Hello, Donna della Penna here. Wow, only one day left of my winter vacation to write.

This is the first-person story of the last of the trio from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (which I do not own in any way). You'll notice that she is much more "worldly" and experienced with the soldiers than the other horses, and that is because I wanted to try to take a stab at a scenario in which a born cavalry horse escapes, ends up in the wild, and then is taken in by Native Americans (which happened often during the Native American Wars).

Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own Dreamworks' or Kathleen Duey's characters in any way, shape, or form.

Part 3: Graceful Maiden

Chapter 1: Alone Again

"Go on without me!" I whinnied to Star and Clear Sky.

"We can't just leave you here!" the sorrel mare replied

"I'll be fine! You two just get out of here!"

"No! Not until we rescue you!"

"Hey, there are two horses over there! Take them!" a foreman called. Another beside him took out his pistol and aimed at my friends. I reared angrily an struck him on the back of the head.

"Go! Run!" I whinnied urgently. The grey stallion nodded to me and left with the mare. The men gathered around me, pulling at the chains that hung from my harness and vying to throw a rope around my neck.

I caught a flash of movement in the corner of my eye and kicked, and I felt my hooves contact something. I threw myself around within the circle of men. Some leapt away, others were hit by my hooves. When I finally had the chance, I thundered away, the trees passing me on one side and the rails on the other. I still had a rope around my neck and my harness was still fastened, but I didn't care. I had to get away.

I slowed down when I no longer saw any signs of the workers and tried to think. My rope and my harness presented a hazard and had to be removed somehow. Then I had to find food, water, and shelter. After that, of course, I had to find my way. . . and all on my own.

"All right, Adalia, you can do this again," I thought.

As I'm sure you've guessed by now, my first given-name is Adalia, and unlike many of the horses I've known so far, I was born into the soldiers' world. The place of my birth was a cavalry post on the plains, run by one, Major Gordon. He wasn't old, but he wasn't young either, and he rarely lost his temper. He'd been kind to all of the horses at the post and was respected by those he commanded. All of the horses wished they would have the chance to carry him into battle.

My first clear memory is waking up in a stall at my mother's feet as she'd fed from a hanging hay bale. Her name was Connie, and I remember satring up at her, awed by her jet-black coloring and her strong build. I'd whinnied softly, startling her a bit, and then she'd looked down at me. She had soft, light-brown eyes and a star and snip adorning her face.

"Well, little one, you're up," she'd said warmly. "Good morning." She'd lowered her muzzle to me and nudged me, urging me to stand. I'd tottered to her side to nurse, and she'd nickered deep in her throat. Like most young animals, in that moment, I'd felt completely safe and warm.

My mother and I had been allowed rejoin the other horses a few days later, when I'd gained a little more strength. My mother had immediately walked over to the other mares in the paddock, greeting them after (from what I'd heard) a week in the stall, and I had stayed behind her, shy beyond reason. Her friends had looked at me tenderly and said that I looked like me father, and then had gone back to rekindling their friendship with my mother. At that time, I'd learned that there were other foals in the paddock, and I'd attached myself to them for companionship. We'd ran around in circles as we chased each other, and had often nipped our mothers when they weren't looking. But, I hadn't been able to figure out why I looked like my father. . . I hadn't even wondered who he was at that point.

However, two days after my mother and I had been led into the paddock, I met my father, the famed mount of the Major.