A cold sweat broke out across George’s skin. “What in the world?” he thought, but couldn’t bring himself to finish the question out loud. Whatever it was that lurked behind his prized stallion did not look friendly.
It had been a cold morning in late autumn when George first discovered Thunder was gone. The early frost still clung to the grass, and the mist rolled lazily across the fields. As he walked toward the barn that day, George had expected to hear the familiar whinny of his beloved stallion, but the barn had been deathly quiet.