The man felt his chest tighten. The mare turned to him, snorting gently, her gaze pleading for mercy.

“I… I’m sorry,” he whispered, a lump forming in his throat. “You weren’t atta:cking… you were begging for help.”

Without hesitation, he hurried over, carefully lifting the foal in his arms as if cradling a child. He dashed toward his car while the mother ran close by, panting heavily, unwilling to let her baby out of sight.

At the veterinary clinic, the scene was frantic—harsh lights, the sharp sting of antiseptic, tense faces of doctors rushing in and out.

Hours crawled by until at last the vet stepped out of surgery.

“He’s lucky,” the vet said. “A little longer and we wouldn’t have been able to save him. But he’s going to make it.”

The shopkeeper exhaled a long breath of relief. Through the window, he saw the mare lying on the grass, exhausted and trembling, her gaze fixed on the clinic door.

Later, the man repaired his storefront window. Beside it, he hung a photo of the foal and its mother, with a caption that read:

“Even the wildest actions can spring from love.”