The chestnut horse leaped directly in front of the automobile, began to snort, scuffed its hoofs against the tarmac, and looked directly at me. Then I noticed something awful.
I nearly had an accident yesterday. And a horse was the reason for my near-crash.
That’s right, a real, enormous chestnut horse.
The story began as usual: I was going about my daily business while driving in the fog on an empty road. With just the forest and a few solitary, dried trees, the road was silent. Something odd suddenly sprung out in front of me. I applied the brakes at the last second, causing the tires to squeal and the car to stop a few millimeters away from the animal.
The horse was standing in front of me, rearing up on its hind legs. As if to stop me, it snorted, slammed its hooves into the tarmac, and peered directly through the glass. At first, I was afraid to leave since my heart was racing so much. Despite its nervousness and apparent attempt to communicate, the horse was obviously not intending to go.
I opened the door cautiously and went outside. Without delay, the equine charged into the woods. I had a gut feeling that I had to follow. I chased after the automobile after locking the doors.
We came to a halt near an ancient, deserted well. The horse stamped next to it, stomped on the ground, and snorted, looking down repeatedly. I came closer, and I halted in terror as I peered inside. There was a
There was a man at the bottom, in the shadows. He moaned softly and moved with effort, scarcely alive. I shouted down to him that aid was on its way and promptly phoned the rescue services and an ambulance.
The reality was revealed when they eventually managed to bring him to the surface. This man fell into the well after slipping while riding his horse through the forest. The horse ran out to the road, directly toward me, because it was unable to assist him on its own.
Who knows how things would have turned out if it weren’t for that horse. And it still amazes me that a chance meeting on a deserted road became a true miracle.
