[A/N: The accounts of "Bright Star of the West©," "Clear Sky©," and "Graceful Maiden©" will overlap with one another, so bear with me if parts become repetitive. Once again, I do not own Dreamworks's/Kathleen Duey's original characters.

Part 1: Bright Star of the West

Chapter 2–Not Alone

We walked along the path for another two days, and we had no idea of our location. I had chosen the wrong path, and it was too late to turn back. Our pace had already slowed from weakness. The trees had no leaves to offer, and grass hadn't been very palatable. Looking back, I think our path took us around the valley. In any event, we'd eventually broken through the forest onto a small meadow. I could smell water, and thought we could've regained our strength there, and from there find another herd to live with.

That was the day they found us. . .the Lakota.

No sooner had I taken five steps into the meadow, a band of humans–sitting astride their horses–appeared, whooping and hollering. One noticed me, and I bolted to my right, hoping they would follow me and not notice Calm Waters and Brook. [A/N: –The Native American version of the name. Sorry 'bout that. Two out of four acted as I'd anticipated. The other half focused on Calm Waters.

I will say that I truly admired her courage (I still do), for she'd held her ground and faced off with the humans. I'm sure she'd wanted to run away as I had, even though she was an adult. But because she was and adult–no, a parent–she had to put her needs aside for her child.

She hadn't had to fight that day, however. The four humans had realized there was a foal with us, and had backed away, watching us from a distance. I'd rejoined my sister and niece and stared at them.

The humans that had interested me the most was an old-looking man. . . well, he was old compared to his companions, anyway. He'd worn a great, feathered object upon his head, colored markings had adorned his face and body, and he'd carried a large stick with a pointed rock at the end of it. His horse, and elegant, well-built, mature, black-and-white paint mare, also had markings on her body–there were four green circles on her left hind-quarter. She'd watched us as they had. . . steadily, cautiously. She'd tossed her head once or twice, a thin, coiled vine that hung from her mouth lashing about. I'd thought that the vine would be uncomfortable, but she hadn't seemed to mind.

The other humans had also somehow placed colored markings on their horses, but they themselves were not as decorated as the older man. Their status must have been lower than his. (I know now that I was correct in my assumption.)

The paint mare shook her mane and snorted, her nostrils flared. She had been trying to pick up our scent, impatient to continue on their way. Her rider had picked up upon the signal, and gestured that they move on. The other three had followed without question, and they'd gone back to whooping as they went.

I, who had taken the dominant, "lead-mare" like role, had sidled round to face my older sister.

"Do you think those were those terrible humans horses talked about?" (I had been talking about the humans that live in the far off desert. Several horses in our herd had told us that they were used to carry men into battle, and were groomed extensively. They'd had–at first–very short manes, a shortened tail, heavy metal bars in the shape of their hooves, and "US" forever burned onto their shoulders.)

"I don't think so," she'd replied. "These humans are different. They respect horses. The symbols on their horses' bodies did not appear to be permanent–parts were faded. They looked proud to be treated as such."

"Do you think we can join them?"

"Maybe. Let's wait until those four return, and then we'll investigate."

That was what we'd done. We'd watched the four riders return with a large stag, waited until sunset, and followed the hoof-prints on the ground. As it turned out, we stood on one of two hills that overlooked the village, and that valley was much more expansive than we'd thought.

A stream–probably a branch of the river some distance away–ran neatly through this part of the valley. Several shelters stood next to the stream, a wooden enclosure opposite them, and horses had scattered themselves throughout the place. We'd decided that being down there was better than being in our old, exposed position. We'd quietly walked down the hill and hid in a stand of trees. It hadn't taken long for the patrol to notify the entire village of our presence. They'd gawked and chattered from a respectable distance, and come no closer. We'd figured the highly decorated man had mentioned us.

The humans had remained I their place for a few moments, and then a young woman had come forward carrying three apples. I'd flattened my ears and put myself between her and my family. Sure, she'd offered peace gifts, but she might have called for her friends to attack us!

She hadn't. She'd retreated after placing the apples on the ground. After that, all but the patrol left.