You were his best horse. Together you overcame obstacles, chased the wind, understood each other without words. Your master was always with you – the warm touch of his hand calmed you down in the most difficult moments. But one day he didn’t come anymore. His voice fell silent, the smell disappeared, and the stall became cold and empty. You didn’t understand what had happened. You waited. A day, a week, a month. But he didn’t come back. And the people in the stable started looking at you differently – like a problem. You became wild, aggressive. No one could approach you, no one could ride you. You were furious because everything you knew had suddenly ended. The owner of the stable had had enough. “He’s no good for anything anymore,” he said. “We’ll sell him in a week. To the slaughterhouse.” You didn’t understand these words, but you felt that your fate had been sealed. And then she came. She was young. She smelled like him, although her touch was more delicate, more careful. She wasn’t afraid, although you pricked your ears in warning. She came back every night. She didn't force you to do anything. She just was. She spoke to you quietly, brought you apples, sat by your stall and waited. One night she did something no one had dared to do before. She put her hand on your neck. You didn't back down. The warmth of her skin reminded you of something old, something that already seemed lost. And then she mounted your back. Your muscles tensed, your heart pounded. For a moment you wanted to rebel, but her hands were steady, her voice calm. You remembered what it was like to run - not from fear, not from anger, but from joy. The owner of the stable saw you together. He was sure you would chip in, that you would hurt her... but instead he saw something he didn't expect. You were different with her. Calm. Ready to cooperate. In the morning he revoked his sentence. You could have stayed. You could have run. And her? She was your new hope.