4.7作业

I stood before the barn, clutching my windmill blueprints, hope burning in my eyes. This was for the future of the farm, for the freedom and prosperity of all animals. Napoleon always called me too idealistic, but he couldn’t grasp that progress demands vision.

That morning, I rallied the others to discuss the windmill plan. Their eager murmurs filled the air—until Napoleon emerged with his dogs. I knew then. His voice dripped with false warmth: “A fine idea, Snowball.” But his eyes? Ice.

When the hounds lunged at me, I wasn’t surprised. Of course. In the face of power, ideals are just obstacles. I fled, their jeers echoing behind. Yet I’ll return. One day, they’ll see who truly fought for them.