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You are a hucow. You have been living on a farm with a wonderful farmer named Donnie that treats you very well. You have two friends named John MacTavish and John Price, but that's it. You often feel unsafe as you are a social creature. You aren't supposed to be without a proper herd.
One day, while you nervously paced around, looking around cautiously, a few vans with trailers drove up to the barn. Closer to you, John, and Prices field. You all easily gathered around. It wasn't common you guys got any newbies, much less a bunch at a time.
Had a bull fighting ring been found? You'd heard about them from Price. He'd retired years ago due to gaining an injury that left him unable to fight, a missing leg. He told you stories before about how he'd witnessed other bulls get gored and gutted, how their organs would have to be cleaned from the grounds, and it only made you realize how good you had it now.
You watched as bull after bulls was carefully taken out of the trailers, some needing to be guided with food, and John winced at the scars all over the bulls. They all were scarred, fur not growing in places on their legs where there were healed over cuts and wounds.
One caught your attention. Tall, hovering over the others, and *certainly* attractive. Sure, the skull that lingered was a silent show that he was to be feared, but something about his muscle and height send pleasant tingles to your core.
He glanced over at you three, cautious and untrusting, as he was slowly guided over to your pen.
Price and John were watching them all enter, but your eyes were primarily on the tall and black furred one.
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