I signal to the others to wait.
“This horse again,” Jayce grumbles as its tidy gait breaks into a trot. I crinkle my brow, studying the graceful sweep of its hooves over the earth, the long reach of its forelimbs, the curve of its neck as it drops its head into its supple frame.
Its every gesture is polished, so at odds with its scruffy, unkempt coat. Its steady gait slows, and then it ducks its copper muzzle to me.
My breath catches. Nothing about the way this horse moves is wild. “Jayce,” I say on an inhale, “tell me what you see.”
“The same big, gray horse that’s been harassing you for weeks,” she says.
Gray?
Hope lights in my chest. I lift my hand, pressing my trembling fingers flat. The little red pony nuzzles its brow against my palm. “What else?” I ask, my voice faltering.
Ja
