I put my head on Durango's back and fell asleep. The train carrige jolted beneath my feet and the constant clacking of the wheels kept shaking me back into a world where I didn't want to be. Was this what I had become? A number? Just another tool in man's reign of terror? I was beginning to see a very different light to what was now my life, it had been so long, around a year since I had run from the procession back home. I now understood why my father spoke so against the military, they were bent on murder to get their own way.

But surely that wasn't true? Captain Stirr was a kind man, gentle too. How could he murder in cold blood? And Jones, the poor lad who sat in one corner of the carrige, holding his stomach and trying not to be sick, he was so innocent, I doubted he had ever had blood on his hands. The closest I had ever come to killing was attacking that cougar at the ranch.

I sighed. Harry would be older now, and I wondered what he looked like. I still hated the rough man for not listening to him. Then again, I would never have found Durango. Destiny had a strange way of sorting itself out. We were all just followers of a path set before us. I was born future leader, and I was meant to go on this journey to continue my father's legacy.

That was the answer. Neither Stirr or Jones wanted to kill, they were just ordered to. I knew that humans did nothing out of goodwill, it was all because of self benefit. Jones joined the army to get away from horses, but he ended up being with them at all hours - fate. Stirr joined the army to pay for his family's food, and ended up losing his life with the animals he loved - fate.

The train was pulling up and I was being sent off into a war.

Fate.

The brakes squealed and after a moment the door was pulled aside and a ramp set up. Jones attatched a rope to our headcollars and led us off the train. I was preparing myself for the worst. A bloody battlefield, burnt buildings, death everywhere. Instead it was a giant human settlement.

I looked confused and Durango told me this was where we would stay until more horses arrived, then we would be ridden further West and attack the tribe. I shook my head. It was all wrong. All the men I had met were friendly, if not civil, to each other. I couldn't quite believe that they killed each other over land. Yes, stallions fought for their mares and their territory, but they never killed.

We were taken to a large barn on the edge of town. I welcomed the shade and the peace of it. There was a gap down the middle of the building and square stalls lined each side. A typical human layout - practical and simple. Not to mention big. There must have been thrity stalls on each side, minimum.

Because of how many cavalry horses that they were expecting, they doubled up the stables. I was immeadiately put with Durango in the largest and furthest stall. It was coolest at that end and quiet, spare for the tack room oposite that someone would enter occasionally.

There was a small arena outside and we trained in it for four days while the other horses were brought to the barn. I could clearly see the look of fear and anxiety building on the humans' faces, even the colonel's. The dressage and jumping routines finished, and the men began riding with weapons. Swords and guns were both hovering by my ear at a daily basis. They tried target practise while in halt, walk, trot and canter, and galloped with the swords. Eventually, we were ready.

Durango had heard the humans talking about their plans and said that we were leaving in the morning. It was dusk now and we were lying together on the floor of our stall. It suddenly clicked in my head and I asked him how he could understand humans. He told me he had been raised by them and been around them all his life. It was more body language than vocal communication. None of the men could sleep and they were pointing up, such as sun up.

I was intreged. A wild horse would never be able to know what a human was saying, or feeling, just by simple facts and movements. I asked him if he would teach me, and he agreed.

We lay there for about another hour, and once I was sure that all the men and horses were asleep, I asked him if he thought we were going to die tomorrow. He shook his head. If we did, we did, he said. But there would be no point worrying about it. He had been in the army about eight years now and he was still here. If my instincts were strong enough to be a step ahead of danger, I could outwit death almost forever. He planned to die and old, old stallion.

But what about the humans? Wouldn't they shoot him if he got too old or useless? But he replied that he couldn't do anything about that either, the only solution was to continue being useful so that he had a value to them. I thought about something for a minute or two then asked him.

"I want to go back to the wild Durango, but I can't go without you. I now know the true cruelty of man and I don't want to stay here any longer, but even home will feel like a prison without you."

He didn't answer, and I thought he was asleep. Then he said, "Jade, I could never survive the wild. I have been tame all my life and would not stand a chance against a predator or cowboys. I have never been taught how to find food in snow or a good water supply or decent shelter. It will be winter in a few months and I wouldn't be able to live through it without those skills. So captive I must stay."

I have a habbit of sulking. I sulked all night until I blinked somewhere around midnight, then it was dawn. What could well be my last night had rushed by me and I did not feel refreshed. Durango was already up, munching on a pile of hay that had been thrown in. I pushed myself up and joined him. Something told me my life was about to change again, but I supressed the feeling, it would do me no good just like he had said.

An hour later we were tacked up and mounted. I felt sick to the stomach since the colonel was riding me, so I would be at the front of the firing line. Durango was behind with Jones on his back. I felt quite sorry for my partner, it was like he said when we first met, I had taken over his position!

We cantered off into the distance in syncronised steps. By late afternoon we had arrived at a small piece of woodland. I experienced a brief glimmer of hope. Was it the same place I had found when I had run from the cimmaron all those months ago? But I couldn't find the tree I slept under, or the stream, so I felt even more deflated and forlorn. Durango noticed this and wanted to know what was wrong. I simply said I thought I was close to home, but I was mistaken.

We had never talked about my real home, and as we grazed I summed it up. When I mentioned my father his ears pricked up. When I had finished, he said that that was the stallion who let all the horses loose. The colonel had ridden him in the attack of the first Lakota village and on a scouting ride. They had chased him thorugh the gorge and watched him leap the great canyon. He remembered the Lakota boy riding him, and how the colonel had nodded in respect the horse. Ever since then the man had been better with horses and knew that he couldn't always get them to do as he wanted.

I was in a state of shock. So Durango's colonel, my colonel, was the one who tried to break my father? It was possible, but I had never thought it probable. My father claimed he was just trying to get home, but the truth of it that he was too embarrassed to mention was how he impacted many humans in the process.

I remembered a part of my parents' story. The colonel had shot my mother in the shoulder. If my father ever found out that Durango was his horse then he would never allow him to stay in the herd. I was suddenly faced with the cruelest choice of my life. There were now two reasons why I could only return home without my stallion. He might not survive the winter, and if he did, he would have to face the wrath of my father if he ever found out the thruth.

I couldn't sleep that night. I had a headache from my own worries and couldn't decide. If I worked something out in my head, there was always a "but" attatched to it. Finally I decided that the only option was to stay with man and be ridden for destruction.

In the morning we left before the sun was up. It took us only two hours to reach the village. We hid behind a hill while the battle plan was formed. I had half a mind to run over to the tribe and let them know we were there, but what good would that do. I gritted my teeth, and reminded myself that none of these humans mattered to me. Except Jones, just a little bit.

I sighed heavily. Here we go again, I thought. Something was just bound to go wrong for me. Again. My lungs still ached slightly from the fire and my legs were tired form the two day ride and hard training. Just one battle and it will be over, that was all I kept thinking.

As soon as the plan was finished, the men mounted again and we made our way onto the hill. A horn was sounded and we charged forward into a gallop. Already there were warriors emerging from tents, carrying axes, bows and arrows and sticks. At the time I had no idea what they were, but I knew they were aiming for me. But the colonel's seat was deep and relaxed, and he squeezed me on, reminding me that he was just as scared as I was. The colonel swung his sword, missing completely, but the Natives feared him. I kept running blindly, weaving between the tents. I was searching for Durango, neighing for him, begging him to tell me where he was.

 I felt the weight of the colonel lift from my back. He was out of the saddle, I knew it but I kept running. I hated the gunshots, I hated the humans, I just wanted to be free.

There was a shrill neigh of pain and I recognised it in a second. I swerved, and headed straight for Durango. He was on his side, Jones scrabbling to his feet and patting his side for his gun. A native was advancing with an axe. I screamed for Durango, I thought he was going to be killed. But instead the darker human went straight for Jones, not harming him but warning him off. I hurried to Durango's side and whispered, "I love you."

As they had with me, those words gave him strength. I let him lean on me and I half walked, half trotted away from the scene, Durango staggering along side, trying to keep in pace with me. Once we were far away enough he fell to the ground again. I checked his wound. The bullet had hit him in the flank, not the most vital of body parts like the chest or neck, but enough to restrict his movements, which was bad news for a horse. I could tell already that even if he healed his army days would be over.

I pressed myself against the ground and was thankful of our colours. My golden pelt and his ginger and brown coat helped us to blend in with the surroundings. I waited and watched the battle with utter dread until dusk, then I saw the remains of the cavelry lollop up the hill and out of view. I managed to glimpse the colonel sitting on a bay behind Priavte Hopkins. He was clutching his arm.

I continued waiting until the sky went dark blue and filled with dancing stars. I had another look over Durango's wound. The bleeding had stopped but he was weak and shivvering. I glanced around. The land was flat and open, not the kind of place predators like cougars hung around. I decided to leave him and get help in the village, so I stood up and galloped towards the shape of the tents.

The village was a mess. Bodies of both white and dark humans lay around, with odd horse. I shuddered and tried not to recognise them. At least I hadn't mingled with the other animals very well in the army. A thought struck me. I was free. Humans no longer owned me. Still, that made no difference, I couldn't go home.

I heard crying and poked my head inside a tent. There was a woman crying with her head down, a man was lying on a bead, stained in blood. I had seen enough and withdrew my head. As I wondered about some more I was relieved to see that there were no bodies of men I knew, that meant that Jones had got away. And Hopkins, Withens and Fundro. I smiled a little, but it seemed disrespectful to look happy in such a tainted place.

I turned a corner and bumped into something. I reared in fright and heard a gentle voice tryign to calm me, and a light hand stroking my shoulder. I got back down on all fours and saw it was a Native boy. He was older than Jones but younger than most of the men back at the camp, and he had relaxing eyes. I remembered why I was there and whinnied, moving a way a little, beckoning him to follow me. When he did I felt pround of myself, I had got a human to understand me. I felt a weight pull on the saddle and I turned my head in a gallop to see the boy clinging to it.

I carried on running until I got to Durango. His eyes were clsoed and his breathing was shallow and incredibly fast. I had a horrible feeling that he wasn't going to make it. But the boy just stroked him softly and uttered kind words, words that the pitiful stallion seemed to understand. His breathing slowed and after skipping a heart beat I realised that he was sleeping. The boy started to run back to the settlement and I lent him a hand by carrying him.

I watched the Native gather pelts and sticks from the ruins and he rode me back with the supplies in his arms. I watched as the boy started building a tent around Durango. The shelter and warmth would help him recover I dejuced. We worked together through the night, collecting, carrying and constructing until he was out of harm's way. I lay down beside him for company and slept heavily though till the morning.

Little Creek pulled aside the canvas of the tent and Weeping Doe greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. He told her of the two army horses and how one of them was injured. "I'm going to bring him back to health."

"But won't the Intruders want to take them back?" she replied, holding his arm gently.

"They could take the mare, she's fine, but I doubt that she will leave her mate alone. And he can't be moved."

They sat down in the darkness on an animal skin and talked. The Lakota woman told her husband of how many were dead from the attack. Their numbers were halved, but she suspected that the white men had come off worse. The Chief had lost one of his sons, the middle one, and he was in heavy grief. But the plan was to move the village a few metres away to let the ruins collapse and be retaken by the earth.

Little Creek said that he had built a shelter anround the horses and that it would be a great deal easier if they set up their tent next to it. His wife told him of how the ones fit to travel would take the horses to the nearest forest for wood, meat and skins. It was getting colder, and the village's priority was to make sure they were prepared for the winter. The snow would be thick in the next few months, too thick for them to be attacked again.

They agreed that they would move their home next to the horses in the morning and Little Creek would go out for supplies once they were set up.

If he could ride the palomino.

I woke before the sun was up and my stomach ached to the point of insanity. I had had the tack on for nearly a day now and the girth was still unbearingly tight around me. The bit pulled at the corner of my mouth and the stirrups dug into me when I lay down.

I checked his breathing. Satisfied, I got up to look at our surroundings. Like I had seen last night, it was a piece of flat, open land. In the distance were some gentle hills with forest covering them. There was also, of course, the forest that we had stopped at on the way. The Natives probably would avoid that one since the cavelry was probably recovering there. But I could smell the autumn in the breeze. It was chilly, and the grass was scorched from the baking summer. The nearest river would be in that forest on the hills. I needed to bring water to Durango, but there was no way of carrying it.

I looked up and saw movement in the settlement. The Lakota boy and a girl were taking down their tent, rolling it up like paper. The boy whistled and a blue roan came to him. He mounted the horse bareback and cantered over to me, the shelter rolled up and tucked under one arm. The girl ran after him, carrying some more skins and items.

I watched them fix up the tent next to ours and admired their work. I prefered these buildings. They could be moved, they looked natural and weren't so dominant. I still couldn't believe that my humans wanted to get rid of this way of life. These people looked happy enough.

But I had no humans anymore. I was free. The army had abandoned me and I could return home. But that was the problem, I had decided to stay in the human world because I had no choice. I couldn't forgive the military for what they were doing to their own brothers, it made me sick. I realised that these people could make things out of the slightest and most insignificant objects. They had containers to carry water and I realised that that was my answer. I needed help from these people if Durango was ever to be healthy again.

But it seemed that I didn't need to ask, since the girl was already undoing my girth and removing the saddle form my back. I winced as she gently touched the sores, her normal smile creasing into a frown of sorrow. I could tell she was kind, her smell was warm and she was always calm. She took off the bridle too and sat outside the tent while the boy ran to and fro with things that they left in the village.

Through the morning I saw more and more of the tribe doing the same, moving their possessions towards where we were. Anything that was unusable such as a burnt tent frame or the guns from the army were left. I believe that they took the bodies away in the night to a quiet area. Even the horses had been treated with respect and taken to a burial ground.

As people came and went and returned and departed, the girl tore apart my saddle. She used the leather to make thin but strong pieces of rope and used them to reinforce her home. She used the packed straw inside for fire fuel and soon there were nearly twenty humans gathered around it, trying to keep warm in the nipping air. It was one of those days where sun was out but it offered no comforting heat.

I checked on Durango several times during the first half of the day. He was breathing easier because he was warm, and he nibbled at the dry grass every so often. The girl came in and cleaned the wound. We held our breath, hoping that it wouldn't start bleeding again. It didn't. She left again and returned with a basket of grain for us. I nudged it toward him so that he could eat his fill, but his appetite was small and I ended up eating most of it.

Later on the boy came in and ushered me outside. I hesitated, not wanting to leave him, but I trusted him, I needed his help. I felt his hands on my back and my sores stabbed at my mind. He took the weight off me, noticing the sores. He sighed disappointedly and patted my neck. No doubt he wanted to ride me, but he knew I could not cope with the pain if he did. He grabbed a bag and started walking behind the other men on the horses. I saw how they rode bareback, or at the very most with just a patterned cloth. They were heading for the forest and they were carrying containers, rope and baskets. I knew that they were going to look for food and water. I couldn't miss this oppotunity, so I walked along side of him.

Along the way he wrapped his rope around my shoulders and neck. I wanted to help him out, it was just my back that restricted me. I felt the drop in temperature and looked up to see pine trees spanning over my head, shading the land around them. We were on the edge of the forest, and I could hear a river. I was drawn to it, and pretty soon the entire party was drinking water or collecting it. My new human washed my sores, it stung, but they felt cleaner afterwards. They would be healed in a few days so I wasn't worried, I just wanted them to help Durango. he needed it more than me.

We spent the rest of the afternoon gathering berries, wood and animals. Small mammals were hunted for food and fur whilst larger ones we for skins to build clothes or shelter out of. They shot down a cougar, something that I felt slightly smug about. At least there was one thing that could keep them away.

By the time we returned the sun had set and the sky was clouding over. I could smell the rain in the air and hurried back to Durango. There had been a shelter created over the fire, which was now much larger than before. The food and material was distributed between the families and then taken into the tents. The girl was already giving Durango water and was rubbing some sort of paste onto his wound. She then did the same to me. It tingled at first, but then it began to soothe. I guessed that it was a healing agent and I would be able to be ridden sooner than I previously thought.

Over the next fortnight my back healed and Durango's strength greatened every day, but only slightly. By now I was letting the boy (who Durango said was called "Little Creek") ride me whenever he needed. His wife, Weeping Doe (again, Durango helped me out with her name), took care of my stallion while we were gone. I settled into being ridden bareback rather quickly, it was more comfortable. But it was hard to get my barings, since the Lakota boy held onto my main I couldn't always feel him turn me, and I sometimes felt him slip and paniced, I didn't want him to fall off. I knew that they would help us, but I simply didn't want to hurt any of them. It was my personal payback from the battle to prove I disagreed with the way their land was being invaded.

Around midday a few weeks in, I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Durango standing outside the shelter. he was having trouble but he was walking about none the less. I knew that in his stubborn pride he would hold his legs high and not let anyone help him. I chuckled, and wandered over to the enclosure.

It was like a paddock, only round, and it was used for horse training or keeping a new mustang captive until he calmed down. There was a yearling following a mare on a rope. She wasn't the mother it was easy to see, they were just giving the youngster the idea that he had to walk around the outside of the arena. I recalled my training days back on teh ranch. The skinny one rarely used his crop, but at least here they didn't hold them at all.

While the other humans would use an axe or a bow as a weapon to others, these people used them for hunting or woodcutting, only wielding them once the enemy attacked them. The Natives worked with nature, not against it like the pale ones. I hoped Durango could see the difference.

"The stallion is back on his feet, he should be able to gallop in a couple of weeks," Weepind Doe said, sweepign out the floor of the tent, "but I doubt that he can ever be ridden."

Little Creek looked up from his work. He had been attatching feathers to arrows for the past hour, and he wasn't getting very far. "Well, shallow as this sounds, I'm not interested in him. It's that mare. I feel like I know her. She observes everything we say and do, as if she understands us. Which I guess is possible." He bit the twine to cut it, then lay the arrow back with the others. "Either way, so long as he gets better I'll be relieved. By the way, you have been doing an amazing job caring for him you know."

"Oh stop it, Creek."

"No, really. Perhaps when you're old and grey you could be shamen. But don't get worked up about it, looking at you that is going to be a very long time off."

Weeping Doe laughed at his charms. She was used to her husband's complements and it felt wonderful to be married to someone who appriciated her. Little Creek kissed her on the cheek and left the tent to inspect the horses. he found them grazing by the enclosure, keeping the orphan foal company. The mare was fine with being near the orphan foal, but she seemed less willing to play parent. And the stallion was even less concerned by the foal's presence.

He laughed and the mare looked up from her meal. He still couldn't work out where he knew her from. He had never seen this horse before, he knew that much, but little pieces of her that didn't quite fit together hovered at the back of his mind. He went back the tent and collected some dies and returned to where the horses were eating. He led the mare and stallion into the enclosure, making sure that the foal didn't run off either. The three animals sniffed at the strange dies and wrinkled their noses. He began on the mare.

At first I was hesitant, I didn't know what he was going to do to me. I felt the cold line of his finger around my ankle. When I looked down I saw that he had painted a blue ring around my right foreleg. He was going to decorate us. The paints were cold at first but I got used to them after a while. He painted black spots on the top of my hindquarters in an appoloosa style, and two lines of green under my left eye. Finally, he pressed his entire left hand into the red dye and pressed it onto my face below my right eye. I stepped away to let the markings dry while I watched him do a similar thing to Durango.

His patterns were three green stripes on his left shoulder, a group of red dots on his left flank, two blue lines under his right eye with curls coming off (like the wind, I imagined) and a tiny blue circle around the bullet wound. Once he was hapy with his work, Little Creek let us out of the fenced area.

We spent the afternoon discussing our marks. Durango said the green lines on my face showed elegance and trust, since it was so close to my eye, and the handprint showed that I was tame since I had been exposed a lot to humans. The spots on my back told people that I touched the lives of many people. He didn't say anything about the ring on my ankle at first, so I started to tell him what I thought of his marks.

The three lines looked like claw marks from a cougar, showing he was tough. The circle highlighted that he was a warrior and couldn't be shot down, even if he bled, which was what the dots were about. I also told him what I had thought earlier about the blue lines, and he gloated a little that it was because of his speed.

We lapsed into silence awkwardly. We both knew well that he couldn't run very fast anymore, and in his cheerfulness he had forgotten his wound. He kept looking at the ground and told me that the ring around my leg symbolised that somethign was chaining me to this place, that I wanted to go but something selfless was keeping me there. He looked up into my eyes as if he was apologizing. I rested my head on him. He knew I couldn't leave him, but he still felt guilty for it. And now, when we had been freed, it was his fault that they couldn't leave.

Before we began eating again he said that once he was fit enough he would follow me home to my herd. I was delighted and I began to get jittery inside. I was excited. I knew that one day soon I would return home.

It was toward the end of autumn now, and Little Creek sat watching the two army horses playing on the plain. The stallion could now run again and he would let them go soon. Just one little thing stood in his way, and, cruel as it sounded, he wouldn't let them go until he knew what it was.

He did this every evening now. He would sit on a rock and watch the sun set behind the horses who would romp about in the dying grass. He would think for hours on end. He was determined to figure out where he knew that golden mare. He was in his early twenties now, and he tried a differnt tactic that evening. He tried to remember everything that had ever happened to him with horses.

His first horse, Rain. He had raised her from a filly into a mare. She was fearless and loyal to him, his best friend, even when - though he dared not say it out loud - he fell in love with Weeping Doe, that chestnut pinto mare was still the closest being in the entire world.

After an attack on their old village, he had snuck out into the desert to steal supplies from their enemy - the army of the Intruders. He had ridden Rain out to the camp and was loading food onto her, when he was caught by some of the guards. Rain had run back home and alerted the others, who came to his aid with a knife a few days later. While he was tied to the post, he met a buckskin stallion who was also tied up.

He and that stallion had broken free together, letting all the other horses out in the process, and he took it back to the village. He never did tame that horse. He laughed about it now, but back then it was frustrating. When the village was attacked for a second time, Rain had been shot. The stallion tried to save her, and saved his life by knocking the enemy leader off his horse. In payment the poor thing was dragged off and boarded onto a train. Two days later he found him in a forest fire and cut him loose.

In one final run from the cavalry, the horse allowed him to ride. The most unexpected and incredible experience of his life was when the two of them jumped the canyon and landed safely on the other side. Then he had let Rain go off with him, and for his untameable nature, he had named the stallion Spirit.

All these details flashed through the Lakota boy's mind in an instant, and that was it. That golden mare was their foal. He hide was honey coloured like her father's and her mane was as creamy and thick as Rain's. Yet she was so far from home, and looked no more than five years old. Some bitter fate had caused her to be taken from where she belonged and aged her. She was wise and tame now, she had an air of knowledge, as if she understood how the world worked, and more importantly, accepted it.

Little Creek headed back home and slept fully that night, knowing exactly what he had to do the next morning.

I was awoken by Little Creek in the early hours and rode us out into the forest. We stopped by the river, where he led us in and washed off the dye from our coats. I could sense that something was up, the boy looked sad. Once we were clean, he spoke to us. I understood little of what he said, but Durango picked up most of it. When the human had finished talking he stepped aside, and Durango told me he was letting us free, he knew who I was.

I glanced at the human for a moment, then, reluctantly, cantered off. That was it. That was all we had to do. But my heart felt heavy in my chest as I ran away from everything human. It was if the chapter of excitement in my life was over, and I would go home and just become another mare in a herd.

We continued though, and as we moved onto higher ground, flakes of snow began to fall. It was a sign, winter was coming early this year, and it would be heavy. Durango didn't know how to survive on his own, and I thought about turning back and staying where there was food and warmth for the coldest months, but my instincts grew stronger and my pace quickened. I was going home.

Because of Durango's leg we could only travel between dawn and dusk. He would be exhausted after any longer and we would be a target for predators or more humans. We made sure that we found shelter before sunset every day so that we weren't caught in the open. Progress was painfully slow. Every morning I would set myself a target on the horizon to get to before dark, but we never reached it. Probably because that object was miles away. But I had no idea how far we were to home, until I saw a familiar face.

One afternoon, while we were following a river, the shadow of an eagle passed over us. We stopped and looked up. The majestic bird swept above our heads and landed on the ground infront of us. I recognised it as the eagle from my homeland. Either he had been looking for me or we were close to home.

The bird knew me too and pulled at my mane playfully. He eyed Durango and the stallion tried to hide behind me. It was clear that he had never come across many wild creatures before. The eagle took off in a different direction than the one we had been going, and I trotted after it, Durango following suit.

By the end of the day we reached a small corpse of trees in a ditch where we slept. The eagel kept watch for a few hours then fell asleep on a branch.

Horses ran through soft grass that reached up to stroke their bellies, and the herd twisted and turned trough it, like schools of fish, their colours shining from the moonlight. Dapple greys, chestnuts, bays, buckskins, palominos, swekbalds, piebalds, they all galloped in unison, trampling the grass to stamp down the grasping fingers. One by one, they all dropped away from the group and stood still. High above, an eagle watched, viewing the pattern that had appeared. It was almost a mirror image to that majestic bird: a bald eagle, wings spread wide, as if trying to touch something beond reality. As the wind picked up, and the grass blew gently, it appeared to be flying.

I woke up with a start. It was that dream again. I had let it pass through my mind unquestioned so many times before and now I was getting tired of it. I wanted to know what it meant. It was probably just something I came up with in my head, but it felt like more than that, especially since it was being repeated.

I spent the rest of the night trying to decipher the message. No one had told it to me, so I must have come up with it. It was trying to tell me what I had forgotten. I had to cut it up, disect it.

First was horses. So it was about me and others in my species. The grass was long so it was wild. They were all different colours, but all were running together. Teamwork and relationships came to mind. They pushed the grass down, like they were getting rid of something. But then they went their own way, like they would always be one but always have to follow their own path, and in the end, that path would stop. I knew the eagle was a symbol of freedom. But these were just pieces, not a message.

But it was better than nothing. I closed my eyes once more to get some extra energy for our journey, and noticed for the first time that snow had covered the ground in a layer two feet thick. I shivered and Durango blinked awake. He shook to remove the snow and stood up. Flakes were already beginning to fall again.

The eagel ruffled his feathers and took over again. We followed, but the blanket of snow slowed us to a plodding walk. The going was hard and we struggled to pull our legs out of the white expanse. By midday we would be exhausted. But we couldn't sleep in the open, we would freeze to death, so it became more of a journey for shelter than a journey home.

Along the way I nosed through the snow and dug up roots to show Durango how to feed in bad weather. He tried it himself, but with little luck. He didn't let it bother him though, aside from our aching hunger. The eagle kept wheeling back to us when we fell too far behind. He led us to a rocky overhang. There was no snow underneath it so we had a chance to dry off, our legs were soaked to the bones. Even our shaggy winter coats couldn't keep us warm. I longed for the valley, wondering how far it was from there. We never got as much snow as this over night. It made things easier.

I had to stop daydreaming. We weren't in the home valley, we were out in this barren wilderness, lonely, cold and wet, not to mention starving. I had to harden up if I was going to live through this. I encouraged Durango and he practised foraging in the afternoon. At least some of the snow had melted and we could drink.

After another week of travelling we felt like we were getting somewhere. The snow had receded and we were eating better. More ground was covered in an hour and I felt I recognised some of the places we went through from when I was taken to the ranch. That meant we were near.

And yet so far.

One morning we set out, following the eagle's direction in the sky. It was snowing but we didn't pay it much attention. It was snow, yipiddy-do-dah. The strange thing was that it was so magical as a foal, now it was just a nuicance. I reckoned that we could have made it back by then if we weren't trudging through three feet of snow every day. As we walked on the snow became heavier and harder, it stung as the wind shot the tiny pellets at us. I had to close my eyes and stumble blindly across strange terrain. The shriek of the wind deafened me as well, and it took me a few minutes to realise I was alone. I stopped in alarm. I neighed for Durango, but I was simply drowned out by the wind, preventing me to hear him reply if he heard me. The eagle was gone from the sky, it was just a grey pool of swirling flakes. I stayed exactly where I was, waiting the blizzard out. I stood there for an hour, the snow burying me from the knees up. I began to move again, my skin screaming for relief from the cold and wet. I would be frozen to death if I kept still any longer. Pretty soon walking became wading, and that in turn became bouncing as I attempted to keep my head above the snow.

I tripped and fell straight into the snow bank. I pushed up, but the wind had blown more snow on top of me. The weight of it was frightening, and either I was going to be crushed, choked or freeze. I felt my eyelids become heavy, and my breath slowed. I was fading away.

The howling of the wind stopped. Something inside of me forced me to continue, and I could break a hole in the surface now that I wasn't being pushed back down. First my nose pushed through and I sucked in the clean air. I then shoved my head and neck out, and eventually, my entire body. I was soaked all over and I quickly began shivering again. I heard my name being called. My vision was blurred but I saw a brown shape ploughing through the snow towards me, and a V shape circling above me in the sky. My pupils focused and I sighed as I recognised Durango and the eagle.

The snow had compacted itself enough to walk on the bottom layers. I leant on Durango a good deal of the way, still shaking from the cold. I was sopping wet and needed to dry off in a warm place, but there was no shelter in view. Just blinding whiteness. At least the sun had emerged, and though I couldn't feel it, the heat was enough to start melting snow.

Finally we turned a corner past a boulder and there was a piece of woodland. I staggered towards it, urged on by my two companions. When the snow fell away at the edge of the trees I almost stumbled to the ground, but i picked myself up again and made for a large tree. I collapsed in a heap there and slept.

Horses ran through soft grass that reached up to stroke their bellies, and the herd twisted and turned trough it, like schools of fish, their colours shining from the moonlight. Dapple greys, chestnuts, bays, buckskins, palominos, swekbalds, piebalds, they all galloped in unison, trampling the grass to stamp down the grasping fingers. One by one, they all dropped away from the group and stood still. High above, an eagle watched, viewing the pattern that had appeared. It was almost a mirror image to that majestic bird: a bald eagle, wings spread wide, as if trying to touch something beond reality. As the wind picked up, and the grass blew gently, it appeared to be flying.

That was it. I opened my eyes to find myself shrouded in darkness. Durango was curled up behind me keeping me warm, the eagle perched on a branch above us, head tucked under a wing.

That was it, I said to myself again. The horses of the wild might live in different herds and have different fates, but we could fight the presence of man if we cooperated. We won't live forever, but we could still make a difference that could be seen for centuries to come, a difference that allowed us to never be destroyed, to always be free. And once that idea was grasped, it could go on forever, flying through to the future.

I had dozed off again and this time when I woke up I felt like and idiot for not realising before. The tree had a stream near by, swollen because of the melting snow. This was the place I slept the first night away from home. The eagle would know the way from there onwards. And we were in the valley, so the shallower snow drifts would let us get to the herd sooner.

I shook Durango awake and told him where we were. The eagle stirred too and flew off again. We followed it as fast as we could, only a trot but it was the fastest we had travelled in weeks. As the snow thinned out further, we managed a canter. My legs ached from the cold the day before, but I needed to stretch them. Durango seemed to be able to run without pain now, the weeks of walking allowed him to work his leg but not damage it.

By midday I could see the river. There was no water along it's bank, so we galloped along side it, racing with the eagle for the first time in over a year. I was free, I was really free. I neighed loudly. Durango looked at me then joined in, even the eagle sqawked with joy.

We didn't stop galloping until we reached a steep hill. We plodded up it, digging our hooves into the ground so that we didn't slip. My heart was fluttering madly in my chest, I knew this place and I could smell horses, individual ones from my childhood. As we reached the top of the hill, I nearly cried.

At the base of the hill was a herd of mustangs, each of them foraging for shrubs. I picked out my mother and grandmother among them, then, at the very furthest point from me, my father.

I had made it home.

I reared on the hill, neighing as loudly as I could. The herd looked up in shock and didn't  - couldn't - respond until my parents began galloping straight towards me. We ran to the herd, kicking up clods of powder as we went. We met in a cirlce. For the first time in almost 18 months, I could see my own parents.

They embraced me warmly. I have never seen my father so happy. After a minute, he released me and looked over to Durango. He studied the US mark on his shoulder and looked back at me. The sorrel stallion joined me at my side and I thought for a split second that my father was going to chase him out of the valley. But he welcomed him, much to my relief.

The golden palomino mare stood at the top of the hill, overlooking the land before her. The sun broke through the clouds and cast light over the mountains in the distance. Below her were the horses in her herd, among them her relatives and mate. She could watch them forever, just to make sure that they wouldn't disappear or be torn away from her.

A stallion joined her, his buckskin coat with the same golden tint shining in the light. They didn't have to say anything, they just knew that there was only one place for her to be, and that was in the Cimmaron Herd.