The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

down with a thump. Her skin went pale, then an interesting shade of gray.
“Better stay still,” I told her. I went to fetch the horse. His front foot was
tangled in the reins, but otherwise he seemed fine, and he stood politely while
I untangled him. He was bigger than Butter, and far more handsome—
beautiful shiny coat, long elegant legs. He sniffed my hands the way Butter
often did. “No treats,” I told him.
I started to walk him back to the girl, but honestly, my foot hurt, and also
the horse was so pretty. I pulled the reins over his head, put my good foot into
the left stirrup, and hauled myself aboard.
The saddle felt snug and comfortable after the loose sliding expanse of
Butter’s bare back. I couldn’t put my bad foot into a stirrup, but I liked the
feel of the stirrup on my good foot. I gathered the reins up, and the horse
delicately arched his neck.
I thumped him with my heels, and he nearly bolted. My mistake. Clearly
the horse responded to much softer signals than Butter. I pulled him back, and
used my legs very gently. He walked forward, a fine, long-striding, loopy sort
of walk.
Now the girl was standing, hanging on to the wall. She called, “Take him
around by the gate.”
I had a better idea. The horse had jumped in; it could jump out. I kicked
him forward. He took a few enormously bouncy strides, then settled into a
nice smooth run. Oh, I thought, my breath catching in my throat. This was
what it felt like to move fast without pain. I pulled on the reins and aimed the
horse straight for the wall. He never hesitated—up and over in one smooth
bound. Flying. I held on to his mane with both hands and flew with him. We
landed together on the other side. I laughed out loud.
“Show-off,” the girl said, but she was laughing too. “Lucky you there isn’t
another airplane.”
“Lucky me,” I said. “Can you ride him now?”
She moved her right arm experimentally, and winced. “I’ll never be able to
hold him,” she said. “Not one-handed. And my head hurts terribly. Can I get
up behind you?”
I scooched forward. The saddle was plenty big. I took my foot out of the
stirrup and helped pull her onto the horse. “You can have the foot things,” I
said.
She put her good arm around my waist. “They’re called stirrups,” she said,
slipping her feet into them. “Just go back the way I came from. And walk,