In the barn, Meg unsaddled Molly, brushed her down, and walked her out back. Late-afternoon tree shadows spiked over the pasture. Meg turned Molly out and breathed in the sweet aroma of horses and hay.
But the shots…so many shots.
Poachers?
It was hard to let go of the sound echoing through the trees.
She remembered the way Molly had stood, perfectly still, ears cocked forward, as if she’d heard or seen something even before it happened.
Tomorrow Meg would go back and have a look around.
Maybe she’d find what it was.
Or it would find her.