CHAPTER SEVEN
BREA
Raven paced the length of her stall, her long tail swishing back and forth. Brea stood frozen on the other side of the stall door. How did she get here? She’d ridden horses most of her life. But birthing one? Memories assaulted her of her last day with Myles. They sat in class talking about his horse, Captain, a mare who’d given birth while Brea was at the Clarkson Institute. But Myles wouldn’t have stood back, frozen in fear.
No, he’d be in there comforting her.
Master Arturo busied himself laying fresh straw. “The straw has to be clean,” he explained. “So it won’t stick to the foals.”
Brea nodded as if she took in every one of his words, but white noise invaded her mind. Myles should be there, not her. He’d have loved working in the stables and birthing horses.
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