“Come on, boy,” he whispered, stroking the horse’s soaked mane. “He’s gone now.”

Storm turned his head slowly and pressed his muzzle against Daniel’s chest, as if he understood. He followed him home, one step at a time, his once-majestic posture now subdued with sorrow.

That night, he stood outside Thomas’s empty stable — the same place he had escaped from two days earlier — and refused to go inside. For hours, he remained there, gazing toward the fields he and his master had once ridden together, as if expecting Thomas to appear again at dawn.

When Daniel finally managed to coax him into the stall, Storm turned once more toward the door, gave a soft exhale — almost like a sigh — and finally lay down.

The Legacy of a Bond That Never Died

In the weeks that followed, something remarkable happened.
Each morning, at the same hour Thomas used to feed him, Storm would walk to the edge of the paddock and stand perfectly still, facing the hill where his master was buried. Rain or shine, he would remain there for a few minutes — quiet, peaceful, unmovable — before returning to his stable.

Locals began to visit, some bringing apples, others just to watch. Many said the horse seemed to be guarding the spirit of the man who had loved him more than life itself.

Even the priest wrote about it in the parish journal:

“In all my years, I have seen faith, devotion, and sorrow — but never such pure love as that between a man and his horse. Perhaps animals understand eternity better than we do.”

Months passed, then a year. Storm grew older, slower, but never missed a single morning visit.