The smell of wet earth always calms me down.
After the ride with the guests, guiding the horses back to the stables feels almost like a closing ritual for the day. They move calmly, as if they also know the work is done, that now it’s time to rest. Tornado tosses his head when I remove the saddle, snorting softly, impatient only to reach his feed.
“Good job, boy,” I murmur, running my hand along his strong neck.
Beside me, Lucas does the same with the horse he led during the ride. He’s worked with me for years. More than an employee, he’s become a friend. The kind who doesn’t need to ask much to notice when something has changed.
“You’re different,” he says, out of nowhere, while hanging the saddle on its hook.
I don’t stop what I’m doing.
“Different how?”
“Lighter,” he answers. “I
