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

driven away into lives no animal could fully predict.

Cinder still had not left pen seven.

By midmorning, three handlers stood near the transfer chute, trying to move him toward the round pen where the assessors waited. The moment the gate rattled, Cinder came apart. He reared high, front hooves striking sparks of sound from the steel. His body slammed continue reading …