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On the Horizon
"Hey, fellow," Alec said, patting the magnificent black stallion's neck. The Black snorted in return and continued grazing. Alec laughed and watched his horse eat. One who would see the Black would expect him to be a champion racehorse—and that was exactly what he was. Just a few days before he had won the Kentucky Derby, and was on to the Preakness in three weeks. It would be great—Alec just knew it.
He shielded his eyes from the relentless sun. It had been a beautiful day that morning and so far had stayed a beautiful day. The Black didn't care about shielding his eyes—he was just a stallion, and he didn't mind. Then Alec's hand dropped, for the sun had been obliterated by a dark cloud that rolled across the sky. Alec frowned. How could this happen?
The Black's nose was to the air, scenting. His ears were flat against his head and his nostrils were flaring. He sensed there was a thunderstorm nearing. And the Black didn't like thunderstorms. He whickered nervously, looking to Alec for comfort. But the boy had run off to the barn for the lead shank. The day had been so beautiful that he hadn't expected to bring the Black in. So he'd left the shank in the barn.
Mistake. Henry Dailey, the Black's trainer, had always told Alec to be prepared no matter what. The clue to being unsuccessful in the racing industry was underestimating things, ignoring things, and the like. Henry took his job very seriously, and was one of the top trainers and had been one of the top jockeys in his youthful days. Alec trusted him, but today he had forgotten.
The Black was panicking, and Alec hurried over to him, trying to put the halter on his horse's neck. But he couldn't. The Black was resisting, and was growing nervous by the minute. Soon he overwhelmed Alec and screamed. The scream Alec had heard many times. The sharp, shrill noise would fill his ears and he would stand still, stunned. In this case he made another mistake. As soon as he stood still the Black vaulted the fences and galloped off into the horizon.
"Black!" Alec called after him, finally coming to his senses. He ran despairingly to the other end of the paddock. He called his horse's name wildly. Yet all for nothing. How could he expect the Black to return just out of the blue? The Black had always valued his freedom. It was something that nobody, not even his most trusted friend Alec, could take away from him.
But there was nothing to do now. The Black had escaped.
The grulla paint colt watched the horizon. He was the son of Hidalgo, the leader of the herd there. He had just been appointed as guard. And he was curiously regarding a black dot in the distance growing larger and larger and larger. His name was Wind Caller, but most called him just Dirigo (I lead in Spanish), his original name. To be frank with himself, he liked Wind Caller better.
A paint stallion walked up to him regally. He was Hidalgo (nobleman in Spanish), Dirigo's father. Hidalgo was the leader of the herd Dirigo was in. "Dirigo, what do you see?" he asked. He squinted into the distance to try to see what Dirigo was seeing. Hidalgo looked hard at Dirigo. "Is it that black dot?" he asked knowingly. Dirigo nodded his white-splotched head.
"I wouldn't be too worried about it," said Hidalgo, still gazing at it with deep concentration. "I doubt it's a stallion, and even if it is I doubt it would cause much harm." He seemed cool and collected. Yet on the inside he was confused. Often he would just sit on the shores of a lake and ask himself who was he. His mate, Eureka (I found it), did not approve and claimed that people might think he was crazy. She never really meant it though.
Of course nothing will happen, Dirigo thought proudly, turning to gaze at the black dot before turning away. Dad's got it all taken care of.
How wrong he was.