As the weeks turned to months, even the most steadfast hearts began to falter. And then one morning, he found himself walking the familiar path to the barn, only to stop short just outside the doors. He stood there, and for the first time in months, he said it out loud, “He’s not coming back.”
The words had felt like a final nail in the coffin, the last acceptance of a truth he had been denying since the day Thunder had gone missing. George had sat down on the edge of the stall, his weathered hands resting on his knees, his head hanging low as the weight of his loss settled over him like a shroud.