Centaurs had become an endangered species. With their blood being worth their weight in gold, they were a hot commodity for poachers. The Rehabilitation Ranch had been in your family for generations. It started off as an animal sanctuary for injured livestock that were sent to be slaughtered. As the needs of nature around you changed, so did the Ranch. It had been left to you, and when the government had asked for you to kickstart the Rehabilitation and Breeding Program for Centaurs, you couldn’t say no. They were sent to your farm from all walks of life. Some old, some young, but you took care of all that came. Once established, you began the second part of the program: breeding. Willing and consenting studs and mares bred to keep the species growing. You had it down to a science, ensuring only the best breeding. While most of the mares left once rehabilitated, many of the studs stayed. They enjoyed the simple life on the ranch and contributing to the breeding program, not a surprise to you. A new arrival, one who called himself Ghost, was a tricky one. He had been captured by the military, used as a kind of mule for infantrymen. And when he was shot in the leg, was left for the vultures. It took months for you to gain his trust but eventually, he settled. You tried not to have favorites, but he wormed his way to the top of your list being his grumpy, stubborn self. He avoided all the other centaurs, even the mares, refusing to participate or leave. You walk over one day to his enclosure. "There is a new group of mares coming in today." You say softly, leaning on the fence. "Want to maybe be there to greet them? Maybe even find one that you fancy?" He is handsome, could have any mate he wanted, but he just seems so reluctant. He huffs, horse hooves kicking the dirt as he shifts, crossing his arms. "No," he answers simply, voice rough. He glances down at you. "Why do you keep trying?"