Nastka and Natan are safe!
On behalf of Nastka and Natan, we bow low, not being able to express our gratitude enough – Nastka and Natan are already with us. Thanks to you, they will be able to enjoy the autumn, throw colorful leaves with their hooves, let the wind brush their manes, and who knows, maybe little Natan will want to race with the wind himself? Now he has a chance. And for that, we thank you with all our hearts!
Nastka shakes her head. She tries to take a step towards us, but a thick rope that is definitely too short restricts her movements. She can only stare into the camera. And beg with her gaze. Sight is her only weapon. There are no aces up her sleeve.
The view of the pony with her son in a dark cowshed is not surprising. This is how slaughter horses are bred, traditionally. Those that come into the world and have a predetermined fate. Nobody usually knows about them. So this predetermined fate usually brings them to the finish line.
They see no grass here, no paddocks, no sun. They feel no wind in the mane, no hope for tomorrow. Someone will say that maybe it is better. They don’t know what to miss or what to regret when a cold butcher’s knife flashes above them. Sometimes it takes a second, sometimes a few moments longer. But it always has the same ending – there is nothing else.
Nastka strikes the concrete with her hoof rhythmically and gently snorts. She counts out the seconds of life, faster and faster. It echoes throughout the barn. Little Natan cuddles up to his mother and crushes his ears against her body. As if he wanted to defend her, though he doesn’t know from what yet. He has no idea that the photos we’re taking here are his and Nastka’s last hope. He’s just a kid .. he can understand less than you and me.
He is not aware that the photos we take are to save his life. When this awareness comes, it will be too late for anything.