It wanted to leave Khanaqin as quick as possible

That night, the horse was thrashing and writhing in agony, suffering from the pain of its wound. Much of its blood had drained from its body, and as time passed, it had lost its strength and was no longer able to move. Despite the pain, it tried to nibble from the grass and plants nearby. It had become near-impossible for the horse to graze, it had no energy left and it also had to be mindful of the pieces of shrapnel and bullet casings scattered on the ground between the plants. Every time it takes a bite, its lips or teeth touched a bullet, a piece of shrapnel or a casing. When the sun finally rose, the horse resembled a weary painter who, after considerable effort, has completed his painting and fallen asleep on top of it, exhausted and barely alive.

For a few days, the horse fed on the same plants and grass and drank from the rainwater collected in a puddle nearby. About a week passed in this fashion, and the wound on its leg was healing.

*

Gradually, the horse was getting accustomed to standing on its remaining three healthy legs and falling less often.

The anti-aircraft guns and rifles of both Iran and Iraq had burst into action. From both sides, the whizzing sound of bullets, the roar of tanks, and the booming sound of artillery fire could be heard. Hence, nobody dared to approach the horse, and its owner wasn’t found. I had acquired such power that nobody dared to come near me. I had grown so tall that even airplanes and helicopters were mindful of me.