Rajko_ilic_gara_sa_golije_rajkova_gara Page

Rajko sat by his small wood stove, nursing a cup of herbal tea. His leg, shattered years ago by a falling log, throbbed fiercely in the cold. He looked at his reflection in the darkened window. He was running out of flour, and more importantly, his heart medication was down to the last two pills.

"Keep going, Gara," he wheezed into her ear. "Just a little further, my girl." rajko_ilic_gara_sa_golije_rajkova_gara

Rajko lay low against her neck, his fingers buried deep in her thick mane. The cold was a living thing, clawing through his clothes, turning his mustache to icicles. His vision blurred. The crushing weight in his chest grew heavier. Rajko sat by his small wood stove, nursing

"Gospodni pomiluaj... it's Rajko!" one yelled, rushing to catch the old man as he slid, semi-conscious, from the horse's back. He was running out of flour, and more

Rajko walked over and buried his face in her mane, weeping silent tears of gratitude. The mountain had tried to take them, but the bond between Rajko Ilić and his Gara was carved deeper than the valleys of Golija.

Gara pushed on. Her powerful chest acted like a snowplow, her muscles steaming in the sub-zero air. She didn't stop when a branch snapped under the weight of snow, sounding like a gunshot. She didn't stop when the scent of a wolf pack drifted across their path. She walked with the relentless, stubborn cadence of the mountain itself.