Winter fur is different—it’s thick and dry, not only able to resist rain, but also snow and ice.

Every time the winter fur sheds, Little George feels that the world is extremely unfriendly to it.

So, Little George gives a slight shake, and the raindrops are flung off, turning into a dense mist.

When the mist lands on other bison, it doesn’t cause any complaints. The fresh grass that has just sprouted in spring doesn’t allow them to waste feeding time over such a trivial matter.

Little George looks small among the herd, but it doesn’t mind. If it works hard and eats grass for another two years, it will grow as tall and strong as its father.

Thinking of this, Little George can’t help but look at its father standing on the highest spot, envy written all over its face. Its father is dark, tall, with thick and powerful limbs, a sturdy neck connected seamlessly to a massive head—this ensures that the pair of long, curved horns on its father’s head have the upper hand when clashing with enemies.

The wind stirs the long hair hanging from its father’s neck, the hair swaying gently. Coupled with its father’s melancholy, deep eyes, Little George feels that his father was born to be king of the bison.

Looking down at its own reflection in the puddle, Little George feels that it, too, should be king of the bison.

Another young heifer’s hoof shattered the small puddle, and also ruined Little George’s handsome reflection.

The puddle turned murky, ripples spreading everywhere.

Little George panted heavily, its eyes gradually reddening, neck lowering, one front hoof pawing at the ground. Suddenly, it charged forward, and its head—just starting to grow small horns—slammed into the rump of the heifer that had trampled its shadow.

The heifer staggered from the impact, then ran off in fright.

Little George calmed down, continuing to stand guard by the puddle. It knew that if it waited a little longer, the puddle would turn clear again, eventually returning to its original state.

However, the ripples in the puddle didn’t gradually subside as it had imagined. Instead, they grew even more intense.

“Moo—”

George Baker’s deep and powerful voice suddenly rang out.

The bison, who had been grazing, immediately stopped and all looked alertly toward their father.

George Baker, who had been standing on high ground, charged down the slope like a tank, guarding the northwest corner of the herd, horns facing outward, limbs gripping the ground tightly, as if preparing to defend against the most terrifying enemy.

The herd moved quickly as well. The strong bulls all imitated George Baker, turning their horns outward and rapidly forming a circle, enclosing the cows and calves within.

By the time Little George noticed what was happening, the bison formation was already in place. It cried out desperately, trying to squeeze into the circle, but the bodies of those strong bulls were too heavy—no match for a half-grown bison like itself.

Unable to get in, Little George could only lift its head in fear, searching all around for the source of danger.

There was no sign of the white wolf king on the high slope, nor any ripples from a crocodile swimming near the puddle. Although a flock of vultures circled in the sky, they were spreading out, as if some danger was approaching.

Vultures aren’t enemies of the bison herd.

So, where was the danger?

A few greenish wolves stood up from their hiding places and ran off into the distance without looking back, making Little George even more frightened and more desperate to squeeze into the herd.

“Moo—” George Baker bellowed again, this time with terror in his voice… Little George’s legs went weak and it collapsed to the ground. The last time its father made such a sound was when they encountered the saber-toothed tiger king.

That time, its father barely escaped, leaving a long scar on his back.

Little George scrambled and crawled under the bulls’ legs into the herd.

Trembling, it hid its head between a cow’s legs, wishing it could burrow inside.

“Boom—”

A faint thunderous sound echoed from the sky.

The once gray and hazy sky seemed to ripple like the puddle Little George had just shattered, but these ripples pushed away the clouds, revealing the blue sky behind.

“Moo—”

George Baker roared again, this time aiming his curved horns at the sky.

A shining orb of light slowly drifted down from the sky, and all the bison stared at the not-so-large ball of light.

The orb seemed to descend slowly, but in fact, it was very fast. In the blink of an eye, it landed in the middle of the herd. Instantly, the orb exploded, sending out a ring of white light that spread in all directions. The wave of light, like a sharp blade, sliced through the bison’s bodies without resistance.

Little George watched helplessly as the cow protecting it was sliced cleanly above the thigh, her body slowly sliding down and crushing onto it. Just before dying, she let out a low call.

“Thud, thud…”

Almost all the bison were cut cleanly in half. Of course, some calves weren’t cut through, but their heads all fell off.

The wave of light didn’t stop spreading, though its power quickly diminished. It cut through some bushes and trees, finally slamming into the high ground, kicking up a cloud of dust before disappearing.