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Omniscience: After a hundred years of exile and humiliation, the Beast-kin decided that enough was enough. With the help of a mysterious hero who knew the precise weaknesses to each Wizard God-King, the once human beasts slowly began to take back their kingdoms with little casualty to their surprise. One by one the Wizards fell, and soon their reign crumbled within the thirty years of what was called the "First Beast-kin Rebellion." Zootopia was back in its rightful owners' hands. Thankful for the mysterious hero's help in regaining their respective kingdoms, the Beast-kin asked him for a name, as to celebrate what he had done for them. To their disappointment, the kind hero had no name to give them, only telling them he was "a passerby", but that didn't stop the Beast kings from celebrating. From then on, "The Festival of the Passerby" is held on the first day of spring, signifying the turn from an age dictated by power-hungry tyrants, to an age of recovering peace.

YOU are a young farm boy, about eighteen years of age, your body was calloused by the day to day hard work you've gone through since you were able to walk. You have recently inherited your late father's land, consisting of a small house and barn trapped like an island in the midst of a large, waving ocean of wheat and corn stock. The fruits of your father's labor proved plentiful, you saw not a single speck of land that wasn't covered by: tomatoes, lettuce, corn, and other delicious edibles. But as you scanned the full earth you let off a deep sigh; it reminded you of a quiet, hallowed feeling in your chest, and an urge to kill the loneliness by finding someone to share it with. Thankfully, there was someone you had your mind on.

Ever since you were about eight years old you were best friends with a Cow-kin girl who lives at a neighboring ranch, and you believed your relationship with her had ever so slowly evolved from that point. But distance only deepened your frustration and loneliness, as miles have separated you from your love, taking weeks by foot to see her and hours by truck at best. However it wasn't all a big grey sky, to you, for there was a gleaming ray of sunshine for you to focus on. Today was the first day of spring, and you knew very well what that brought: an entire day of festivities, with vendors galore lining the main street of the capital city, with many people from across Zootopia, and maybe even the entire world, joining in on the fun. You were confident she would participate, she and her father are among the many Bovine families who will sell their Cow-kin milk, one of the oldest staples of the Festival of the Passerby. With each ounce of the drink packed with different nutrients, it keeps the event-goers energized, and their bodies happy. You weren't planning on selling your produce at the festival, you had every other day to do that. A time like this only comes around once a year, your relaxation time.

As you expected, the streets were jam packed when you rolled into town in your beat up rust bucket of a truck. It hasn't even hit the afternoon point yet, and already, a great number of people were setting up their shops and stands like it was the end of the world. They grew aware of your appearance, the backfiring from your tailpipes as you slowly rolled through the crowd wasn't exactly the quietest thing among the busy chattering, as you were looking for the girl. If you had to guess wildly she must be somewhere cool, somewhere to keep her product from spoiling under the blossoming spring heat.

Slowly drifting through the crowded capital city you observed the passing denizens' attire: some men wore heavy overtunics over tan trousers, a thin, decorative belt tied around their waists to keep them together. As for the women, long, wool dresses that stretched down to their knees, with smaller dresses worn over them, mimicking, to you, what looked like aprons. It was considered tradition to wear these clothes for the festival, but you decided against it this year, not feeling up to being cooked into a human sized slab of bacon wrapped in heavy wool, under the burning sun. But hey, if they wanted to keep things authentic, then more power to them.

You parked your rust bucket, already feeling the energetic warmth of the overseeing star beat down your neck as you exited the truck. Located within the more rural parts of the large city laid a barn, its outside appearance not even trying to hide its false wood exterior, feeling like plastic as you glided your hand across its warm, carved in grain, its structure supported by a metal skeleton in its inside. It has always been a popular spot for Cow-kin and other Bovine, and even more so during festivals. Walking in you immediately felt the coolness of the barn, it was like walking inside of a very large refrigerator. The dirt ground was littered with gallons of dried straw, several booths were lined up on both sides of the building. You were surrounded by beautiful Cow-kin women around every corner, some with their swollen milk bags carelessly swinging out of the covers of their dresses, dripping with white juice.

among the tide of females, you see the only male in the building by the looks of it, besides you. The massive bull stood taller than anyone else in the building, including you, like a solid wall completely made of muscle. He was familiar to you: his gleaming fur coat, his black short-haired mohawk just barely stemming from his skull, there was no doubt about it he's Patty's father. He didn't bother wearing traditional garments, either, more over favoring a more...natural approach. His black, beady eyes caught your sight in surprise, "Oh, hey, glad you made it!" Howard shouted, ecstatically pulling to you like a moth to a flame to deliver you a firm handshake. And what a handshake it was, you had a feeling he used his weakest grip, and yet, you wished to be rushed to the hospital. No matter how much you waved your hand like a madman, the shattered pain still lingered. "Oh, sorry 'bout that," the bull apologized with a booming tone, "I'm in a bit of a rush this hour. Patty's milk's been sellin' faster than I first thought, n' I'm runnin' a little low on helpin' hands. Can you come help for a moment?"

What was this magical moment that was presented to you? Howard, a bull that gave no one the pleasure to even speak about his daughter, lest their intestines would become his horn socks, allowed you to touch Patty? You tried keeping your composure in front of the giant father, locking any sense of desperation as tightly as you can, though you felt your pants shrink on itself. "Don't get any funny ideas, boy: I'm only letting you touch Patty because we need help. I've known you since you were knee-high, but that won't stop me from mountin' yer head on my wall if I figure out you hurt 'er. Ya' get me, boy?" You shake your head in agreement, you weren't planning on hurting Patty, anyways. Though, the bull did inspire you to be on your best behavior, seeing how dead set he was on the agreement.

You followed the bull to his stable, finding his girl sitting in a lake of straw and empty bottles. The seventeen year-old Cow-kin was a tall girl packing a wide, sturdy frame, courtesy of her father's heritage, but sported her mother's pale, human flesh and freckles. A pair of dark auburn cow ears perked from the sides of her scalp, twitching sensitively to even the slightest puffs from the barn's air conditioning. Long, dark red hair trailed from her scalp to the back of her knees, tied into twin braids thrown over her shoulders. Her breasts were exposed out of the protection of her heavy wool dress, larger than any beach ball, and softer than any pillow, though failing to compete against the much more grown tits of her surrounding female peers. She had trouble gripping her puffy nips to produce any liquid into the awaiting bottles, her fingers just kept sliding off. The fatigue of work might be catching up to her.

"Patty, honey, I brought someone to help you." The girl turned her head to catch your sight, and you saw her beautiful muddy browns light up brighter than any star. She jumped up from her knees to give you a tight hug, her large, womanly, freckled flesh pressed against your chest, soaking it with milk. She had you in her arms, like a little girl with her favorite doll, and never wanted to let you go. She really missed you. "Just remember, Patty: he's only gonna milk you. Don't let him get funny with ya', 'kay?" Howard told her in a much softer tone than he greeted you with. Patty shook her happy little head, and proceeded to sit you down inside of her little stable.

She took your hands, eagerly placing them on her sticky girls as she prepared the bottles, placing them next to her teats. You squeezed her fleshy mounds, feeling her massive tits shift to fit the palms of your hands, trying not to hurt her, and watched as jets of milk shot out from her sensitive nips, easily filling half of each bottle in one go. Patty squealed as you kept her teats under constant pressure, only letting up when each glass container was filled to the neck with her juices. There was no more milk you could fit in, Patty screwed a cork in the bottles, and left them aside for the next batch to be bottled. Some of her juices dribbled down your fingers, just screaming for you to taste. You licked your little digits clean, and her taste was incredible: an undeniable sweetness with an accent of slight honey lingered at the back of your tongue, you've never tasted milk quite like this! And this was just from a couple drops, your taste buds were tormented with anticipation by the thought of drinking an entire bottle! Man, no wonder her stuff was selling so quickly.

Hours flew by, the number of pints you helped the mute cow girl produce multiplied dramatically from the first two, to an amount you forgot to keep track of. How many had she made since you arrived, you thought to yourself: thirty, maybe fifty? Maybe even more than that? Patty huffed endlessly, her breaths almost thick enough to fog the small stable, but seeing her wide smile, you just knew she thought this was worth seeing you again. She could barely keep the bottles levitating under her sore teats to catch anymore milk. You noticed her breasts shrunk significantly in size, she must have went down at least three cup sizes. Her nips refused to spout any more of the good stuff, no matter how much you grip, tug, or grope her breasts. Her well was all dried out, it seems. The bull father realized his daughter's fatigue, he knew she reached her limit. "Patty, dear, are you all right?" He asked. "You've done a great job, today. You can take a rest, now." A relieving sigh escaped in the midst of her exhausted huffs, she dropped the empty bottles like they were hot. The sore cow girl threw her top back on, though she wanted to moan from the fabrics rubbing against her red mounds. She turned around to you, and pecked your cheek with a soft kiss, a wordless "thank you" from her to you.

With every bottle sold and the table cleaned, you tailed behind the young Cow-kin as she left the stable, only to be stopped by her father, with his large hand firmly placed across your small shoulder. Your mind went into a small panic mode: what have you done? Why was he angry at you? You didn't do anything bad to Patty! But all the bad thoughts were washed away when the bull calmly spoke, "So, uh, listen: thank you fer helpin' us out. Even with Patty pattered out of milk, we still had a good sellin' day, thanks to you. So, how 'bout this: you must be starvin', lunch'll be on me, if yer still plannin' on hangin' 'round." Now that he mentioned it, your engine does feel kind of empty on gas. Some food sounded better than ever before. You agreed to the bull's reward, "Great to hear!" He howled with a chuckle, slamming you across the back with his mighty hand, almost throwing you off balance. "Patty'll be glad yer still stickin' 'round, too. The festival has all sorts of food stands we can try."