Ennis remembered having his own horse, before his parents died. They all had one of their own. And they'd had to sell the animals off, to make ends meet, after the accident. Ennis' horse had been the last to go, and he'd always remember the sinking pain he'd felt, deeper and more intense than he'd felt the day they laid his parents in the ground.
Choosing a horse from the stalls in the stable would be no easy task for Ennis. He had to approach each one, gage its reaction to him, and his gut instinct. He lost track of Jack as he moved slowly through the stable, the sun beginning to sink to the west before he'd made his choice.
A chestnut stallion, snorting and pawing the ground, nosing at Ennis' shoulder and whuffling at his face. Ennis said nothing, but opened the stall door to inspect the stallion closely. He saddled the animal and mounted, leaning to press his chest to the horse's neck.