That came as no surprise to Amy, not anymore, not after hearing about Ryan’s other selfless acts. He was that rare breed of person: the kind who put everyone else ahead of himself, the kind of person who wore his humanity like a second skin and couldn’t shed it if he tried.

He continued. “Anyway, getting her out of there turned out to be the easy part. Getting her to trust another human being again? Not so much. Her sense of self-preservation was almost that of a wild horse’s. She hated being touched, hated the round pen—she double-barreled me to the ground the first time I tried to get her in there. I broke three ribs, and you can still see the spot where the bruise was!”

“Ouch! Can I look?”

Ryan lifted his shirt up high and pointed to where the hooves had struck, a discolored patch an inch or so down from his chest. Amy looked a little closer. His skin was tanned and he was strong and muscular, probably a natural result of being outside and working with horses.

“Looks sore,” she said, dragging her gaze back up to meet his.

“Tell me about it.”

“How did you get through to her?”

He dropped his shirt. “By keeping my distance. I didn’t force it. All I did was keep her fed and warm and let her get used to me being around. I made sure she saw me each and every day, made sure she knew that I was one of the good guys.”

“And that worked?”

“That and a lot of patience. Unfortunately, though, her scars run deep. I’m still the only one she’ll trust. She won’t let anyone else near.”

Amy smiled as she took another sip. “And the name?”

“Little Dipper?”

“Yeah, where did that come from?”

“Oh, that came easy. She’s named after the constellation. How well do you know your stars?”

“Not very.”

“But you know the Little Dipper?”

“No.”

“But you’ve heard of it?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t point it out.”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

He took her by the hand and led her to the couch, then shuffled off to a corner of the attic where he pulled out a cardboard box. He carried it back across the room and opened it up. Peering inside, Amy saw its contents were random—record albums, books, framed photos, a diary, some handwritten notes, and one object that looked out of place: a sheet of X-ray film tucked at the back. The box appeared to be a collection of keepsakes, belonging to or in memory of someone.