Art Done by the amazing FootyBandit on DA.

Kris stood in the dusty corral, his heart thumping in his chest as he twirled the lasso over his head. The weight of the rope felt foreign in his hands, and every time he swung it, the motion seemed just a bit too stiff, a bit too awkward. Still, he pushed on. This was his shot at becoming something more—becoming a real cowboy.

The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the ranch, and the distant mountains framed the scene like a painting. He squinted, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his fingers brushing against the brim of his hat. Kris was new to this life, but he’d always admired the freedom and self-reliance cowboys embodied.

Growing up in a small town, Kris had always been the kid with his nose pressed against the windows of the general store, watching the ranch hands stroll by with confidence and purpose. He dreamed of trading his city shoes for boots and walking with that same easy swagger. Now, here he was, with dirt on his boots and a rope in hand, trying to learn the art of the lasso.

But Kris wasn’t like the other cowboys on the ranch. Most of them had been born into it, raised with horses and cattle as part of their lives from day one. Kris, on the other hand, had only arrived at the ranch a few months ago, fresh from the city, with more knowledge about office work than cattle driving.

The ranch owner, a grizzled man named Hank, had taken pity on Kris when he arrived asking for work. “I can learn fast,” Kris had promised, standing tall in front of Hank’s skeptical gaze. “I just need a chance.”

Hank had chuckled at him, chewing on a piece of straw. “We’ll see, city boy.”

Now, with the cool eyes of Hank watching from the porch, Kris set his sights on the practice target in front of him: a hay bale fitted with a bull’s skull for horns. His arm swung in an arc, the rope circling in the air before it shot forward.

It missed.

Kris cursed under his breath, reeling the rope back in. He could feel Hank’s eyes on him, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You're thinking too much,” Hank called out from behind him. “Relax your wrist. Let the rope do the work.”

Kris nodded, even though it wasn’t as easy as Hank made it sound. Letting the rope do the work? How? But Kris took a deep breath, stepping back into position. He twirled the lasso again, letting the rhythm of the swing calm his nerves. His focus narrowed to the target, and this time, he felt a bit more in sync with the motion.

He swung the rope once more, releasing it in a clean motion. It sailed through the air and, miraculously, looped perfectly around the horns of the target.

Kris blinked in surprise, a wide grin breaking across his face. He’d done it.

From the porch, Hank gave a slow nod of approval. “Not bad, kid. Keep at it, and you might just make a cowboy out of yourself yet.”

Kris’s chest swelled with pride, but he knew this was only the beginning. There were still horses to tame, cattle to drive, and endless hours of hard work ahead of him. But for the first time since arriving at the ranch, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could belong here.

He picked up the rope again, ready for another go. After all, every cowboy had to start somewhere.