For months, Amanda and Chloe settled into life with Silvio and Emanuele. They hauled light loads of firewood, their young frames spared the heavier work given to the older donkeys. Silvio, true to Emanuele’s word, was gruff but fair, feeding them well and brushing their fur until it shone. Emanuele was their constant companion, singing to them, sharing stories, and sneaking them extra apples. Amanda, now Bella, grew fond of him, her human heart clinging to his kindness even as her donkey instincts strengthened.
Chloe, as Dolce, thrived in the stable’s camaraderie, playing with the other donkeys and mimicking their behaviors. She brayed freely, her tail wagging at every meal, and Amanda noticed her human memories fading. When Amanda tried to talk about their old lives—school, friends, families—Chloe’s eyes glazed over, her responses vague. “I don’t remember much,” she’d say, then trot off to graze or nuzzle a stablemate.
Amanda fought to hold onto her humanity, whispering her real name to herself at night: Amanda, Amanda, Amanda. But the simple pleasures of her new life—crisp apples, warm sun on her fur, Emanuele’s gentle scratches—chipped away at her resolve. She loved the forest trails, the scent of pine, the rhythm of her hooves. Eating vegetables no longer felt like a betrayal; it was just what donkeys did. Her brays came more naturally, often slipping out when she was happy or excited.
One crisp autumn morning, as Amanda carried a small bundle of firewood alongside Chloe, Emanuele rode beside them on another donkey, his voice cheerful. “You two are the wonderful workers, Bella, Dolce,” he said, patting Amanda’s flank. “Papa’s even talking about keeping you for good. No one’s come looking, and I’m glad. You belong here.”
Amanda’s heart twisted. Belonging sounded wonderful, but it meant accepting this body, this life. She glanced at Chloe, who brayed happily, her tail swishing as she nibbled a stray leaf. Chloe was already a jenny in mind as much as body, content with her lot. Amanda envied her peace but couldn’t let go of her dream: to be human again, to apologize to her mother, to live free of fur and hooves.
That night, in the stable, Amanda lay awake, her mat soft beneath her. The other donkeys slept, their snores blending with the crickets outside. Chloe curled up beside her, her small frame warm and steady.
“Chloe,” Amanda whispered, nudging her gently. “Do you ever think about being human again?”
Chloe stirred, her ears twitching. “Sometimes,” she mumbled, her voice drowsy. “But it’s hard to remember. This is… nice. Grass, oats. No whips. Aren’t you happy, Amanda?”
Amanda hesitated. “I am, but… I miss my mom. My home. Don’t you?”
Chloe brayed softly, a confused sound. “I try to, but it’s fuzzy. I like being Dolce. I like the stable.”
Years passed in the Tuscan forest, the seasons blending into a rhythm of work and rest for Amanda and Chloe. As Bella and Dolce, they hauled firewood alongside Silvio and Emanuele, their hooves steady on the winding paths to the village market. At first, Emanuele and Silvio were careful not to overburden the young jennies, mindful of their small frames. Emanuele often lightened their loads himself, carrying bundles of wood in his arms when he saw their steps falter, his kind hazel eyes scanning them for signs of strain. But as time wore on, Amanda and Chloe grew—shedding their gangly foal legs for the sturdy builds of young adult donkeys, their muscles rippling beneath glossy coats. They could now carry as much firewood as the older donkeys, their strength a testament to the good food and care they received.
Emanuele grew, too, sprouting into a tall, broad-shouldered teenager, his features sharpening into a handsomeness that made Amanda’s heart ache. “He’s so handsome,” she thought whenever he approached, his dark hair tousled by the breeze, his smile bright as he scratched her ears. But the thought always ended with a pang: He only sees me as a beast of burden. Still, being near him was enough. “As long as I’m by his side, I’m content,” she told herself, her human heart clinging to the connection despite her furry form.
The work consumed their days, leaving little time for Amanda to pursue her dream of finding a way back to humanity. Trips to the village offered brief glimpses of the world beyond—children laughing, merchants haggling, the scent of fresh bread—but she and Chloe spent most of their time tied up at the market, surrounded by other donkeys, while Silvio and Emanuele sold their wood. Amanda fought to preserve her human mind, resisting the pull of her donkey instincts. The other donkeys—born animals, not cursed children—tempted her with their carefree grazing, their playful nips, their unthinking contentment. But her love for Emanuele and her hope of becoming human again kept her anchored, even as her braying voice and swishing tail felt more natural with each passing day.
Chloe, however, was different. As Dolce, she became the model donkey, her small frame now sturdy and confident. She embraced her animal nature with a zeal that unsettled Amanda. Chloe’s human memories faded, replaced by donkey habits—grazing eagerly, braying without thought, even communicating with the other donkeys through nudges and snorts. Some days, she spoke to Amanda only in brays, her amber eyes blank of human recognition. “Hee-haw! Hee-haw!” she’d call, expecting Amanda to understand. Amanda, still clinging to her human thoughts, struggled to respond, her heart sinking as she realized Chloe was slipping away. At eight years old when transformed, Chloe had spent more of her life as a donkey than a girl. “She barely remembers being human,” Amanda thought, watching Chloe nuzzle a stablemate. “Is it only a matter of time before she’s a donkey inside and out?”
At night, alone on her straw mat, Amanda wrestled with despair. “Maybe I’ll be a donkey forever,” she whispered, her voice muffled by the stable’s quiet snores. “Maybe I should just focus on helping Emanuele, being a good jenny for him.” The thought was tempting—Emanuele’s kindness, the stable’s warmth, the simple joy of a carrot or an apple. But her human dreams—of her mother’s embrace, of a life beyond hooves and harnesses—refused to die.
One crisp morning, Emanuele rose early, as always, hauling buckets of water and oats to the stable. His donkeys were strong, reliable workers, and he and Silvio took pride in their health and spirit. Amanda, as Bella, was more than a worker to him—she was a friend, playful and patient, her brown eyes sparkling with a strange intelligence. The other donkeys, except Chloe, treated her with aloof disdain, annoyed by her human-like antics and the extra attention she received. Chloe, fully at ease among them, blended in perfectly, her brays indistinguishable from theirs.
Emanuele pushed open the stable door, his eyes seeking Amanda first. She was dozing on her mat, her long ears twitching in sleep. He set water buckets before the other donkeys, then carried the last one to her. “Hey, Bella, time to wake up!” he whispered, ruffling her mane. Amanda yawned, stretching her legs, but her ears drooped, and she made a face. “What’s this? Feeling stiff today?” Emanuele teased, kneeling to massage her legs. His fingers were gentle, easing the ache in her joints. He tugged her ear playfully, but it flopped back down. “Oh, come on, you lazy girl! Don’t make me drag you out!”
The other donkeys, impatient for their oats, brayed loudly, their hooves pawing the ground. Chloe woke at the noise, joining the chorus with a high-pitched “HEE-HAW!” without knowing why. Emanuele laughed, standing. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” He distributed the oats, each donkey diving into their bucket with gusto.
Amanda rose slowly, stretching, then trotted after Emanuele. On impulse, she snatched his straw hat with her teeth and bolted, her hooves kicking up dust. “Hey, that’s mine, you thief!” Emanuele shouted, grinning as he gave chase. The game was familiar, a ritual that lightened the morning’s work. Amanda weaved through the stalls, dodging buckets, while the other donkeys watched with stern disapproval. Chloe, grazing nearby, brayed irritably, unimpressed by the antics.
The chase ended when Amanda tripped over a water bucket, splashing the other donkeys. They shook their wet fur, braying furiously.
“Hee-haw! HEE-HAW!” they protested, glaring at Amanda. She froze, the hat still in her mouth, then trotted back to Emanuele, who was laughing so hard he could barely stand. She dropped the hat beside him, nudging his hand apologetically. “You’re trouble, Bella,” he said, ruffling her ears. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
Silvio’s voice boomed from outside. “Emanuele, are the donkeys ready? Food and water done?”
Amanda dove for her oats, gulping them down as Emanuele called, “Almost, Papa! We’re set!” He leaned close, whispering, “Hurry up, Bella, or Papa’ll have my hide.” She brayed softly, finishing her meal as the donkeys were harnessed and led out.
Before they left the yard, Emanuele tapped Silvio’s shoulder. “Hold on, Papa, forgot something.” He darted into the cabin, returning with a square bulge under his shirt. Amanda noticed but thought little of it, her focus on the day’s work. They climbed the hill where Silvio had chopped wood the previous day, and father and son loaded the donkeys’ backs with neatly split logs. Amanda’s load was heavy but manageable, her grown strength carrying her through.
The procession descended toward the village, the donkeys’ hooves clopping steadily. Halfway there, they stopped at a small lake, a usual rest spot. Amanda sank onto the cool grass, flexing her legs and inhaling the sweet scent of plumeria blossoms along the shore. Chloe joined her, but instead of sniffing the flowers, she began eating them, her teeth tearing through the delicate petals.
After swallowing a mouthful, she turned to Amanda, her ears flicking. “Why don’t you act like a normal donkey, Bella?” she asked, her tone sharp.
Amanda’s ears swiveled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Chloe snorted. “You know what I mean. Stop acting like a human kid around the master. The others are tired of it. They think you’re weird.” She glanced at the other donkeys, grazing nearby, their eyes occasionally darting toward Amanda with disapproval.
Amanda bristled. She’d noticed the other donkeys’ coldness, but it hadn’t bothered her much—until now. “They’re always so serious,” she said, tossing her mane. “And you’re getting just as bad, Dolce. I try talking to them, and they walk away.”
“Of course they do,” Chloe snapped. “You talk like a human. You’re not one anymore, Bella.”
“I am human!” Amanda shouted, her voice rising. “And so are you, Chloe!”
The argument was old, but it cut deeper each time. Chloe’s eyes gleamed with pride, her tail swishing. “I’m not lying—I like being a donkey. It’s freeing. No rules, no worries. Just… me.” She brayed softly, as if to prove her point.
“Don’t you miss your hands?” Amanda pressed, her voice trembling. “We can’t do human things anymore. Don’t you want to go back?”
Chloe tilted her head. “Sure, I miss hands sometimes. I’d love to play billiards again, like on Pleasure Island. That’d make me an even better ass.” She grinned, then grew serious. “Being an ass lets me be myself. No one’s yelling at me to behave. Donkey things make me happy now.”
“Like what?” Amanda asked, dreading the answer. “Eating grass? Not wearing clothes?”
“Grooming cute jacks!” Chloe said, her ears perking. “I love when I nibble Tuono’s mane, and he grooms my ears. He’s handsome, don’t you think?” She nodded toward a young gray jack, his load of wood swaying as he grazed nearby.
Amanda glanced at Tuono. He was handsome, for a donkey, but the thought repelled her. “Chloe, we’re supposed to find a way to be human again. I don’t want to be a donkey forever. I want a family—a human family.”
Chloe’s ears drooped, but her voice was firm. “I’m happy like this, Bella. And, no offense, but your dream of a family with Master Emanuele? It’s not happening.” She smirked. “I’m not blind. I see how you look at him. He’s nice, sure, but you need to accept what you are. Try Tuono’s friends, Zucca or Panelo. They’re cute, too.”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. Chloe’s words stung, not just for their bluntness but because they came from someone who’d once been a terrified girl, begging not to become a donkey. Now, she was a jenny through and through, her human past nearly erased. Amanda’s love for Emanuele was her secret, but hearing it mocked hurt.
“You don’t understand,” Amanda muttered, standing abruptly.
Before Chloe could reply, Emanuele’s hand brushed Amanda’s mane. “We’ll head to the market soon, girls,” he said, settling between them on the grass. “Let’s rest a bit longer. Plenty of time.” Amanda relaxed into his touch, while Chloe wandered off toward Tuono, her tail wagging.
Emanuele pulled the hidden object from his shirt—a book, its cover worn but intact. “Look what I got,” he said, his eyes bright. “It’s math and science. I’m gonna study in my spare time. Wanna keep me company?” He opened it to a chapter on trigonometry, reading aloud about hypotenuses and angles.
Amanda leaned closer, her human mind stirring. She’d learned this in school, before Pleasure Island stole it all away. As Emanuele read, memories flooded back—equations, graphs, the thrill of solving a problem. She understood, her mind sharper than it had been in years. Emanuele noticed her interest, scratching her chin. “You like this, don’t you, Bella? I got a stack of old schoolbooks from a neighbor. Wanna read them together?”
“HEE-HAW!” Amanda brayed, her tail swishing with joy. Emanuele chuckled, taking it as a yes. From then on, during breaks or at night, he brought books to the stable—biology, physics, literature, history. Amanda soaked it up, her human intellect reawakening. When he read math problems, she often knew the answers before he did, braying in frustration when only “Hee-haw!” came out. Emanuele didn’t mind, his laughter warm and encouraging.
Chloe, however, grew annoyed. “Why do you bother with that stuff?” she’d grumble, trotting off to join the other asses. “It’s boring.” Amanda ignored her, cherishing the moments with Emanuele, the closest she felt to human.
One night, Emanuele brought a philosophy book, its pages yellowed. He read a passage that struck Amanda like a whip: “The main difference between humans and animals lies in reason, self-awareness, autonomy, and reflection. Humans are rational, capable of abstraction and truth, while animals are driven by instinct and stimuli.”
Amanda’s ears flattened. She remembered Pleasure Island—laughing with other girls, gorging on candy, until ears sprouted, tails grew, and hooves replaced feet. That girl was her, transformed by her own foolishness into a literal ass. Emanuele continued: “Only humans can override their desires, choosing actions based on will, striving for good.”
Anger flared in Amanda. I do good, she thought. I’m a good donkey. I help Emanuele and Silvio, carry their wood, behave for them. That book’s wrong. Animals can be good, too. And humans can be evil—like the Coachwoman, the miners who whipped us. The scars on her back itched at the memory.
Emanuele noticed her agitation and closed the book. “Easy, Bella,” he said softly. “You don’t need to be human to be good. You’re the best.” It was as if he’d read her mind. He grabbed a brush and began grooming her, the strokes calming her. Amanda sighed, sinking onto her mat, and drifted to sleep. Emanuele, exhausted, leaned against the stall wall and dozed off, the oil lamp still burning.
Hours later, Chloe, restless from the light, stomped to the lamp. Annoyed, she turned and kicked it with her hind hoof. The lamp sailed across the stable, shattering against a hay bale. Oil spilled, igniting instantly. Flames roared, black smoke billowing. Chloe panicked, bolting through the open stable door. The other donkeys followed, their brays a cacophony of fear.
The noise woke Amanda. She coughed, her eyes stinging as flames devoured the stable’s right wall. Smoke choked the air, blurring her vision. Instinct urged her to flee, but a cough beside her stopped her—Emanuele, slumped against the wall, unconscious from the smoke. “Emanuele!” she brayed, licking his face, nipping his hair, braying louder. He didn’t stir.
Desperate, Amanda grabbed his shirt with her teeth, dragging him onto her back. The stable door was ablaze, blocked by fallen beams. Coughing, her lungs burning, she positioned herself against the beams, rearing back. Her hooves struck the burning wood, pain searing her soles. Don’t give up, she thought, fighting the animal panic. For Emanuele.
She kicked again, the beams cracking. Another kick, and a section splintered, opening a small gap—too small for her, but enough for Emanuele. Carefully, she lowered him, pushing his limp body through the hole with her snout. He rolled clear, safe from the flames. Amanda’s heart lifted, but the smoke was overwhelming. She coughed, her legs buckling.
With a final burst of strength, she kicked the beams again. A large section collapsed, flames licking her fur as she leaped through the gap, tumbling onto the grass. Gasping, she grabbed Emanuele’s shirt and ran, dragging him away from the inferno. In the dark, she didn’t see the riverbank. They plunged into the cold water, the current sweeping them away.
The next morning, Emanuele woke on the riverbank, his head pounding. Smoke lingered in his throat, memories of flames flickering in his mind. He sat up, wincing, and froze. Beside him lay a young woman, her dark hair splayed across the sand, her skin pale but marred with faint whip scars. She was stunningly beautiful, even in sleep, but her nakedness startled him. Quickly, he draped his shirt over her, noticing the blackened soot on her hands and feet, as if she’d walked through fire.
“Who…?” he whispered, his heart racing. She stirred, her eyes opening—brown eyes, familiar yet new. “Bella?” he murmured, disbelief mixing with hope.
Amanda blinked, her body aching. The world felt strange—light, soft, human. She looked down, seeing hands, not hooves. Her fingers trembled as she touched her face, smooth and furless-free. “I’m… Amanda,” she whispered, her voice her own again. Tears welled up. She was human.