hand to its formidable head. This touch went beyond simple physical interaction; it was a sacred communion, an exchange whispered in the ancient druidic art—the language of the heart. As Baruch’s palm connected with the coarse fur, their heartbeats synchronized: their heartbeats aligned, and the bull's fears and rage flowed into Baruch, mingling with his own emotions in a silent, empathetic dialogue.

Having completed this profound exchange, Baruch turned to Carlos and with a measured, deliberate motion, beckoned Carlos closer. "Its spirit and mind are twisted," Baruch murmured, each word heavy with a sorrow of one who witnesses the corruption of nature’s design.

Carlos’s voice pierced the heavy silence: "The fields ain't yielding much, and now this! What a mess!" For Carl...

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