PART 2 — WHAT HE WAS TRYING TO SHOW HER
“You never told me, Papa.”
Don Aurelio’s eyes, tired but still sharp, rested on Natalie as if weighing whether she was ready.
“Because you weren’t ready to listen,” he said. “And I wasn’t ready to let you carry it.”
She leaned closer. “Carry what?”
He glanced toward the door, making sure it was closed.
“Tormenta isn’t a horse you train,” he whispered. “He’s a horse you earn.”
Natalie frowned slightly. “He’s dangerous. Everyone says so.”
“He’s not dangerous,” Don Aurelio replied. “He remembers.”
The words lingered in the air.
“Remembers what?” she asked.
“Everything,” he said. “Every hand that struck him. Every voice that lied. Every person who tried to break him.”
Natalie felt something tighten in her chest.
“Then why keep him?” she asked. “Why not let him go?”
Her father smiled faintly.
“Because he taught me something no man ever could.”
He reached weakly for her hand.
“People will show you who they are when they think you’re powerless,” he said. “Tormenta never forgot that. Neither should you.”
She didn’t fully understand.
Not then.
But she would.
Back in the present, Natalie stood outside the makeshift stable, watching Tormenta under the fading light. Three days had passed since she moved him to the borrowed land, and nothing had improved.
He refused food unless she left it and walked away.
He kicked if she came too close.
He watched her constantly—but never with trust.
Vicente leaned against the fence beside her.
“You’re trying too hard,” he said quietly.
“I’m trying to survive,” she replied.
He shook his head. “That horse doesn’t respond to force. And he doesn’t respond to fear either.”
“Then what does he respond to?”
Vicente looked at her.
“Truth.”
She let out a breath. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Neither did your father,” Vicente said. “Not at first.”
The next morning, Natalie did something different.
She didn’t approach Tormenta.
She didn’t speak.
She simply entered the corral and sat on the ground, several meters away, her back against the fence.
Tormenta reacted instantly—ears back, muscles tense, ready.
But she didn’t move.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
The sun climbed higher, heat pressing down, dust settling into stillness.
Eventually, Tormenta shifted.
Not closer.
But not farther either.
Natalie swallowed hard.
It was the first time he hadn’t tried to drive her away.
So she came back the next day.
And the next.
She stopped trying to control him.
Stopped expecting anything.
