have fallen when he'd set the clothes down earlier.

He grabbed the shirt, letting it dangle from one hand. The centauride's behavior was a little odd. "Ro. You're early?"

Grinding sounds emerged from the living room, heralding the single deep chime marking half after. The noise seemed to spook the centauride, judging from the minor jump performed by her front legs.

"The meeting is at sex! I mean, with the elves. At six with the elves!" the dark-haired centauride backed up several steps, flushing a deep pink. Her hindquarters bumped against a souvenir end table, knocking over ceramic curios and a hand-carved chess set Leif had made one long winter. "Oh no … I'm sorry! So sorry! I didn't mean to –"

A smirk lifted one corner of Leif's mouth. He shook his head; "Don't worry. Happens. You alright?"

Roanette's head jerked up, then twisted to one side, the fiery blush still in full force. "Wha –? Oh. Yes milord. It's just ah … would you mind if … your shirt?"

Leif had to think for a moment, then remembered the fabric in one hand. "Oh. Sure." He shimmied it on, then grabbed the flannel overshirt. "It's just, you've seen me before. At The Place."

Her flushed face, which had just begun to fade turned red again. "Yes. Ah. Well. This is different. Could we talk about it later? Your guests will be here soon. Please?"

"Aright." Leif cast around for a change in subject, before finally landing on an old standby. He gestured at the halter-top showcasing her narrow waist and generous proportions, tastefully paired with an overshirt similar to his own. "You look nice. Changed?"

Roanette's face shifted to near a tomato hue. "Yesthankyougottago!"

A clatter of rubber-shod hooves accompanied the centauride's departure. Leif stood still, eyebrows furrowed. For half-a-dozen heartbeats, he blinked; twice his head came up as if revelation from the heavens were about to strike, before dropping once more in confusion. Finally he just shrugged. "Gonna be an interesting day."


A/N: Welcome back. Sequel to Monster Ranch, hope you enjoy!