Daisy pressed her palm against the corral fence and watched the gray stallion pace the far edge. No other farrier in Gritstown would take this job. The horse had kicked through two gates and sent a ranch hand to the doctor with broken ribs. But Daisy's grandmother had taught her that emotions flow through fingertips like heat through iron, and she planned to prove it. This horse would be hers to gentle. She hauled the wooden feeding trough into position near the center of the corral. Apples and carrots filled the trough, their bright colors stark against the packed earth beneath. The stallion stopped pacing and flicked his ears toward her. She kept her movements slow and steady, then backed away ten feet. A wary animal needed space to let its guard down. The horse snorted and tossed his head, but his gaze stayed fixed on the food. Daisy settled onto the ground and waited. Her grandmother had gentled Widow-Maker the same way—patience first, then trust, then touch. The stallion took one step forward, then another. Daisy breathed out slow and felt the anger in her chest loosen into something calmer.

The stallion's hooves struck dirt as he lunged toward the trough, then skittered back. Daisy stayed still on the ground, her legs crossed, her hands resting loose on her knees. Three days she'd been coming here at dawn with food and silence. Three days the horse had tested the space between them, stretching his neck closer each time but never close enough to eat. Her grandmother's voice echoed in her head—patience first, then trust, then touch. The stallion's ears swiveled forward. He took two steps, paused, then dropped his muzzle into the trough. Daisy let out a slow breath. This was the beginning. She rose to her feet inch by inch, keeping her eyes down. The stallion's head jerked up, an apple chunk still caught between his teeth. She stayed frozen, waiting. He chewed slowly, watching her. When he lowered his head to eat again, she took one step to the side. Then another. Moving along the fence line, she kept her body turned away from him. Her grandmother had told her that pressure pushes and space pulls. The horse needed to learn she wasn't a threat. By the time the sun cleared the corral fence, she'd walked a full circle around the Haven of Hooves Corral while he ate. The stallion stamped once but didn't bolt. Tomorrow she'd move closer.