Bonus Three

Ten years.

It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since Lumen stepped off the trailer, ribs showing, eyes wide, body trembling like the ground might disappear beneath her feet. She was six then - barely into adulthood, yet already carrying a lifetime of neglect in her frame and mind.

Now, at sixteen, she carries something entirely different.

Muscle. Confidence. Peace.

Her coat glows. Those blue spots still striking, but now gleaming under the sun instead of dulled by grime. Her hooves, once rotted with thrush, are strong and sound. Her body has filled out into a picture of health, balanced and athletic, even with the wear of time.

What surprises people most isn’t her recovery. It’s her fire.

The quiet, wary mare they once called hopeless now dances through jumper rounds with ears forward and knees high, eyes shining. She never lost her careful, thinking nature, but once she realized the world wouldn’t hurt her anymore, she let her brilliance shine. Her turns are tight, her form graceful, her heart unshakable.

She never had to be a show horse. But she wanted to be.

It started with low rails in our field. She approached them with curiosity, not fear. Then clinics. Then her first local hunter class. She didn’t place, but she didn’t spook either. That was the real win. From there, she only grew.

Now, she competes regularly in jumpers, Hunter Under Saddle, cross-country events, and low-level dressage. She’s not always the flashiest, but she’s one of the most consistent. Calm, willing, thoughtful. And when it comes to dressage, she shines quietly, every movement deliberate, like she’s telling you a story with her body.

We always listen.

Beyond the ribbons and the rings, Lumen has become a mentor. We pair her with new rescues, especially the skittish ones. She doesn’t crowd them. She just exists near them. Gentle. Steady. A reminder that healing is possible.

And me? I’m still hers.

We’ve grown up together, in a way. She taught me more about patience, grace, and trust than any lesson ever could. In return, I gave her space to become who she always could’ve been.

In ten years, Lumen became not just a success story but a symbol. Of quiet strength. Of second chances. Of a horse who was never broken just waiting for someone to see her light.

And now?

She carries it with her, everywhere she goes.

Lumens POV

Ten years.

It’s strange to think about it.. how far I’ve come from the day they pulled me from that paddock. I was six then, but I felt older. Worn out. Hollow. I remember standing at the back of the pen, dust on my coat, sores stinging my sides, the weight of too many foals, and too few kind hands heavy in my bones. I didn’t even have a name back then.

Now, I do.

I’m Lumen. And I know exactly who I am.

I still remember the first time she looked at me - not with pity, but with something softer. Hope, maybe. She didn’t yank the lead rope or shout like the others had. She just waited. Gave me time. Let the wind speak for her.

And I listened.

I didn’t trust her at first, not really. But she never gave me a reason to run. She brought food and space, quiet company, and slowly, I learned what safety tasted like. I watched the others from a distance—the ones who weren’t afraid to touch, to play. One day, I stepped toward them.

That was the start of everything.

I found a friend in a mare named Zenyatta. She was steady and silent, like I was. We didn’t need to say much. She stood with me, let me breathe near her without flinching, and that was enough.

Then came the jumps.

I don’t know why I tried that first one. Curiosity, maybe. Or freedom. But I cleared it. Neat and smooth. Something in me clicked. All that careful thinking, all those years of calculating where to place each foot, I could finally use it for something beautiful.

They said I’d never be a show horse. Too fragile. Too far gone. But I proved them wrong.

Now, I race across fields with the wind in my face, clearing fences with room to spare. I carry myself tall in the dressage ring, every step balanced and strong. I listen, I move, I trust.

They watch me with wide eyes now, not because I’m broken, but because I shine.

I’ve become the kind of horse I used to imagine: one with strength, purpose, and a place in the world. And I give back when I can. I stand near the nervous ones in the barn, the ones fresh off the trailer, all bone and fear. I don’t say much.

But they see me.

And they understand.

I never thought I’d belong anywhere. But I do now. I have my name, my person, my place in the herd. I have a life that feels like mine.

They thought they rescued me.

But really… I just needed someone to show me where the light was.

And now?

I carry it with me everywhere I go.