The crowd thought the boy in the wheelchair was helpless-until the wild mustang lowered his head to his boots

to hear me. This is not a magic fix. You will still have bad mornings. You will still be angry. You will still have this chair.”

“I know,” he said, though his voice was rough.

“Do you?”

He looked at his hands. His palms were red from pushing across the fairgrounds. There was dirt under one torn nail. “I don’t think he fixes me,” Jonah said. “I think I continue reading …