“Animals will need checking,” he says. “Fire might not have reached them, but smoke stress can do damage.”
I nod. “I’ll come with you.”
Marshall and I head toward the pasture, boots sinking into wet ground that smells of rain, ash, and trampled grass. The sky is lighter now, the kind of gray that means the worst has passed, but the cleanup is just beginning.
The animals are together more than I like.
Horses tend to cluster when they’re unsettled. Cattle too. Right now, they’re grazing, yes, but cautiously, heads lifting at every sound, muscles tight under their hides tight as coiled wire.
“Smoke stress,” I murmur. “They’ll look fine until they don’t.”
Marshall nods. “That’s what I was worried about.”
We start with the horses.
I approach slowly, hands visible, posture relaxed. Years of instinct take over. Soft voice, steady movements, no sudden changes.
The first mare flicks an ear toward me, nostrils flaring as she tests my scent. Her breathing’s a little fast.
“Hey, girl,” I murmur, resting a hand against her neck once she allows it. Her skin twitches under my palm, muscles tight. “You’ve had a rough couple of days, huh?”
I check her gums, her eyes, run my fingers along her legs, looking for heat, swelling, anything hidden by adrenaline. Smoke inhalation can sneak up on them. Same way trauma sneaks up on people.
She snorts softly but stands still.
“She okay?” Marshall asks, staying back but watching closely.
“So far,” I say. “Respiration’s elevated, but that’s expected. I’ll want to check them again tonight, though. And tomorrow. Stress crashes tend to come later.”
“Of course they do,” Marshall mutters.
I smile faintly and move on.
We work in quiet tandem. Me assessing, him observing, stepping in when an animal spooks or needs reassurance.
He’s good with them. Better than he gives himself credit for.
There’s a steadiness to him that animals recognize instantly. They know he won’t lie about what he can offer.
At one point, a young gelding sidesteps sharply when a branch cracks nearby. Marshall reacts instantly, body angling between the horse and the sound, calming him before panic can escalate.
“Good timing,” I say.
He shrugs, but I catch the tension ease from his shoulders. “Didn’t even think about it.”
“That’s usually when you do your best work.”
We move on to the cattle next. They’re alert, eyes bright, tails flicking. One cow coughs. A dry, irritated sound.
I pause. “That one inhaled more smoke than I’d like.”
Marshall follows my gaze. “Bad?”
“Not yet,” I say. “But she’ll need monitoring. Hydration. If it worsens, antibiotics, anti-inflammatories. We caught it early.”
He nods, jaw set. “Tell me what you need.”
I glance at him, surprised despite myself. “I will.”
