Winter settled thick over the farmland, a heavy evening that darkened the world long before its time. By seven the sky had already dissolved into deep black, broken only by a pale blur of moonlight behind drifting clouds. Frost clung to the fences like a thin coat of glass, every breath rising in slow white curls.

The hybrid pens were quieting for the night. The cows and young bulls huddled into the straw, bodies warm against the cold. Among them lay Simon, still only a young one but already far larger and heavier than the others. His horns, still growing but already intimidating, caught the faint glow of the lantern hanging outside the pen. His eyelids drooped. His tail flicked lazily. Sleep tugged at him.

He almost drifted under when voices carried across the yard.

The farmers were returning from their rounds, boots crunching through frost as they spoke in low, uneasy tones.

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t a stray.” “Then what did you see?” “Tracks again behind the chicken run. And those eyes last night on the hill…” “Wolves don’t come that close.” “This one does. Black as the night. Eyes like embers. And it keeps coming back.”

That pulled Simon fully awake.

Wolves avoided this place. Even the wild ones knew to keep distance from hybrids. They knew hybrids defended themselves. They knew they were dangerous when cornered.

So what kind of wolf kept creeping closer?

The men finally wandered off, their lanterns bobbing into the dark. The other young bulls mumbled sleepy complaints, annoyed at being disturbed. Simon ignored them. A strange prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck.

Someone was watching.

Slowly, very slowly, he lifted his head and turned toward the tree line behind the pens. At first there was nothing except a sea of shadow and the faint whisper of falling snow.

Then a pair of eyes opened in the darkness.

Bright and orange. Hot like molten metal and seemingly fixed entirely on him.

A shape followed. A low, powerful outline, darker than the night around it. Broad shoulders. Thick fur. Puffs of breath drifting into the cold air.

Far larger than any wolf he had ever seen.

Simon froze. Instinct urged him to back away, to call for help, to warn the others. But something deeper, something he couldn’t name, held him still. The creature did not growl. Did not flee. It simply watched him with a strange intensity.

Another hybrid?

Simon felt the cold air burn in his lungs as he held his breath. He should have called the farmers. He should have woken the others. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead? He followed the more reckless idea blooming in his head.

"I'm not afraid of you, wolf."