the US Army for over 30 years now, and was a well respected horseman. He was offered the position of colonel once, but turned it down because he would spend too little time with horses, so the title was handed to the man who owned us.

"So you don't know the colonel's real name?" I asked.

He wiggled his ears and said, "Colonel, Sir, just a title, just a job. I don't know anything about his family, home town or even how old he is. And I don't hank Tony does either, but he's the closest we are going to get to the colonel's secret life. Besides," he looked away from me, "the colonel isn't special to me."

Durango had predicted that I would look down on this. Anyone who treats a horse civilly is special, I knew so many riders abused their rights by whipping a horse because it stopped with fear, and some of them maybe sold them for meat once they were past their use in labour. But I'm not one to judge, there must have been good reasons for it, so I simply said, "Oh."

Durango detached himself from Tony as well, but I on the other hand, allowed myself to get close to him.

Too close when I look back on things.

The next two weeks were uneventful. I trained, I improved, I learnt to love and play with Captain Stirr, he was a reminder that humans could be friends as well as horses. I needed that in a world where man controlled all.

One evening, the sort of sky that is honey-coloured silk, me and Durango were tacked up and led into the paddock. The rest of the division was there, mounted and frozen, waiting for orders. Instead of the feather-like touch of Tony I felt the heavier bulk of the colonel on my back. Looking to my left, I saw Tony on Durango, stroking his neck and uttering calming words. The colonel projected orders to the crowd and the horses filed out, their steps high and synchronised. We followed behind. Something was up. I could smell it on the wind.

My rider was tense, I could feel it on my reins. Why was he tense, what was out there? What would happen, were we going to die?

My mind exaggerated wilding, broken only by Durango appearing at my side. His very breath seemed to heal me, the bad thoughts simply floating away until I was relaxed and composed again. I jumped slightly when the colonel ordered a halt to the group. Swords were drawn. We had only ever practised this once, and I was still uncomfortable with that thing hovering just above my right ear. What if-

No. I wouldn't go there.

We started walking forward. I panicked a little inside. I asked Durango if this was a battle, he almost laughed. Apparently this was just training.

Somehow I didn't think that a battle would look this beautiful. The skies stretched on forever, red and orange, baking the earth and making everything look like it was glowing. The swords caught the light and reflected it, a river of silver and gold that was now cantering across the landscape, the crimson dust trailing behind.

I asked Durango if there was going to be any guns. He said that some would be fired above the riders' heads so that it was in our direction but nobody would get hurt. I trusted him, but I was still not convinced.

The humans were standing up in the saddles now, crying as one as they pushed their steeds forward. Gunfire cracked across the land. I stopped dead, turned and ran back from where we came. The colonel put away his sword and collected me, pulling me to a stop then urging me back to the group.

I wish I had just kept running.

I aimed for Durango, his clipped tail streaked out behind him, the same colour as the dusted ground. I saw him jump a log and Tony slumped on his back and toppled off, just as a report of a gun sounded. Durango skidded to a halt and stood next to where he had fallen. I smelt fear from my rider, and he kicked me hard to the scene. I drew close and could smell the blood, thick and sickening in my nostrils. I halted and the colonel jumped off me and rushed to the side of his friend. I could see clearly, to my horror that Tony had been shot through the head.

I just froze. My legs begged to sprint, far away, away from the stench of death and the scene of gore, back home where I could be a foal again, romping in the meadows and splashing in the river. But there I was. Staring. Durango looked no more at the body. He just looked straight ahead of him, avoiding eye contact with all of us, most of all the blank eyes of our stableman.

Before long a ceasefire had been called and the entire division had gathered around the site. The colonel had composed himself and a stretcher and a white sheet had been brought to take the body away. There was a buzz in the atmosphere, everyone wanted to speak words of comfort, gossip and blame, but their consciences knew better. The colonel stood up and ordered everyone back to camp where a letter could be written to inform Captain Stirr's family of the terrible loss. He led me and Durango side by side behind the other horses, and I pondered over my thoughts, my soul trapped inside my head with my churning emotions.

I had known Tony for such a small time, but I had grown fond of him due to his warmth and spirit. Now he had been torn away from us all, in a freak accident that no one could help or predict. I looked at Durango and wondered how he managed with all of this. Maybe he felt that it was his fault since he jumped, or that the blame would be on him and he would serve a terrible fate because of it.

I told him it wasn't his fault. He said he knew, that things like this could not be helped. It was war, not a game, people died on a daily basis and his rider had been killed on his back many times before. I thought of how he must have felt the first time he felt a soldier slump and tumble off his back, how he could possibly cope with being so close to someone and not even regretting their demise.

He had already told me the answer.

He didn't get attached.

A couple of months passed and Tony Stirr was soon just another name on a list. We continued training, with more and more processions like we had that awful night. Thankfully there were no more casualties, and work went smoothly every day. I found myself growing closer and closer to Durango, since I was in need of someone to spend time with after Tony's death. Whenever we were in the grazing paddock we stood close and occasionally groomed one another, sometimes we stood head to tail and helped to flick the flies away. At night I leaned on him for warmth and a sense of security. All thoughts of escape had long since dwindled away into nothing. Even if the training was hard I was happy because he was there to make me smile.

The only thing that got to me was how I had several riders over the course of a week, and just any old soldier would groom and feed us. First was Hopkins, short and lean, but heavy in the seat and tight on the reins. I hated how he rode me, constantly squeezing me even when he wanted me to slow down. I kept getting confused and sped up, so he tugged harder on my mouth. Every half an hour with him was hell.

Next in line was Jones. He was young and nervous around horses at first, but I soon sorted that out. I always did exactly as he asked me, I never swerved or stopped suddenly, and pretty soon he was experienced as a veteran. He needed only confidence. Better yet, sometimes he would sneak me an apple from the supplies. There was also Fundro and Withens. Fundro was a cheery man in his middle age, going slightly chubby and silver haired but he always made me cheerful and could make the other soldiers laugh with one word. He was a poor rider though, I could tell he had learnt at and older age than the others. But he was kind and never hurt me, so I was more than happy to oblige.

Withens was a pain. Literally. Every lesson he had a crop in his hand and spurs on his feet. I could see that the colonel disapproved, but Withens was one of the best riders in the base, mainly because the animals feared him rather than respected him. Then again, if he rode without his aids then the others would probably take advantage of it. but he was light and reassuring when he rode. If he took a chance and left his foul tools behind one morning I would easily perform much better. Though heaven help a horse if they make a mistake, because the whipping and stinging is enough to drive you mad.

I could deal with the worst of these riders with ease if I had only one of them, but the fact that I had to adjust constantly made it much harder for me. Sometimes I could be too jumpy for Jones and unresponsive for Fundro. Still I tried my best, and always looked forward to being ridden by the colonel. He was just right. I guess that was why I belonged to him, we just fitted perfectly as horse and rider.

One evening after training with Jones, I was let out to graze. Durango was already there, munching away in one corner. As I walked I saw some of the horses talking quietly, and they stopped abruptly when they saw me looking. I glared at them, then continued on my way. I commented on the lovely weather and placed myself next to him. He didn't look up. I have to say that it felt like a kick in the gut when he ignored me. What had I done?

I asked what was wrong, and he raised his head to look at me. He told me that he had a lot to say and it was hard for him to do so, so I should not interrupt or argue until he was finished. I sensed the seriousness of the matter and nodded.

He told me that he felt I was getting to close to him that he believed that I thought of him as more than a friend. I did think that, and poor naive me back then thought he was going to admit how he loved me too. I just knew it. I knew how he would play it out.

"I love you Jade."

I could so vividly hear his voice say those