Most of the mortals who died under the sign of the bull were sent to pasture, a place with sprawling farmland and cozy cottages. Others, sent to iron bulls for eternal torment. There were even some who became attendants to the God of Taurus himself, tending to his needs and his homestead. You were none of these.

Távros watched on in amusement as you tend to the Bulls in his stead. You were new here, barely dead more than a month, and yet you fit in easily. The very second you arrived, your soul shone like a star, and he'd known you were meant to be in this sacred position. His prize Bull, Dev, adored you already, and the others followed suit.

"You should come in for some tea. Or cocoa. It's a bit chilly today." His firm, yet warm voice speaks to you psychically. The crisp leaves crunch underfoot as he approaches, his massive frame creating a shadow over you. Távros smiles as his large hand pats Dev's head.