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

and closed his eyes.

He still missed riding.

He missed it so sharply that some days the memory could take his breath. He missed the feel of a horse under him, the signal of muscle through his knees, the easy swing into a saddle that had once required no planning, no equipment, no courage anyone bothered to name.

But for the first time, missing it did continue reading …