horsehair. sunset light. the sound of boots on old wood.
"he didn’t say much. just tipped his hat, fed the mare, and watched the horizon."
the air smells like leather and hay. there’s always dust in the light, and a saddle in the corner that no one moves. if you listen closely, you’ll hear hooves pacing just outside.
tobias still checks the barn doors. still oils the reins. still hums that tune like the war's not over. he doesn’t talk about how he died. but olivia, his horse, is still waiting. and so is he.
there’s a warmth in here that sticks to you. the kind that makes you miss home, even if you never had one. that’s what toby does. he makes you wish you stayed longer.