"Lana?"
"I'm here, Aunt Nier."
A small voice called out from the stables.
Six-year-old Lana peeked out from behind the stable door, her cowboy hat slightly askew over her sun-kissed forehead. Her hazel eyes sparkled beneath the brim, and even though she tried to look tough, there was a softness in her smile that no hat could hide.
"I'm feeding Tyson," she said, brushing hay from her jeans. "He's been cranky lately."
Tyson, a sturdy little pony, was munching away behind her. Lana loved taking him for walks around the stables—though Aunt Nier was always warning her she was too young to be riding solo.
"You can feed him a few soybeans," Nier replied, stepping outside with a pitchfork. "But I already fed him at dawn. I was up at 6:15—shoveled manure, changed his water, fed the others. Barn work isn't easy."
"I know," Lana said earnestly. "That's why I want to help."
Nier smiled, walking over and patting Tyson's rump.
"No, sweetie. You're still a child. What you should be doing is enjoying a carefree life—reading books, visiting the amusement park…"
"I don't like those," Lana interrupted, lowering her head. "I like horses."
Nier laughed lightly. "Riding isn't as easy as it looks. Horses are proud, stubborn, and easily scared. You could spend months training one only to get kicked off in five seconds."
Lana's lip trembled for a moment, but she stood firm. "Tyson isn't like that."
"All animals have a wild side," Nier said softly. "But I know you love him."
She placed a hand on Lana's shoulder. "Your cold just got better. You should be resting."
Lana hesitated, her desire to ride obvious—but she nodded obediently.
---
Noon.
As Aunt Nier napped on the living room couch, Lana tiptoed into the stable with the stealth of a thief. She slipped the latch off Tyson's stall and gently guided the pony outside.
Mounted atop him in her cowboy boots, denim jeans, and oversized flannel shirt, Lana smiled wide.
She was no longer Lana—she was a knight.
Her imagination transformed the stable into a castle courtyard, her ride into a white steed. She made Tyson circle once… then again… then again.
But circling wasn't enough.
She wanted more.
With a giggle, Lana nudged Tyson out of the stable and down the dirt road leading into the heart of town. Her riding was confident, practiced beyond her years. Tyson trotted forward with ease, following her lead.
But as they reached a bend in the road, disaster struck.
A line—thin and sharp—suddenly tangled around Tyson's leg.
It was a kite string, trailing from the sky like an invisible tripwire.
Tyson whinnied in panic.
Lana screamed as the pony reared up and bolted, terrified.
Branches whipped past her face as they galloped into a grove of trees.
Her body bounced violently, and her tiny hands clung desperately to the reins.
She forgot everything Aunt Nier had taught her about calming a spooked horse.
---
On the nearby field, Clark and Adam had just finished flying kites—well, mostly Adam had, because Clark never really got the hang of it.
Adam stared in horror at the horse tearing through the woods, Lana clinging to its back.
Then he looked at the kite string dangling from his hand… followed it up… and his heart sank.
It was his string.
The wind had snapped it, and the loose line had tangled around Tyson's hoof.
"I… I caused this," Adam whispered.
He swallowed hard, then shouted, "Lana! Hold on to the reins! Just hang on!"
Clark's eyes widened as he watched the chaos unfold. Lana's figure grew smaller, the trees swallowing her. He stood paralyzed, unsure of what to do.
"Crash!"
The horse crashed through the woods, branches snapping around them. Lana's legs nearly slipped from the stirrups. Leaves scratched her cheeks. Pain and fear overwhelmed her.
Tears poured down her face.
She was going to fall. She knew she was.
And then—a blur of movement.
Something—a person—burst through the trees like a missile.
With inhuman precision, Peter Patrick vaulted into the air, soared through the leaves, and landed on the horse's back behind her.
"Thump!"
In one smooth motion, he wrapped his arms around Lana, pulled the reins with his other hand, and leaned against Tyson's neck to balance the weight.
Tyson whinnied, stumbling, then slowed.
Peter gripped the pony's mane and whispered gently into its ear.
The animal recognized him, perhaps by scent or touch.
The panic in its hooves calmed.
The wild gallop slowed into a trotting rhythm.
Eventually, the forest was behind them, and they emerged into the clearing once more.
---
"Lana?" Peter asked softly, brushing a branch from her hair. "Are you hurt?"
The little girl was curled into his chest, still trembling. Her hat had fallen off. Her cheeks were streaked with dirt and tears.
"U-Uncle Patrick?" she stammered, blinking up at him.
Peter smiled and nodded. "In the flesh."
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve, sniffling. "How did you—did you fly? Are you a bird?"
He chuckled and ruffled her hair.
"Nope. I'm a flying knight."
For a second, Lana forgot all about the fear. Her eyes widened with awe.
Peter gently dismounted, still holding her, and carried her down to the grass. Then he turned toward the road.
---
Across the field, Adam came running.
He waved the broken kite string in one hand and the kite in the other.
"Dad! You were amazing!" he shouted. "You flew out of nowhere and landed on the horse like a superhero!"
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Was I? Then tell me—who was responsible for startling the horse?"
Adam gulped.
"I… I didn't mean to," he muttered, hanging his head. "The string snapped. I didn't think it would cause trouble."
Clark stepped forward, voice low. "It was my kite string that broke. I should've tied it tighter. Don't blame Adam."
Peter raised a brow.
Clark was… blushing?
He followed the boy's eyes to Lana, who now stood holding her hat, her cheeks still flushed from the adrenaline.
Peter glanced between them.
Lana looked down shyly.
Clark looked away quickly.
Peter squinted suspiciously.
Was this… a crush?
Was Clark Kent falling in love?
Already?
At six years old?
Peter sighed dramatically.
He had assumed Adam would be the handful—the kid who always jumped off barns, messed with laser beams, and pushed boundaries. But Clark?
He seemed sweet. Quiet. The type to follow rules.
And yet… here he was, blushing over a girl who had just survived a horse stampede.
Peter shook his head.
"Boys," he muttered. "One flirts with danger, the other flirts with girls."
---
Later that evening, as the boys cleaned the kite strings and Peter helped Nier settle Lana back home, he found himself staring out at the darkening sky.
Clark and Adam were changing.
The world was changing.
And with it… the story he was caught in.
The discovery of Kryptonite. The buried child. The strings of fate tangling around a small farm in Kansas.
And now, even puppy love was in the mix.
Trouble, it seemed, never waited for adulthood.
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