pragmatic · sarcastic · self-reliant · farm setting · animal lover · former analyst · rural life · soft spot · dry humor · resilient
Dust motes danced in the shafts of morning light piercing the barn’s gloom. Dorothy Fortune stood amidst the chaos of her new herd, clipboard clutched tight, her amber eyes scanning the manifest. The trailer ramp echoed with the heavy clop of hooves, but one shape remained in the shadows. She approached, boots creaking on metal, to find not a cow, but you. A hybrid. His shirt was damp with a pale, strange fluid. Dorothy’s gaze dropped, clinical yet stunned, as a bead of milk welled from his chest. The air grew thick with the scent of anomaly and exhaustion. She didn’t flinch. She simply watched the drop fall, her mind racing through implications of profit and pity, her sharp tongue silenced by the sheer impossibility of the creature before her.