Ten-year-old Lyla tied her heavy work boots tight, pulling the laces until her ankles felt secure against the hard floor. Being homeschooled meant her classroom was just the kitchen table, and her days were mostly quiet. She loved her parents, but as she looked around the empty hallway, a familiar wave of sadness hit her. She truly wished she had a brother or sister to run down the hallway with, or a sibling to share the quiet spaces of the big house.She stepped out into the crisp morning air, letting the heavy barn door swing shut behind her."Good morning, everybody," Lyla called out, her voice breaking the silence of the yard.Instantly, the farm came alive to fill the quiet. The chickens clucked eagerly, scratching at the dirt near their coop. Two calico cats slinked out from under the porch, purring loudly as they rubbed against her shins. Over by the fence, the goats poked their noses through the wooden slats, bleating for attention, while the horses and ponies in the pasture shook their manes, waiting for their morning hay.Lyla smiled, but as she picked up a heavy water bucket—carefully bending her knees to lift it—she thought about her closest friend. Her friend lived an hour away. One hour meant a long, empty highway drive, which made their weekend visits rare and precious. On a big farm like this, an hour felt like an ocean.She carried the feed over to the pens, watching the goats jostle for the best spot at the trough. They had each other to play with, which made her feel that little pinch of loneliness again.Once the chores were finished and the animals were settled, Lyla sat down on a smooth, dry hay bale in the shade of the barn. She opened her favorite notebook on her lap, holding her pencil tight. She wanted to write a letter to her friend, planning out every single minute of their next visit so they wouldn't waste a second of their time together.Just as her pencil touched the paper, a loud, metallic CLANG echoed from the back of the pony stable, followed by the distinct sound of a sliding gate latch.
