Wonder Light by R. R. Russell Page B

great big stall. She wrapped her up, and then she settled against the inside wall of the stall and she hugged her knees to her chest and she tucked her face between her knees and she let herself cry, just for a little bit.
    Twig heard Mrs. Murley coming back in, and she rubbed her face on her knees and let her hair hang in her eyes to hide their puffiness.
    Mrs. Murley knelt beside the filly. “Mr. Murley’s looking for Mystery. She’s got to be in the yard or the pastures somewhere. Poor little girl. I see you’ve got her nice and warm.”
    Twig didn’t even try to speak around the lump in her throat. Mystery wasn’t here to look after her little girl. And according to the wild boy, that meant Twig was going to have to do it. But what exactly did that mean? Feed her? Groom her? And—
    Another howl rattled the night. Mrs. Murley froze for a second, then brushed it off. But Twig pushed herself up and stared into the darkness beyond the open stable doors.
    She ran down the aisle and a few strides beyond, out into that darkness. She screamed, “You can’t have her! You can’t!” and she grabbed the stable doors and slammed them shut, first one and then the other.
    She pressed against the doors, ready to put everything she had into holding them shut against whatever was out there in the deep dark of Lonehorn Island, howling and hunting the bleating little scrap of moonbeam, the silver-white filly. Her mother was more than vanished; she was gone, gone with a heavy certainty that coated Twig’s heart. But the filly was alive, a beautiful, wild, wonderful, little light. And in that moment, Twig was just as certain she’d do anything to keep it that way.

Chapter 14
    Twig stood at the stable door until Mrs. Murley came up behind her and pulled her shoulders to her chest and hugged her. She steered Twig back to the stall. Twig was sitting there with the filly’s head in her lap when Mr. Murley came in, all wind- and sleep-rumpled.
    He leaned into the stall. “So this is our new arrival. What a pretty little filly.” Mrs. Murley rose, and he gave her a quick hug. “There’s no sign of Mystery, and the fences are all undamaged.”
    â€œIt’s dark. I’m sure we’ll find her in the morning.”
    Twig spoke up. She nodded at the filly. “I think she’s hungry.”
    â€œI’m sure she is,” Mr. Murley said. “Hungry and confused.”
    Mrs. Murley pulled her collar up and put her hands in her pockets. “I’ll be right back.”
    She returned a few minutes later with a bowl of milk and a rag. “Hold her head in your lap, Twig, and we’ll see if we can get her to eat. Come on, wild one. I know it’s not what you want, but it’s all we’ve got.”
    Twig dipped the rag in the milk herself and offered it to the filly.
    â€œWhat should we call our little wild one?”
    â€œWild one,” Twig repeated absently, thinking more of the boy now than the filly. Who had he run to? Who would he tell about what had happened to Mystery? Twig realized she was no longer wondering who else was out there for her own curiosity, even for her own safety—she was wondering for the boy. The boy whose fear and grief had been every bit as real as his body once he came out of the shadows and stood in the faint glow of the dimmed stable lights.
    â€œYes,” Mrs. Murley said, “Wild One. Let’s call her Wild One.”
    But Twig’s heart said, No, she’s a silver-white sliver of light in the darkest night. “She should have Light in her name.”
    Mrs. Murley smiled. “Wild Light, then. What a beautiful name for our little filly.”
    â€œI’ll have to go to the vet in the morning to get some supplies so we can feed her,” Mr. Murley said.
    Twig stopped, letting the rag drip down the front of her jacket. The filly nuzzled the stream of milk. “You can’t let the