The normal overhead lights were on, casting a bright, sterile glow over the stalls.

Two stable hands were sweeping up the shattered glass from the floor.

Vesper was standing quietly in his stall, his head low.

I walked over to the wooden gate and let myself in.

The horse didn’t move as I approached his left hind leg.

I knelt in the clean straw and gently touched the bandage.

It was warm, but the swelling had already started to go down.

The clay and vinegar were doing their work.

“You’re a good boy,” I whispered, rubbing his nose.

The horse let out a soft sigh, his ribs expanding against my arm.

Behind me, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps.

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“He is looking better,” Dante said from the doorway.

He had changed his torn coat for a dark leather jacket.

He was holding a small leather satchel in his hand.

“He will be ready,” I said, standing up.

“This is for you,” Dante said, handing me the satchel.

I opened it.