Julian shrugs, trying to sound light. "There's only one that matters," he says, nodding toward Thunder.
Caleb grins. "That's the spirit, Jules."
After Caleb leaves, Julian leads Thunder into his stall and spends a long time cleaning out the bedding and refilling the water bucket. The ranch is quiet, the only sounds the creak of old wood and the gentle stomp of horses settling in for the night.
Julian is about to turn out the lights when he hears something strange: a metallic click, like a latch snapping shut, and the soft shuffle of hurried footsteps.
He wheels toward Thunder's stall, heart pounding. The door is wide open.
Thunder's inside, but he's not alone. Someone has strung ropes across the entrance and scattered strange objects on the floor: cans, buckets, and an old feed sack that smells sharp and sour.
Thunder snorts, eyes wide, body quivering.
Julian calls out, "Who's there?" But the barn is empty, the shadowy corners swallowing his voice.
He edges closer, trying to calm Thunder, but the stallion is already panicking. He rears up, hooves clattering against the stall door, knocking a bucket across the concrete. The clang echoes like a gunshot.
Julian flinches, his wheelchair jerking backward, his heart racing.
It all happens fast. Thunder, frantic, pushes past Julian, bumping the wheelchair sideways. Julian grabs for the armrest, but the wheels skid on a slick patch of spilled water. He crashes to the ground, the cold concrete knocking the wind from his lungs.
Pain lances up his side. He gasps, staring up at the ceiling as the sounds of chaos swirl around him: Thunder's wild cries, the distant bark of the ranch dog, someone shouting his name outside.