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.