Bonus Two

The first time I tried introducing Lumen to another horse, she froze at the gate, muscles tight, nostrils flaring. It wasn’t aggression. It was fear. The kind that comes from too many bad memories. I could almost hear the thoughts racing behind her eyes: Would this one bite? Kick? Drive me off?

She'd been isolated for weeks in quarantine, and before that, isolated in other ways; used, bred, ignored. Herd life, with its shifting dynamics and subtle conversations, was foreign territory now. Trusting a human had been hard enough. Trusting her own kind? That was a different mountain entirely.

The Loshenka I chose for the first meet-and-greet was Le Monde aka Zenyatta (Zen), steady, kind, mare, the sort of mare who walked away from conflict rather than toward it. I led her into the adjoining paddock first and waited. Lumen stood back, ears tilted sideways, legs tense.

Zen didn’t rush. She just grazed, glancing over every so often like she knew she was being watched. Lumen inched forward, barely, and then stopped. Her hooves pawed the dirt nervously. But she didn’t run.

The next day, we tried again. This time, I opened the gate between the two paddocks. Zen ambled over, calm as ever. Lumen’s head shot up. For a moment, I thought she might bolt. But she stayed.

Zen stretched her neck out, slow and soft, and Lumen turned her head away—but didn’t back up. Zen reached farther, her muzzle brushing Lumen’s shoulder.

And Lumen… stood still.

No flinch. No retreat. Just a long, shaking breath. Then she turned her head, nose twitching, and touched Zenyatta's flank. Barely. Briefly.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

They stood like that for five seconds.. then ten before drifting apart, both calm, both quiet. No drama. No fear. Just space shared.

The next morning, I found them grazing side by side.