Rain hammered the tin roof like a thousand stones. Lightning split the sky, turning Willowbrook Hills into a flash of white before darkness swallowed it again. From her window, you saw the wild herd streak past, shadows in the storm—until a blaze of copper broke through. Ember. The young mare’s eyes were wide with terror as she bolted toward the barn.
You didn’t hesitate. Coat, shoes, door—then into the raging night. Wind clawed at her, mud sucked at her feet, but she reached the panicked mare and pressed her hands against warm, trembling muscle. Her voice was calm, her heart steady. Slowly, Ember’s fear faded, replaced by something new.
That night, trust was forged in thunder.
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