Have, then, Dam’s prayers for me been answered? When I pass through every memory, as far back as I am able, I arrive at only one answer to this question. My life itself has been a long, prayerful response to my Dam and the fire star. In thinking back to the first echo of my heart, I do not find Monique and her disappointment in me. Nor do I even find Dam and her protection. I find the blue mountains.

I was born here and am grateful that, though I was nearly forced once to leave, I shall remain here forever. Though I will never travel through all of them, I have traveled the mountains enough, along the Maury River and beyond, to know that what can be seen from my room is only their beginning. I am sure the blue mountains go on and on. It comforts me to know that whether I can see them or not, I will always be surrounded by the mountains and the river.

These mountains have watched me grow blind. Yet in the time it has taken me to become an old and failing horse, the mountains have aged but a second. I cannot see, and I am not afraid. Standing here now, in my field with Gwen and Mac, some greater vision has replaced my eyesight.

Here, at the Maury River Stables, is where I will remain for as many more days as I am granted. More than once, I have heard Mother instruct Mrs. Maiden that I am to always occupy the corner room because of its ample space. I have no anxiety about my future and the care that I shall receive, nor do I need to search for food or water, as once I did. I fear nothing and am certain that of the many horses whose end will come in Lynchville, or some similar place, I shall never be among them.

Though I am now entirely blind, I do not lack a meaningful purpose, for I am surrounded by friends. I cannot see them, but I know when they are near. I continue my work with the therapeutic school; my students continue to pray for me every night, and I for them. My former student Kenzie comes often, too; she is helping me learn to be blind. Even Zack has been known to stop by for a visit.

Claire and Mother still agree that though Claire’s talent has surpassed my own, we are family and will remain bound forever. Now that Claire is away, studying at a university at the edge of the blue mountains, Mother comes most often to hold me for the farrier or pull my mane. These days, sleep comes easiest to me when my mane is being pulled. I can smell when it’s Mother coming up behind me. She always carries a stud biscuit in her pocket. Mother’s skin smells cleaner than the sweat and grain that Mrs. Maiden wears on her skin. Even if I could not recognize Mother from the smell of her skin, I would know her by the way she sneaks around my face and reaches above my cheek to kiss me.

She speaks quietly to me. “Oh, I love this soft silky spot. That’s my spot.” She presses her lips deep into my head the same as she has always done.

Claire continues to visit me as her school schedule allows. When she comes home, she takes such an interest in grooming me herself that I confess there are times when I indulge in rolling deep into a briar patch without fear of being admonished. Claire still seems especially content to pull the briars out of my forelock, as she has done for so many years now. She is unfazed by my blindness. Where once she came to me, a small child with a big spirit who needed the mounting block to reach my mane, Claire now stands eye to eye with me.

Those days when Claire comes home fill me with joy! Claire still tacks me up in the same way she has done for what must be ten years now, for the new dentist recently observed that I am in my early thirties. In the ring, Claire guides me surely through my paces, keeping her calves tight on me, holding me up, and guiding me on. She likes to reassure me, “I’ve got you, Chancey. I’ve got you.” Then, together, we pop over a tiny fence; it still feels as if we are each other’s wings.

After warming up in the ring, Claire asks me, “Whaddya say, Chance? Are you up for a nice gallop through the mountains?” She does not wait for me to nicker, though I always do. Claire takes off the saddle and rides me bareback across the Maury River, up the right bank, and into the blue mountains. When I feel her ask for the canter with a light squeeze, I wait until Claire whispers two words before giving in.

“Yah, boy,” she tells me softly. “Yah, boy!” she yells into the wind.

Though I can no longer see any of the trail before me, the eye of my heart sees perfectly well — just as clearly as if I had never been marked by this cancer. I can see Claire in her overalls, tenderly reaching the mask around my eyes to protect them from the sun. I can see the moment that changed me — forever.

Shortly after my arrival at the Maury River Stables, Claire had reached out to touch my marred face. I stood before her. I was malnourished, soiled, and nearly used up. I had wanted to save her from loving me and being disappointed. I know now that Claire loved me the very second that I loved her, and so she already knew everything about me that she needed to know. What she did not yet know she would come to accept with a greater compassion toward me than I ever thought possible, except, perhaps, from my own dam. Claire would not leave me to feel sorry for myself; Claire would continue to love me.

She never saw me as the castoff that I had become, abandoned in a field. Instead, she saw the horse that I was born to be, the great horse that the stars foretold on the night of my birth. Yet more than the stars could ever have predicted, I know that if I have been made great, at all, it is due entirely to the prayers of Dam and the love of Claire. So here I will stand, facing Saddle Mountain, listening for the whisper of Claire’s return, and offering back all that I am now able, an infinite thanksgiving for this truly blessed life I have lived.