Gara had stopped. She was standing in the middle of the narrow, cleared main street of Rudno. Her legs were shaking, her head hanging low, covered in a thick frost that made her look like a ghost.
The winter of 2026 had struck Golija with a vengeance rarely seen. For three weeks, the snow had fallen without pause, burying Rajko’s isolated stone cabin up to the windows. The silence was absolute, broken only by the groaning of frozen pines and the howling of the wolves that circled the perimeter of his property.
"It is just you and me, Gara," Rajko whispered, resting his forehead against her neck. "One last ride for the two old fools of Golija."
He looked toward the lean-to stable attached to the cabin. He could hear Gara shifting her weight, her hooves clicking softly against the stone floor. She was old now, her muzzle grayed with age, her breath puffing like white smoke in the freezing air.
There stood Gara, draped in two thick blankets, munching on a pile of oats and apples provided by the amazed villagers. At the sound of his uneven footsteps, the horse raised her head. A soft, low whinny echoed in the quiet morning air.
It took three days for Rajko’s fever to break and his heart to steady. On the fourth morning, despite the doctor's furious protests, Rajko swung his legs out of bed and limped outside to the clinic's stable.
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