Sammy glanced at himself in Odysseus’ rearview mirror. He’d done his best to brush off the dust of his day’s labors, but he would be glad shed his garments as soon as they got home. He had managed to spend all day on top of a horse, for the first time ever, riding with the others to guide the herd to fresher grazing land. It was definitely a step up from working the milking machines, which always left him smelling like milk and hay the rest of the day. He was officially a genuine cowboy, he thought with pride, pride which shifted into humor when he realized he wasn’t just a cowboy--he was a werewolf cowboy. It was amazing what a sense of identity could do for someone.
“Liam should be done with his football practice by the time we’re done loading up the hay,” Odysseus said over the British New Wave he had playing in the truck. “The sooner he gets his car fixed, the better.”