is the main bulk of a horse's responsibilities when living in a group. I grew quickly tired of my duty, and I often found myself wondering if this was the right path for me. But what choice did I have? I was born the descendant of a leader, of course I would follow in his steps.

It was a calm evening. The warm breeze relaxed every muscle and the tender grass filled out stomachs. I found myself at the riverside, at the slowest part, looking at my reflection. Years ago, my father had told me that one day I would see a wise leader, a different horse. The looks had changed, the proportions, the coat, the lot. Even my eyes were greener than ever, maybe it was because of the pink sky. But all I saw, was a mare that was three years older than when I had last thought about this concept. I saw no wisdom or leadership, just me. And that's all I wanted to be. Me. No duty or responsibilities or work or fear or family of my own. Just me.

I sensed that I was not alone, and looked up to see my mother next to me. She smiled and looked at my image too. She told me that I shouldn't take everything my father said so seriously, that I could become what I wanted, and being in charge of twenty-odd lives shouldn't stop me. Even as a leader, I could still be individual. I didn't speak. I just thought. After a while she sighed and looked at the sky. That was the first time I realised how old she looked. My earliest memory of her was a slim, streamlined creature, whose features screamed femininity, and who's main and tail flowed in the breeze, and a coat so pure it was never meant to be wild. Even out of captivity, she still looked pampered. But now, her face was sharper, her body leaner, and her eyes duller. Her main and tail were paler, the deep cream similar to my own fading slowly to white. But her spirit was young, and that is what kept her going so long.

She spoke, throwing me back into reality. She told me that every time the sky was like this, a life changing event happened in her life. When she was just two years old, her mother had been attacked by a cougar. The injuries were so bad that she did not make it through the night. Ever since then Little Creek had taken care of her. The next time it was when she was reunited with my father , the third, and last time since, was when I was born. I could feel her tension, and we could both smell it. Something was on the horizon, like thunder.

It was all over in less than a minute. What I thought was lightning cracked across the sky, followed swiftly by is thunder. But it was too short, too high pitched to be thunder. I couldn't have known it then, but it was gunfire. Panicked, we joined the rest of the herd in a hope of defending ourselves from the invisible enemy. Over a hill nearby, came a wave of horses, carrying humans. It was the first experience of man that I ever had and it wasn't a positive one. I could see them dig their heels into the sides of those poor animals, who, no matter how much training they had compared to us, we terrified also of the flashes and sounds. The men though, they looked as startled as we did. Looking back, it was probably just a practise session of riding for them, they had no idea that we were there. Suddenly, I snapped out of my horrified daze and saw my father racing towards the cavalry, not attempting to stop at any point. A soldier raised his gun at him, but with the least likely stroke of luck, the horse next to his kicked and knocked him off.

Meanwhile, as my father continued to surge forwards, one by one, our herd started to move, at first in a march, then into a canter, and within a few seconds we were in full bolt. A dangerous situation to be in. With no idea what was going on behind us we scattered. Many went to the river, guessing that the men would not be interested there. I caught a glimpse of my mother and grandmother making their way back up a slope for safety, but I just kept on running alone. I almost slowed back down to find my family, but several bracksof the guns reassured me that where I was going was a lot safer. Where that was, I would only find out later.

There comes a point in everyone, where, try as you might, strong as your will, you simply cannot run any longer. In my case I could no longer walk. It was pitch black aside from starlight, for it was a new moon. The frequent gusts of wind stabbed my aching muscles and froze my stiff bones. Observing me in that condition, you would think I was an old nag, ready to give in, but the reality was that age was on my side. Somehow, I managed to scrape together enough energy to find shelter in some trees.

I woke slowly and groggily the next day. It was mid morning, and the sun's heat bounced off the ground in veils. The woodland was cool and moist at least, and had a small stream. I spent a few hours there, grazing and drinking for an energy boost. On my long and tiring sprint I had not seen any other life sources such as this, and I was still shattered from the whole event. I had to make it back before nightfall, and not collapse doing it.

But which way was home? I used all of my skills to find the right direction, but nothing paid off. I even used the flow of the river to determine where I had to go. Once I found out, I followed it with my gaze. It meandered constantly, before disappearing through a tiny hole in the ground. I hadn't been able to register my surroundings when I arrived or when I awoke, I hadn't thought on. I couldn't stay, I was lucky to have survived the night: lying down could have been fatal if a carnivore had found me.

As time wore on I began to get fidgety and restless. I would have to gamble, there was no doubt about that. My father would probably send out the eagle to find me, so I would soon end up in the right direction anyway.

I hoped.

At a canter, I decided to go onto the open plain ahead of me. I remembered very few land markings, so this was a fairly good choice. With the sun above my head, I began to cover land previously unknown to me. My curiosity kicked in, and I found myself ambling along rather than jogging. Every now and then I would remember my situation and canter off again, sometimes in a complete other heading. By nightfall, it was clear I had gone wrong.

Tonight the tiniest slither of a moon peeked behind clouds that seemed to have drifted in from nowhere. The afternoon heat was trapped by the cloud cover, so I was able to keep warm. Naturally, I could sense that I was in the wrong surroundings. The land was too high, the trees unfamiliar, and the mountains too far away. The fog drew in, deep and thick, whirlpool of mist, blocking all from sight. It would be too dangerous to continue, so there I stood, my coat wet from the clumping cloud and the heat off the ground.

I must have stood for hours on end, because I woke up. I shouldn't have slept, it was yet another threat to my survival. But I felt better for it. I scratched my leg. As I raised my head I saw something move in the mist, of it was slightly thinner now. I could have sworn it was a horse's leg. I took a chance, and neighed. I waited for what felt like hours, but was only a few seconds, until the reply came. Yes, a horse. We were the only ones in this area for miles around, so surely my father had sent a group out looking for me.

But then came the shout of men. I stood stock still, my last encounter with the fearsome creatures returning to me. Out of the dense cloud erupted a loop, that fell around my neck. At first, I thought it was some kind of snake, and threw it off immediately. My movements blew away the fog and showed three men, all on horses, with more loops, throwing them at me. My instinct pushed me into a bolt, in a random route. The clatter of hooves on hard ground told me that they were still behind me. I had to lose them.  As if by magic, I exited the fog. I was so surprised that I skidded to a halt and looked back. The globe of low cloud spread for miles in both directions, there was no way of telling where I had to go. My only choice was to go forwards, and the men were already close on my heels.

I felt the ground begin to rise as I galloped at full pelt. I snuck a quick peek at the floor, and realised that I was on a ledge running alongside a cliff, with a steep hill of silt for a few metres. I thought about jumping it, but I knew in my heart of hearts that it would hurt. It was only then that I noticed I was alone.

I slowed to a walk, keeping cautious. My imagination leapt out of control, whispering to me that they were behind the next bend, or sneaking up behind me. Fighting down my fear, I kept on going. I stopped. The rumble of hooves echoed against the walls. Following the racket, I saw the trio emerge below, parallel to me but at the base of the slope. On rider urged his horse up it, but the poor animal just slipped back down. I could see in their eyes that they meant me no harm, but had no control over events. It was obvious to me that they had done this a hundred times over, and could hardly live with themselves for it.

It was a waiting game. If I walked, they walked. If I stood there, so did they. I went through a few ideas. If I galloped off then I could get back onto the ground and make an escape, but they would see where I was going and beat me to it, trapping me. Then I would have to jump. Unfortunately they stood right in my landing spot, leaving me room to hit the ground in front of them, for them to simply sling their hoops around my neck. I could have leapt over them thanks to my hard training, but I didn't have that sort of run up available. And worse, I slowly began to feel sleep forcing my eyelids shut again. It was to be a long night, and I did not have the ability to finish it.

Eventually, I made a break for it. How? I used both plans mentioned. As the riders' horses began to slip as well, I