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

to the rim. The metal was cold under his palm.

“Come on,” he said.

He released the brakes and pushed forward.

Cinder moved with him at once, falling into place beside the right wheel. Together they crossed the rough pasture toward the barn, the boy and the mustang moving through the dark with no rope between them, matching each other stride for stride.continue reading …