During the funeral, a horse appeared from the woods and ran straight to the coffin: those present were shocked to learn why the animal did so.
In a quiet village nestled beside an ancient forest, a funeral was being held under a heavy, sorrowful sky. A polished wooden coffin rested beside a freshly dug grave, the earth damp and fragrant with grass. Villagers formed a circle around it, heads bowed, murmuring prayers. The soft rustle of the wind through the trees blended with quiet sobs, creating a scene filled with grief.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by an unexpected sound. The steady, powerful thud of hooves echoed like thunder on a clear day. Startled, everyone looked up. Out of the dense forest, a striking chestnut horse with a white mark on its forehead burst forth, galloping straight toward the coffin. Panic rippled through the mourners. Some screamed, others moved back in fear, certain the animal was wild or dangerous.
“It’ll trample the grave!” a frightened voice cried.
But the horse paid no attention to the chaos. Its eyes were locked only on the coffin.
Then, as if an invisible force restrained it, the animal stopped abruptly—just a few steps away. Motionless, it stood like a statue, its gaze fixed on the wooden box. The villagers slowly regained their composure, though none dared to approach. They shouted, waved, tried to drive it away, but the horse seemed not to hear. It remained there, facing the coffin, as if nothing else in the world existed.
When the moment for the final farewell arrived, something extraordinary and deeply moving took place. The horse lowered its head and released a long, mournful whinny, a cry that carried pure sorrow. Then, to the astonishment of all, it raised one front hoof and gently tapped the coffin lid. Once. Then again. The hollow thud of hoof against wood rang out in the stillness, as though the horse were trying to call its master back from eternal sleep.
The crowd fell into silence, hardly daring to breathe. At last, an elderly woman whispered, her voice quivering, “That’s his horse…”
Memories came flooding back. The man in the coffin—the kind old villager—had raised this horse from a fragile foal. They had been inseparable. He had cared for it through every season, feeding it, walking it, even in the harshest winters. For him, the horse was more than an animal; it was family.
The truth became clear. The horse had not appeared by chance or madness. It had felt the loss and, from deep within the forest, had come to bid farewell to its master.
When the ceremony ended, the villagers quietly departed. Yet the horse remained, head lowered beside the coffin. No one had the heart to lead it away. It stood there silently, as though keeping watch over the friend who was gone. And as the sun sank behind the trees, its silhouette stretched across the earth—a timeless symbol of loyalty and love that endured beyond life and death.