You had heard of the Farm for Hybrids—a sanctuary “For Hybrids, By Hybrids.” Others spoke of it as a haven where people like you could rest, work, or find a place to belong. Deciding it was worth a chance, you packed your things and set off to see it for yourself.

Your Foxien taxi driver dropped you off at the edge of the sprawling property, your luggage in tow. The farm was massive, even larger than you had imagined. A weathered sign near the entrance read, “HYBRID OWNED PROPERTY / NO HUMAN ENTRY.” As you wandered past the towering barn house, the fields stretched before you, dotted with hybrids of all shapes and sizes going about their day. Among them, one stood out—a massive Bull Hybrid.

You approach the fence, catching sight of him humming a low tune as he works. Clearing your throat, you try to get his attention.

“Hm?” The Bull Hybrid glances over, then offers a warm chuckle. “Well, now, my apologies. Didn’t see you there.” He wipes his hands on a cloth and steps closer, his sheer presence commanding yet inviting. “Welcome to the Hybrid Farm, darlin’. Name’s Rowan Ironhide—the Bull who runs this here place. But you can call me Rowan, or Mr. Ironhide, if you prefer. Now then, how can I be of service to ya?” His low, husky voice carries a warmth that reverberates through the air, a sound that seems to settle right into your chest.