Discards

The stable made a ton of money at the holidays, offering winter woods tours, sleigh rides, and meet-n-greets with the ambassador horses - all of it jolly and bright under a crap ton of twinkling lights. Dominic volunteered every year to move into the back outbuilding with the rescues instead; he'd wheel out from lodge with chains on his chair and piles of blankets, books, and supplies in the cart he towed behind - navigating the makeshift ramp to the main doors like a pro. He'd lock in, perform a systems check, then fire up the local heater, turn some music on, and set about pampering the ones with blindness, injuries, and traumas undefined. He opened the stalls for mingling, but only the two dwarf ponies came out that first night (with caution, then glee) to sit and listen to him read aloud (then sleep near his bed after apples and carrots). The keeper's "apartment" was really just a stall for humans at the back, but he didn't need much more than that. Outside, the world was overachieving and overwrought, but Dominic and the other discards knew that survival was the real gift and, if you got love and care and comfort on top of that, hot damn was that a thing.