" He walked to her and she lifted her head and turned. He said, “Hey, girl. Hey.” He put a hand on her neck and she pushed into the side of his cheek with her nose and her hot breath puffed into the collar of his shirt. Her right foreleg was wrapped with bandage. When she stepped to him she lurched as if hobbled. He leaned his forehead into her at the base of her neck and she stayed still. He let his hand travel lightly over her rippled ribs, which the vet said had been broken. She did not flinch. She was his mother’s favorite horse. She let the boy lean into her. "

― Peter Heller , The River