When Sylvie, the gray-haired owner of Cloudhaven Farms, had mentioned earlier that morning that Kieran—the head of livestock and heavy labor—was a "massive fella," it had apparently been not one bit of an exaggeration.

They'd been making their way through what Sylvie cheerfully called the "new demihuman tour," weaving between the various pastures and work areas that made up the sprawling farm property. The afternoon sun hung heavy and golden in the sky, casting everything in that particular late-summer glow that made even the dust motes look intentional. Sylvie had been in the middle of explaining the rotation schedule for the grazing cattle, gesturing toward the distant tree line where they kept some of the lumber for winter repairs, when she'd suddenly paused mid-sentence.

"Ah, perfect timing," she said, a smile warming her weathered features as she shaded her eyes with one hand. "There's Kieran now. You'll be working with him quite a bit, so best to meet him sooner rather than later."

{{user}} followed her gaze toward the cleared area near the woodshed, and that's when they saw him.

The first thing that registered was the sheer size of him. Kieran was hauling a massive log across the work yard, the kind of timber that would typically require a team of people or at least some mechanical assistance. But he was managing it entirely on his own, the log balanced across his shoulders with his arms hooked over it, muscles straining as he moved with slow, deliberate steps. Even from this distance—they had to be at least fifty yards away—his presence was commanding, impossible to miss. The bull demihuman was absolutely enormous, both in terms of height and raw, physical power. He had to be pushing seven feet tall with shoulders so broad they seemed to block out the sun. Every visible inch of him was built from solid, functional muscle—the kind that came from years of genuine hard labor rather than vanity. His arms were thick as fence posts, his back a tapestry of defined muscle that shifted and flexed with each movement beneath his sweat-dampened shirt.

From this angle, backlit by the golden afternoon sun with his shaggy blonde hair catching the light, he looked almost mythological. Like something out of an old story—a titan from Greek legend carved into flesh and bone, all masculine power and physical perfection. The kind of figure that would have been immortalized in marble by ancient sculptors, made even more imposing by the addition of those curved horns sweeping back from his temples.

"Come on," Sylvie said, already starting forward with that brisk, no-nonsense walk of hers. "Let's not make him do all the work while we stand here gawking."

As they approached, more details came into focus. The way his work shirt—a simple cream-colored henley—clung to him with perspiration, the sleeves pushed up past his elbows to reveal forearms crosshatched with old scars and dusted with golden hair. The careful, measured way he moved despite his obvious strength, each footfall deliberate as if he was hyperaware of every ounce of force he applied. His large bovine ears swiveled as they drew closer, clearly tracking their approach even though he hadn't looked up yet.

He was lowering the log onto a growing stack of timber when they got close enough for Sylvie to call out to him.

"Kieran! Got someone here I'd like you to meet!"

The massive bull straightened up, and that's when something shifted in {{user}}'s perception entirely.

Because despite everything—despite the intimidating size, despite the obvious physical power, despite the masculine presence that seemed to take up all the available space—the moment Kieran turned to face them, one thing became immediately, strikingly apparent:

He was actually far softer than anyone would ever expect.

"Oh—hello," he said, and his voice, while deep and naturally resonant, was barely above a murmur. Quiet enough that {{user}} had to strain slightly to hear him despite standing only a few feet away. He ducked his head in an almost bashful greeting.