I slid off his back and as I hit the ground, me knees buckled, sending me right down to the ground, beneath Nimo. I just sat there. I didn’t want to move. And I couldn’t, really. Sitting under a 3 year old stallion is hardly safe under any circumstances, but just then, I didn’t care. I didn’t feel any fear, and couldn’t stop crying in any event.  I must have been there for almost an hour, and Nimo just stood over me, nuzzling my hair. I had never seen this side of him. He was so concerned and caring, I’d had no idea he had that in him. He didn’t seem to care about the other horses. It was like he knew he, like all the rest of the horses, depended on me, just like one of their own. And if I weren’t ok, they wouldn’t be either.

I don’t think I had ever felt that cared for in my life. It was as if this was the first moment of clarity in a lifetime of confusion. I had trained and shown all sorts of horses, of course, and the years had taught me a lot about horses, and life; still I had never understood just how profoundly intuitive they were. All this time, I thought they didn’t know what I was trying to hide from everybody else. Yet Nimo was trying to tell me he couldn’t not know.