On a cool day in the South Carolina Lowcountry, I found myself standing in a small pasture, surrounded by three horses, two women, and a potbellied pig named Bart.
The horse closest to me was Relicario, a solitary gelding unrelated to a mother-daughter pair nearby. His burnt umber coat gleamed in the late morning sun, and a shaggy mane fell over his eyes as he grazed. I positioned my body parallel to Reli’s, both of us facing south. When he stepped forward, I stepped forward, too. For several minutes, we moved in quiet alignment. Nearby, my mom was doing the same odd dance with a mare.
At the time, I was only a few months out
