The horse’s name was Coal, which was ironic, because he was the color of fresh snow. He stood in the center of the clearing, breath pluming in the cold dawn like a slow, thoughtful signal. On either side of him stood the two men who owned him—or rather, who shared him.
This morning, they stood in the clearing for the exchange. Elias handed over a new halter he’d braided from rawhide. Marcus passed back a small pouch of dried apples—Coal’s favorite treat. No words. Just the soft snort of the horse, who turned his great white head from one man to the other, slow as a pendulum. one horse 2 guys
They’d never intended to share. But after that poker game, Elias had shown up at Marcus’s camp with a rope and a broken heart. “That horse is my daughter’s name,” he’d said. “You can’t just ride him away.” The horse’s name was Coal, which was ironic,