A Falling Ember

Old Sam

Ugh. Unconscious again. Sheesh, can't the world give me a break? Spots of green float around me in a dark sky.  A faint breeze rustles my mane. It feels like I'm floating. I must be dead.
In the far distance of the pitch black sky, I can make out a whinnying horse. It seems to be calling me, calling me home. I yearn to reach it, but as I trot forward, my eyes open.
I'm alive!
I am in a wooden box. My back legs knock against one of the walls, making a loud clonk. My head throbs at the sound, and I realize that I am lying sprawled on the floor, on top of a soft bed of wood shavings. I gingerly put my weight on my legs and stand up-
My legs!
My broken back leg is wrapped in a heavy cast. I can't bend it. One of my front legs is covered in bitter smelling gel that was rubbed on some nasty scrapes. The part of my flank that the wolf bit is smothered in some white fluffy stuff. Whoever did this to me is definitely not equine.
I lift my weary head, and scan my surroundings.
What I see is nothing like I've ever seen before. My box is one of the many boxes lining the walls of a long house. Each one has three walls on the sides and back, and a short door in front. And in every box, is a horse. I don't think I've ever been this happy to see my kind.
"Oh! Horses! I'm alive!" I neigh.
The tall chestnut in a box across from me looks at me like I'm crazy.
"Of course you're alive! Old Sam wouldn't let such a fine, pretty, mare like you die! By the way, I'm George. You can call me George." He snorts and tosses his red mane.
"What is this place? Who is old Sam?" I ask. "I'm wild!"
"Why, you're only in the greatest barn in all of Wyoming!" George boasts. "And you're not wild anymore. You're in a stall."
Barn? What is a barn? Why are all these horses being held captive?
"We need to escape!" I whinny.
A white mare next to me pokes her head out of her stall.
"Honey, old Sam is our loving owner. We don't want to escape," she explains.
"What! He's not my owner! I'm free! I need to go home!" I protest.
"Stop yelling, you'll burst my handsome eardrums," George says. I roll my eyes. That stallion needs to stop bragging.
"Look, what is your name?" the white mare asks.
"Ember."
"Ember, eh? Pretty name for a pretty horse," George muses.
"I'm Fanta," the mare informs me. 
I want to tell the horses that I don't care, and all I want to do is get back to my journey. But I guess I am grateful to old Sam, whoever he is, for fixing me up. I stretch my neck as far as it can go over my stall door and peer down the aisle.  Horses on both sides are sleeping and talking with each other. At the end of the barn, the two large red doors are closed. Closed. There is no escape.
"Hello little one," a huge bay horse a few stalls down calls. "Are you wondering what happened last night?"
"Yes!" I whinny.
"Well, old Sam and I were going for our regular ride through the woods, and we heard the cry of a wolf. We were about to turn around when a horse neighed in fear. So we followed the sounds until we found you, collapsed in a clearing, with the wolves about to attack. So old Sam beat them away with a stick, and we pulled you home on a trailer."
"Thank you," I say, blushing. I must have looked so weak and helpless.
"Here comes old Sam now. It's feeding time!" Fanta nickers. I look eagerly toward the doors. With a squeak, they swing open..... And a human walks in. I squeal in fear and shrink back to the far corner of my stall.
"That's old Sam," George whispers.
Him! That's old Sam? A human saved me and patched my wounds?
I can see old Sam coming down the aisle, patting each horse on the head and dumping something from a bucket into their stalls. He has wrinkled tan skin, and a white beard hanging from his chin. Finally he reaches my stall. I press back as far away as I can. He stops and looks right at me.
"Hello," he declares. "Little wild filly, what should we call you? Are you going somewhere? Where is your herd?" he lifts up his bucket and pours out some kernels into a bucket in my stall. Then he continues down the aisle.
I tentatively step forward. Were those kernels food? I stick my muzzle in the bucket and taste them. It's so sweet! I dig in, licking the bucket when I finish.
I will survive here for as long as I need to recover, I promise myself, but when I am better, I will escape.