Why am I a bullock?

　　I stop munching on my grass because my head hurts. I swear I can feel the pain down there too.

　　This body has no pride; the same went for my other one.

　　If I remember correctly, paradise is supposed to reward animals for their work. I should be in perfect form.

　　Maybe—just maybe—that raven lied. I should`ve checked if he still had his worth.

　　Also, my horns are shorter, from what I can see. I went over to a nearby pond to get water. I need to clarify this too.

　　I`m a different bull too, which I knew because my color had lightened.

　　So, with my intelligence, I now realize that this isn`t paradise because there are flaws here that stink.

　　Now my head hurts again.

　　I go back to eating my grass.

　　It doesn`t taste as good anymore. It`s a shame—a real shame.

　　To top it off, a human female walks in and feeds hay to each of us on the field. Humans wouldn`t be in a paradise—that`s disgusting.

　　My head hurts because now I`m back to square one.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

　　So I eat the hay when it`s my turn. The human holds some rectangle thing in front of my face, but the hay is more important.

　　She leaves after making human noises I couldn`t understand and obstructing my space by rubbing her head against my face.

　　They did that a lot.

　　She took hay away from me, so now I`m back to thinking. I thought I was done with that old rhetoric.

　　Right, so I`m not in paradise. Where am I?

　　Using my intelligence, I highly suspect that I am in a different place. Yes, very different.

　　I am confident in the fact that I am dead; the paradise the raven spoke of was just some tale. I always knew that winged animals were untrustworthy. I like to think that they can say anything without consequence, because what can anyone do to them? They`d fly away before you could reach them!

　　My head hurts from thinking about all that.

　　I go back to eating my grass.

　　I stop mid-munch to think more because I now realize that I have never been this intelligent. If I had started to think like this when I was in my better form, I would`ve seen through the lie. Maybe I could`ve made a smart play and rearranged the food chain to stop that raven from telling lies for good.

　　Wait, I need to eat grass, so I do.

　　I munch. The others are doing the same. I like to think that I`m the only one with intelligent thoughts in my head. They all look brainless.

　　I stop eating. The others continue, showing another reason as to why I seem to be the only one with an ounce of productivity.

　　Anyway, I`m thinking up two possibilities: I was always this intelligent, or I gained this new form`s intelligence.

　　The second one seems very farfetched. This bull had shorter horns; hence, according to the laws of this world, my intelligence must`ve always been like this.

　　My head hurts now. I pick at the grass; I don`t want to look stagnant. I don`t want to do a mindless activity for too long, or I would be just like them, munching, munching, and munching.

　　Will the low intelligence of this bull corrupt me? It doesn`t seem like it. I still feel the same.

　　So I must have always been this intelligent. Got it.

　　This doesn`t really explain everything. I`m dead, right? Just alive in the afterlife—that`s what that guy meant, right?

　　I want to eat grass and not think, but I`ll look like I am giving up.

　　The sun looks like it`s going down. Do I just sleep on this?

　　Is this a dream?

　　I need to rest this special brain of mine.