Gemotions

The leather felt rough and unfamiliar against her calloused palms. Clara ran her fingers over the new saddle, a stark contrast to the perfectly worn one she'd inherited from her mentor, Thomas. It hung now, gathering dust in the tack room. Thomas, who had always been there, who had patiently guided her, was nowhere to be found. A curt email, a vague farewell, and silence. She kicked a bale of hay, the force sending a cloud of dust billowing into the stale air. The silence of the ranch felt heavy, suffocating.