You walk toward it in hopes of helping it to safety.
You place a hand on its side. Its breathing seems ragged and
shallow. It kicks, and you see it looking at you. Buster whines, and
pulls at your sleeve. "What, Buster?" you ask in an annoyed
tone. You look up and see a little shelter- humble, but large enough
to shelter a dog, a girl, and a wounded filly.
