Silas looked away.
The mention of Mara moved through the room softly but powerfully. Buck said nothing. Outside, the wind rattled the old porch light.
Later, Silas walked alone to the pasture fence.
Nabid was in his evening place, facing Denali. The sky behind the mountain glowed with the last pale light. The bull’s huge body stood still and quiet, no longer a rejected problem from Texas, no longer a mistake in transit, no longer a liability waiting for someone else to solve.
He was simply there.
Alive.
Silas rested one hand on the fence post.
“You know,” he said, “I didn’t ask for you.”
Nabid’s ear flicked.
“I suppose you didn’t ask for me either.”
The bull turned his head slightly.
Silas smiled faintly. “Fair enough.”
He stood there until the cold began to bite through his coat.
When he returned to the house, Nessa and Buck looked up.
This story touched a part of me that has hurt underneath several careers and 65 years of life. I'm 71 now. My family is a long established name there. My memories of ranching, accidents, rodeo stock, flash floods and family loss are different than the way life is lived today. This story is magnificent, thank you for sharing it. And maybe there's hope for some of us humans that just need space and understanding. It's been 40 years since I became a civilian after 11 years as a
U.S. Marine. This story and that bull have more meaning than some will ever know. Thank you once again. Job well done.