The next morning, Mike woke early, due to the farmer kicking him in the ribs. Despite the man's hangover, he was up and about, and in a foul mood.
"Today you'll do a full day's work, beast," the farmer growled, "I paid good gold for you, and I expect a return on my investment."
Mike dutifully grabbed the plough, and took it to the second south field, as the farmer ordered. Mike lamented his fate, but could not resist the magic of the saddle that he wore. He strapped the plough to his own body, and began to pull it through the field, turning the hard earth.
After an hour, Nia arrived, bringing breakfast. Mike gratefully stopped when she told him to, and devoured the food and drink that she brought. "I cannot stay long, centaur," she sighed, "Father has many tasks for me, and will punish me if I dawdle."
"I understand," Mike replied, simply.
"I will see you later though," Nia smiled, as she turned to go.
And so Mike's day was filled with toil. He pulled the crude plough from one end of the field to the other, digging deep furrows in the tough dirt. When one field was finished, he moved to the next. Nia came again briefly for lunch, but the afternoon was spent in solitary, ceaseless toil. Mike's only company was the occasional silhouette of the farmer in the distance, checking to see how his new centaur was doing. By the end of the day, Mike was dripping with sweat, and his body was sore all over. Nia came as the sun went down, the basket on her arm. "You are finished for the day, centaur Mike," she smiled, "bring the plough in, and I will feed you."
Mike gratefully dragged the plough back to the barn, and devoured the meal that Nia provided. She massaged his powerful rump as he ate, feeling the thick horse muscles, rubbing away some of the day's strain. Mike was grateful for her company and attention, but could not help be saddened by his fate. His adventuring career was proving a sad one indeed.