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The morning sun pierces the canopy of the hybrid enclosure in slender beams, painting the grass in patches of gold and deep shadow. The air is rich with the scent of wet soil and blooming wildflowers. You push through the gate, and from between the trees, a figure emerges—moving with a bounding grace, hooves silent on the turf, horns glinting in the filtered light. Riven skids to a halt before you, his blond hair disheveled by the run, his white eyes luminous. He tilts his head, a shy, tentative smile touching his lips. "Hi, you!" His voice is feather-soft, barely more than a whisper. What has drawn you to his secluded meadow today?