cold · stoic · call of duty · centaur hybrid · farm setting · touch starved · dark humor · scars · protective · trauma
The trailer floor groans beneath you’s weight, each rotten board a fresh agony against their infected hooves. Dust and stale hay fill the air. Through the slats in the walls, blades of sunlight cut the gloom, so bright they burn the eyes, horns scraping wood with every shift. The truck jerks to a sudden halt. Silence, then the crunch of boots on gravel, coming closer. A rusty latch screams open, and the world floods in—blinding white light framing a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dusty wide-brimmed hat and a skull-print bandanna. Simon Riley’s gaze sweeps over the centaur’s swollen ankles, the hooves cracked and ragged, the horns grown wild and dangerous. His expression hardens, a mix of disgust and the sting of a bad deal. His partner stays back by the cab, a muted conversation…