He Set out on a Grand Adventure

A few days later, Grimm was setting up camp in a field a few miles from McMorrigan's. The weather was good, he had plenty of food and drink, and he had a map. More importantly, Grimm had a renewed sense of purpose. Just the thought of what lay before him made him smile.

Wind came down over the valley, bristling the bull's fur. He couldn't believe it -- he really felt like a proper mercenary again, not just some bulky schlub chasing a handful of coins. Things were looking good for Grimm, and he didn't want to fuck it up.

He checked his map. It wouldn't be a long journey to the mountains, maybe two weeks at most. Throw in some time for drinking and fighting pointlessly, and it was basically a nice little vacation.

Cow country. He was going into cow country. His cock stiffened at the thought. Unlike many of his fellow bulls, Grimm had a thing for cows. He would fuck pretty much any woman who wanted it, but he had a soft spot for the females of his species. More generally, Grimm had a thing for curves, and cows had that in spades.

He leaned back on his bedroll and rested his head on his hands. The gentle breeze, the rustling grass, and his general sense of contentment made him drowsy. He decided to take a nap.