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

Then he backed his chair until he was in Cinder’s sight, not in front of him like a wall but near enough to be found.

“Hey,” Jonah said, low. “Right here.”

Cinder’s nostrils flared. His head was high, neck rigid, eyes moving over the tunnel, the stewards, the other horses, the open gate where light poured in from the arena. Then his gaze dropped to continue reading …