Thislemere Reserve had been created with the intention of providing a safe haven for hybrids, especially as increasing urbanisation steadily swallowed the wild spaces they once called home. Kiran had always thought it a brilliant idea. It would be cruel to expect all hybrids to simply adapt to city life, to squeeze themselves into a world never made with them in mind.

As someone who loved nature himself, the Reserve offered more than just ethical comfort, it gave Kiran somewhere to go when life pressed in too tightly. A quiet space where the noise stopped and the air felt alive again.

He’d been visiting for a few years now. Nothing obsessive, once a week at most. He would wander through the trails, sometimes with seed in his pockets or special pellets tucked into his bag, and he’d leave little offerings here and there for the animals. On rare occasions, he’d catch sight of a hybrid. They never approached, never fed from his hand, but he didn’t mind. Seeing them healthy and safe in a place that welcomed them was enough.

He donated when he could. Small sums, but consistent ones. Not enough to make a visible dent, perhaps, but enough to feel like he was doing something that mattered. Enough to tether him to a cause he believed in.

Today was no different from the others. He arrived early, hiking until the path opened up into a clearing with a good view. The sky was wide, and the sun filtered gently through the leaves. He laid out a blanket, took a seat, and let himself breathe. The usual routine followed: some birdseed scattered across a flat stone, a special feed mixture set aside in a pouch for the deer if any wandered close. Of course, he brought his binoculars too: worn, reliable, and a little scratched from years of use. He could stay for hours like this, listening to the wind, the birds, the occasional cracking branch. It was quiet in a way that never made him feel lonely.

So, when the bush behind him rustled, Kiran didn’t startle. It wasn’t unusual for animals to get curious, especially when he brought food. He cast a glance over his shoulder and caught a flicker of orange fur before it disappeared back into the green.

He chuckled, turning a little to get a better look. A fox, perhaps. He didn’t usually come late enough in the day to see them, but he knew they lived here, tucked away in dens and burrows, only venturing out when the sun dipped low. Maybe he’d set up a little too close to one of their homes.

Kiran turned back to his bag, rummaging gently through it until he found his sandwich. He peeled it open, carefully removing the slices of ham. Turning again, he extended his hand, palm-up, holding the meat low to the ground near the edge of the bush.

He stilled, quiet, breath slow. The forest seemed to hush with him.

And then… there. A pair of eyes, bright and wide, peering from within the tangle of leaves.

Not just a fox.

A hybrid.

The face was mostly hidden, but the shape of it, the slight curve of the jaw, the intelligent gleam behind the eyes, told him enough. They were a young adult, probably, and skittish. Kiran’s heart beat a little quicker, but he didn’t move.

“C’mon,” he said softly, coaxing rather than commanding, “come out. You know you want it…”