In the stillness of that holy night

I remember the night by the way the air tasted, sharp with frost, heavy with waiting.

My hooves ached from pulling, my breath rose in pale ghosts, and the town called Bethlehem pressed tight with people and noise. Every doorway was full. Every stable already held something warmer than hope. I was tied near the edge of the road, waiting for my owner's return, when I saw them pause.

The man walked with the careful steps of someone trying not to show fear. The woman leaned into him, one hand at her back, the other resting where new life stirred.

I did not know their names then.

I only knew the so...