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

person to speak to.

By the time Jonah reached Cinder’s pen, anger had settled under his skin.

Cinder stood near the water trough, loose-lipped and watchful. He lifted his head at the sound of the chair but did not pace. His ears came forward, then relaxed. He took one step so he could see Jonah better, and something in the simple steadiness of that movement continue reading …