The mud swallowed her boots first.
Cold.
Thick.
Hungry.
Deputy Lara felt it seep through the seams of her uniform the second she stepped into the back pen. It wasn’t the kind of mud you scraped off later.
This mud stole heat.
Stole strength.
Stole hope.
But the mare didn’t have any of those left to lose.
So Lara kept walking.
Each step made a wet, sucking sound, like the earth trying to drag her down too. Rain mixed with sleet, tapping against the tin roof overhead. The sky hung low and gray, pressing everything flat and silent.
Except for one sound.
A rasp.
Thin. Fragile.
Breathing that didn’t want to keep going.
“There… there she is,” the farmer whispered behind her, voice cracking.
The mare lay on her side near the fence.
Too still.
Too quiet.
Her once-deep chestnut coat was caked in dirt and manure. Ribs pressed sharp against her skin like broken fingers trying to push through. A rope still hung loosely around her neck, soaked and stiff.
Her head was twisted awkwardly in the muck.
Nostrils crusted.
Eyes half-open but unfocused.
Alive.
But barely.
Lara dropped to her knees without thinking.
The cold hit instantly, soaking through denim, then skin.
Didn’t matter.
The vet’s voice still rang in her ear from the phone call minutes earlier.
Hypothermic shock. Keep her warm. Keep her awake. Don’t let her shut down.
Don’t let her shut down.
Like it was that simple.
Like you could just ask a body not to quit.
“Hey girl…” Lara whispered, sliding closer.
The mare’s ear twitched weakly at the sound.
That tiny movement hit harder than anything.
She’s still here.
“I know… I know,” Lara murmured, tears already cutting warm lines through the dirt on her cheeks. “It hurts, huh?”
Her voice wasn’t the firm command voice she used on calls.
Not the officer voice.
This one was soft.
The kind you use with something breakable.
She slipped one arm under the mare’s heavy neck.
God.
She hadn’t expected the weight.
Solid bone and muscle, even starved and weak.
Carefully, slowly, Lara lifted.
The mare’s head sagged into her lap like it had been waiting for somewhere to rest.
A long, shaky sigh escaped the animal’s chest.
Not pain.
Relief.
Like finally—finally—something wasn’t hard ground.
“Oh sweetheart…” Lara breathed.
She cradled the muddy face against her stomach, brushing filth away from the nostrils with her sleeve.
The mare’s breath hit her arm in short bursts.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
“Just lean on me,” Lara whispered. “I’ve got you. All of you. You don’t gotta hold yourself up anymore.”
The mare didn’t fight.
Didn’t resist.
She just… leaned.
All that weight.
All that trust.
Right into Lara.
Like Lara was the only steady thing left in the world.
Behind her, the farmer muttered, “Vet said twenty minutes out.”
Twenty minutes.
It sounded like a lifetime.
Or nothing at all.
Time gets strange when something’s dying in your lap.
Lara rubbed the mare’s neck, slow circles, like she used to do with her old dog when storms scared him.
“You stay with me, okay?” she whispered. “Don’t you go anywhere. You hear me?”
The mare’s eyelids fluttered.
Closing.
“No, hey—hey, look at me,” Lara said quickly, tapping her cheek gently. “Stay up. Stay with me.”
She started talking.
About nothing.
About everything.
Anything to keep sound in the air.
“You know, my partner hates paperwork. Says I talk too much on calls. Guess you’re stuck with me rambling, huh?”
Her voice shook.
“But you don’t get to quit today. Not today.”
Rain slid down her neck.
Mud crept into her sleeves.
Her legs were numb now.
Didn’t matter.
If this animal had to fight—
She wouldn’t fight alone.
The mare’s breathing hitched.
Then slowed.
Just a little.
Lara pressed her palm against the ribcage, counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
Come on.
Four.
Five.
Still there.
“Good girl,” she whispered fiercely. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
The pen was silent except for their breaths.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
After a while, they started matching.
Like two clocks ticking together.
Like the mare borrowed Lara’s rhythm.
Borrowed her will.
“You’re not alone,” Lara murmured into the muddy mane. “You hear me? Not alone.”
Headlights suddenly flickered through the fence.
An engine.
Fast.
The vet.
Relief hit so hard Lara almost laughed.
“See?” she whispered. “Told you. Help’s coming. Just had to wait with me.”
The mare’s ear twitched again.
Tiny.
But there.
Boots splashed behind her. Voices. Equipment clanking.
“Let’s get fluids started—blankets—easy with her—”
Hands moved around them.
But Lara didn’t let go yet.
Not until she felt that pulse again under her fingers.
Still faint.
Still fighting.
She pressed her forehead gently to the mare’s.
“You did good,” she whispered. “You stayed. That’s all I asked.”
For a moment, the chaos faded.
No sirens.
No shouting.
Just this.
Mud.
Cold.
And one exhausted animal breathing against her sleeve.
Alive.
The vet finally touched her shoulder. “We’ve got her.”
Lara nodded.
But her arms stayed wrapped around the mare just a second longer.
Because sometimes saving something isn’t about strength.
Or speed.
Or training.
Sometimes it’s just this—
Sitting in the dirt.
Ruining your uniform.
Holding something scared and broken.
And refusing to let it feel alone while it fights.
As they lifted the mare onto the stretcher, Lara stood slowly, legs trembling, soaked and filthy and freezing.
Didn’t care.
Because when the mare’s eyes opened one more time—
They weren’t empty anymore.
They were calm.
Like she knew.
Someone had stayed.
And sometimes…
that’s enough to keep a heart beating.
