"Plants, animals, even stones. You just need to learn how to listen." Bun turned to look at her, his eyes shining with genuine interest. "Your grandfather was wise," he said. "The wisest of our tribe," replied Nageli with pride.
"He taught me to raise Thunder when he was just a calf. He was so sweet then, so trusting. But 6 months ago, there was a terrible storm. Lightning struck near the corral, and one bolt hit a tree that collapsed right in front of him. Since that day, he changed."
"Now, he only sees danger everywhere." Bun nodded slowly, processing every word. Now he understood. Thunder wasn't naturally aggressive. He was traumatized, living in a constant state of alert, waiting for the next disaster to fall on him at any moment.
"He needs to feel safe again," said Bun. "He needs to know that not everything in the world is going to hurt him." Nageli sat down next to him, keeping a respectful distance, but feeling curious about this strange cowboy who spoke of animal feelings as if they were as real as human ones. "Many tried," she said softly. "They started with patience, but after a fuse, they got frustrated."
"They wanted quick results. Thunder could feel that impatience, that frustration, and he got worse." "I'm in no hurry," replied Bun. "I have all the time in the world." Hours passed like that, simply observing the bull.
Bun noticed that Thunder walked in circles, following the same pattern over and over, always staying away from the north side of the corral where the tree had fallen. He noticed how his ears moved with every sound, how his tail twitched when he was especially nervous. By noon, Bun stood up slowly and went to fetch something. Nageli watched him with curiosity as he returned with a bucket of fresh water and some high-quality hay.
Instead of trying to enter the corral, he simply placed both items near the fence where Thunder could reach them easily, but without feeling threatened. "Is that it?" asked Nageli, surprised. "For today, yes," replied Bun. "Tomorrow, I'll come back and do the same, and the day after that, too. Until he understands that my presence means good things, not danger."
Nageli shook her head, but there was something in her expression that was no longer mockery. It was budding respect. "The other cowboys wanted to ride him in 3 days," she commented. "You're talking about weeks." "Valuable things take time," said Bun, looking her directly in the eyes.
"And your Thunder is very valuable, isn't he?" Nageli felt her heart accelerate slightly. This cowboy not only understood animals, but also people. "Yes," she admitted softly. "He is." That afternoon, as the sun began to set, something extraordinary happened.
Thunder, who had ignored the water and hay for hours, finally approached. He sniffed cautiously, looking toward where Bun was sitting again, and then, with slow and deliberate movements, drank from the water. Nageli held her breath. It was a small but significant step. "Did you see that?" she whispered with contained emotion.
"He's starting to trust." "It's just water," responded Nageli, though her voice trembled slightly. "Anyone could have brought water." "It's not just water," corrected Bun. "It's a promise."
"The promise that when I am near, he will be safe and cared for." As they walked back to town together, Nageli realized something that made her uncomfortable and excited at the same time. For the first time in 6 months, she had real hope of getting her Thunder back. And something deeper, something she didn't want to admit yet, was beginning to bloom in her heart toward this patient and wise cowboy.
The town watched them with curiosity. Day one had ended, and although nothing dramatic had happened, something had definitely changed. A week had passed since that first day, and the whole town was talking about the strange cowboy who spent hours sitting by the corral without doing absolutely anything. Some mocked him, others bet on when he would give up, but Bun listened to no one.
Every dawn arrived with fresh food, clean water, and most importantly, his constant and calm presence. Thunder had begun to wait for him. He no longer bellowed with fury when Bun approached. His ears no longer flattened against his head in signs of aggression. It was slow progress, almost imperceptible to others, but for Bun and Nagaeli, every small change was a monumental victory.
Nagaeli had started arriving every morning, too. First, she told herself it was only to watch Thunder, to make sure the cowboy didn't do anything that could harm her beloved animal. But the truth was different. She enjoyed Bun's company, his stories about the roads he had traveled, his infinite patience, and his gentle way of seeing the world.
"My grandfather used to say that animals are mirrors of our souls," commented Nagaeli one morning as they watched Thunder chew hay peacefully. "If you are nervous, they are nervous. If you are at peace, they find peace." Bun smiled, impressed by the depth of that wisdom. "Your grandfather was a very intelligent man."
"In my years traveling the West, I've met many cowboys who treated animals like tools, not like beings with feelings. It always seemed sad to me." "And your family?" Nigella with genuine curiosity. "Did they think differently?" Bun looked toward the horizon, his eyes filling with nostalgia.
"My father was a hard man, one of those who believed strength solved everything. But my mother, she was different. She taught me that true strength lies in gentleness, in knowing when to be soft instead of hard. When she died, I left home. I couldn't bear to see how my father treated the animals on our farm."
Nigella felt a deep connection with those words. She had also chosen her own path, staying faithful to her grandfather's teachings, even when others in her tribe had adopted more aggressive methods. "I think your mother would be proud of you," she said softly. That day, Bun decided to take the next step.
Slowly, very slowly, he entered the corral for the first time. Nigella tensed immediately, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. But Bun moved with supernatural calm. His steps were deliberate and non-threatening. Thunder watched him, his muscles tense, but he didn't attack.
Bun stopped several meters away and simply stood there, making no sudden movements. He took an apple from his pocket, broke it into pieces, and placed them on the ground in front of him. Then he slowly backed away to the fence. "You are a gift to him," Bun said in a low voice, not a threat, just a friend who brings good things.
30 minutes passed, 40, an hour. Nigella barely breathed, watching every second of this silent dance between man and beast. And then, miraculously, Thunder moved. Step by step, with extreme caution, he approached the apples. He sniffed them, looked at Bun, and finally ate one.
"He did it," whispered Nigella with emotion. "He really did it." Bun smiled, but he didn't move. He knew this was a crucial moment, and any premature celebration could ruin everything. Over the next few days, the routine continued.