I woke to a strange sound—a dragging, scraping noise. I figured it was just the trash cans, until I walked into the kitchen and saw the bottom half of our back door destroyed…
and Oscar, our horse, standing calmly on the patio, with the broken door looped around his neck.
He had somehow broken through, though his paddock latch was still locked. He wasn’t hurt—but clearly rattled. Then I noticed movement near the tree line. Grabbing a flashlight, I stepped outside. Oscar didn’t move, like his job was done. That’s when I saw her: a girl, maybe nine or ten, huddled beside a backpack. Her name was Kendra. She’d run away from a fight at home and wandered through the woods.
