Prologue
Hey guys! This is my first story on here, so I would appreciate it if there were no flames. Thanks! Feel free to give me constructive criticism, so I can improve. Thank you and I hope you enjoy the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron or any of the characters you recogniz. I would love to though!
The warm breeze whipped the golden stallion's mane around his regal head and wrapped his long, chocolate brown tail around his strong, powerful legs. He heard the cry of the eagle above him and raised his head. The eagle looked down at him and cried again. The stallion snorted and pawed at the ground. He loved racing the eagle and he wanted to do so again, but he was the leader of a herd of mustangs and he had to stay and protect them if danger came near. The eagle cried out again before soaring away. The stallion lowered his head. He would race her again soon; he just had to make sure his herd was safe first.
He looked down at his herd from the top of the grassy hill that he was standing on. They were all grazing peacefully-except for two brown foals that were chasing each other a few metres away. The stallion watched them for a few minutes, remembering when he was their age and how he was carefree and used to run and play with the other foals. He remembered one winter when his mother was moving the herd and he decided to run at the top of the bank alongside them. He ended up sliding down and spraying his mother and a few other mares with powdery snow. They weren't very pleased with him that day. Later that day, he'd been trying to reach for an icicle that had formed on a branch of a large tree. He couldn't reach it no matter how hard he tried, so he'd found one in a small alcove that he could reach, Unfortunately, his tongue froze to the icicle and he'd had to prance around with it in his mouth like nothing was wrong. It had really hurt though! The stallion snorted and shook his head to clear his head of that memory. It wasn't one of his favourites!
He looked down upon his herd once again and called to them. They raised their heads to him and nickered back to him. Most returned to their grazing, but one mare, a silvery palomino, continued to watch him. The stallion trotted down the side of the hill to meet his mother. Her name was Esperanza, but only her herd mates knew that. The golden stallion descending the hill was called Spirit, named for his spirited and mischievous nature. These horses belonged only to the sky, sun and the Cimarron in which they lived. Until now.