Kat nodded, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
Renna handed her a bucket of grain and showed her how to hold it, how to approach the stall door.
The second horse was a mare with a white blaze down her face, her coat a beautiful pale gold.
She watched Kat with intelligent eyes as Kat fumbled with the stall latch.
“It’s all right,” Renna said quietly.
“Take your time.
Let her see you’re not a threat.”
Kat took a deep breath and opened the stall door.
The mare’s ears pricked forward, and she took a step closer, her nostrils flaring as she scented the grain.
“Hello,” Kat whispered, extending her hand the way Renna had shown her.
“I have breakfast for you.”
The mare sniffed her hand, her breath warm and ticklish, then made a soft sound—almost a greeting.
Kat felt a surge of joy so intense it nearly took her breath away.
She poured the grain into the feed bucket, her hands trembling only slightly, and the mare immediately began to eat, her teeth crunching the oats with obvious satisfaction.
Kat stood there for a moment, watching her, marveling at the simple beauty of it—this large, powerful animal, trusting her enough to eat in her presence.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” Renna said softly from the doorway.
They worked their way through the rest of the stalls together.
Each horse had its own personality, Kat discovered.
One was eager and pushy, trying to get to the grain before she’d even poured it.
Another was shy, hanging back until Kat spoke to it gently and coaxed it forward.
A third was playful, trying to nibble at her cloak until Renna laughed and shooed it away.
“That’s Windchaser,” Renna said, grinning.
“He’s a troublemaker.
Thinks everything is a game.”
Kat found herself laughing too, a real laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her.
When was the last time she’d laughed like this?
She couldn’t remember.
They worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft huffing of the horses and the rustle of hay.
The sky outside grew lighter, the gray dawn giving way to pale gold, and Kat felt something settle in her chest—something peaceful and right.
This felt good.
Useful.
Like she was doing something that mattered, even if it was just feeding horses.
When they finished, Renna brushed the hay dust from her hands and smiled at Kat.
“You’re good with them.
They like you.”
“I like them too,” Kat said, her voice full of wonder.
“They’re…
they’re amazing.
I never knew they could be so…
so different from each other.
So individual.”
“They are,” Renna agreed.
“Just like people.
Each one has their own personality, their own preferences.
Some are brave, some are cautious.
Some are gentle, some are spirited.
You learn to read them, to understand what they need.”
“Can I…
can I come back?
To see him again?”
“Anytime you like,” Renna said warmly.
“He’s a good listener, if you ever need one.
And he won’t judge you or repeat what you say.” She paused, her expression softening.
“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to animals than people.
They don’t have expectations.
They just…
accept you.”
Kat felt tears prick her eyes again.
“Thank you.
For understanding.
For not thinking I’m strange.”
“You’re not strange,” Renna said firmly.
“You’re someone who’s been kept from things you should have been allowed to experience.
That’s not your fault.
And now you’re free to experience them.” She gestured toward the stable door.
“Come on.
Let’s get you fed before Aldric eats everything in sight.”
They walked back toward the inn together, the sky growing brighter with each passing moment.
The mist was beginning to lift, burning off in the growing warmth of the sun, and Kat could hear birds starting their morning songs—cheerful chirps and trills that seemed to celebrate the new day.
“Renna?” Kat said quietly.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.
For not being angry.
For…
for understanding.
For teaching me.”
Renna stopped and turned to face her, her expression serious.
“Listen to me, Katriana.
You’re in the North now.
Or you will be soon.
And in the North, we care more about what you can do than what you can’t.
We care about strength and courage and honesty.
Not about omens or curses or what color your hair is.” She paused, her gray eyes steady on Kat’s face.
“You showed courage this morning.
You wanted something, and you went after it, even though you were afraid.
That’s what matters to us.”
She held open the inn door, and Kat stepped inside, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years.
The common room was still empty, though she could hear sounds from the kitchen now—the clatter of pots, the murmur of voices.
The innkeeper’s family was waking up.
“You’ll do well there, I think,” Renna continued, her smile warm.
“If you let yourself.
If you stop believing all the things your family told you about yourself and start discovering who you really are.”
Kat looked at her, at this strong, capable woman who had shown her nothing but kindness and respect.
Who had found her in the stable and, instead of scolding her, had taught her something new.
Who had trusted her with something important.
“I hope so,” Kat said softly.
“Now come on.
Let’s get you fed before Aldric eats everything in sight.
That man has the appetite of three normal people.”
As they climbed the stairs back to their rooms, Kat found herself thinking about Stormrunner—about the feel of his warm coat beneath her hand, the trust in his eyes, the way he’d leaned into her touch like he’d known her all his life.
About feeding the horses with Renna, learning something new, being trusted with something important.
About the way the mare with the white blaze had greeted her, the way Windchaser had tried to play with her cloak, the way each horse had been different and individual and wonderful.
She’d touched a horse.
She’d gone outside alone.
She’d done something just because she wanted to, not because someone had given her permission.
She’d learned something new, something practical and useful.
She’d been trusted.
Small things, perhaps.
But to Kat, they felt enormous.
They felt like the first steps on a journey she hadn’t known she was allowed to take.
And if these small freedoms were possible now, on the journey north, in a border town where no one knew her or cared about her curse…
What other freedoms might await her in Blackwoods?
What else might she be allowed to do, to learn, to become?
The thought filled her with something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Something that felt fragile and precious, like a candle flame that might be blown out by the slightest breath.
Hope.
Not the desperate, clinging hope she’d felt when her father had told her she was being sent north.
Not the hope born of having no other choice.
This was different.
This was hope born of possibility.
Of seeing, for the first time, that there might be a life ahead of her that was more than just survival.
More than just enduring.
A life where she might learn things and do things and be valued for who she was, not punished for what she wasn’t.
A life where she might, finally, be allowed to simply exist without apology.
The thought was almost too big to hold, too bright to look at directly.
But it was there, glowing softly in her chest like an ember that might, with care and time, grow into something warm and sustaining.
She thought of Stormrunner’s dark eyes, the way he’d looked at her with simple acceptance.
The way he’d leaned into her touch, asking for more.
The way he’d trusted her, even though she was a stranger.
If a horse could trust her, could see something in her worth trusting…
Maybe she wasn’t as broken as she’d been told.
Maybe she wasn’t cursed or worthless or fundamentally wrong.
Maybe she was just…
Kat.
A girl who loved books and horses and quiet mornings.
A girl who was learning, slowly, what it felt like to be free.
And maybe that was enough.
Maybe that was more than enough.
Maybe that was everything.