At the village edge, mourners stood by a fresh grave, the air heavy with grief. The polished coffin rested beside the open earth as prayers were whispered.
Then, the sound of pounding hooves shattered the silence. A chestnut horse burst from the forest, running straight toward the crowd. People panicked, fearing it might trample someone — but the animal stopped abruptly, just before the coffin.
It didn’t move, didn’t look at anyone. Its gaze was locked on the wooden box. When the final farewell came, the horse lowered its head, let out a soft, aching whinny, and tapped the coffin lid twice with its hoof — as if trying to wake its friend.
Whispers spread: it was his horse, raised from a foal, his constant companion through every season of life.
The truth became clear — it hadn’t wandered here by chance. It had come to say goodbye. And when the ceremony ended, while the villagers left, the horse stayed — head bowed, refusing to leave its friend’s side.
