The next day, I watched the boy as he went to gather more of the plant. Suddenly I sensed danger! I flashed my head around and flicked my ears, trying to determine what and where the danger was. There! A longscale! The boy was in danger! He was almost on top of it and he didn't see it! I screamed long and loud to warn him, and he looked up at me, startled. Was he going to stand there again? I plunged toward him and reared before him. Thank goodness the boy now had the sense to get out of the way. HSSSS! The longscale only had time to do one sound before my hooves pounded him. Longscales were dangerous in the desert and I knew it must be killed. I had seen a foal that was bitten by a longscale, and its leg had swelled up and it died. My mother saved me from a longscale once and I never forgot how she did. I imitated her movements now and trampled the creature into the sand, concentrating on getting the head. Finally I deemed the thing dead, and stopped my trouncing. I whistled shrilly in challenge to any more longscales that might be hiding. I walked away from the hideous creature and stood there catching my breath.

The boy got up from where he had fallen, and looked at the torn body of the longscale. Now he understood. He looked up at me and spoke quietly to me, gratefulness in his voice. He approached me softly and reached a hand out to me. I was suspicious, but not enough to run away. I moved my head out of reach, but didn't move. The boy stepped closer, and I allowed him this. I has saved his life after all. The hand stretched out again and he tried to touch me. That was a bit too much and I reared on my hind legs, but not very high. I did not try to run away, as I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He kept talking to me in a soothing tone which I liked. He tried again, and I let the hand touch my head for an instant before I had to gallop away. I didn't go far, just a few strides away. The dark-skinned man was fading from my memory, and although I would never forget him (horses remember things for their lifetime), I couldn't see this boy acting as the man had. Perhaps he would be a friend, like I once had when I was young.

The days went by, and I grew stronger on the diet of dried plant the boy gave me. I allowed him to stroke me, and I soon learned to come to him when he whistled. He never minded my wild actions, but understood that I was a wild stallion, and let me do what I wished.

One day I heard him calling me, and I answered him. He came to me and petted me. My skin quivered...I was not yet quite used to that, and he talked to me calmly. Then he walked away to the sand dune. I followed him. Now he climbed up the dune, keeping his hand on my neck. I was puzzled. What did he want? Suddenly, he grabbed my mane and threw himself on me. I was so startled that I did not move for a second. The next moment I was angry and threw my head down and my heels in the air. The boy went flying off me and landed hard. He went to sleep immediately. Whoops, I had not meant to hurt him. I grazed until he woke up, a minute later. I watched to see if he would be angry, but he was not. He only talked kindly to me, and patted me on the back. Huh he was going to try again, wasn't he? He jumped on me again, and I showed him the way off again. He was determined to ride me. I had not been ridden in a very long time and was not eager to start again. He slipped on my back once more, this time wrapping an arm around my neck as I went up again. He wants a ride? I'll give him a ride! I bolted down the beach, my black legs churning as fast as I could go. Somehow the boy stuck to me, and I lost my head. I galloped up to the spring and past it. I raced toward the other side of the island, forgetting the deep gully there. I saw it in a moment, and easily soared over it. I felt the boy slip a little, but he stuck on me. He seemed to finally recover his wits and started talking to me as I madly rushed along the beach. I came to myself slowly as well, listening to the boy's calm talk. I slowed to a canter, and as he kept speaking to me, I dropped down to a trot and then a walk. Finally I stopped altogether, the boy still on my back. He patted me again, and slid off me.

Memories flooded me that night. My desert master riding me as fast as I could go. I had loved him, before I was torn away from him and my mares. I remembered how I loved being one with my master, but no one else had ever ridden me. I felt conflicted. I liked this boy well enough… he was kind and never raised his voice to me, or flapped about nervously like some people did, or was anxious to dominate me, like the dark-skinned man. He understood I was a wild stallion, but he still tried to be my friend. He did feed me, and tried to brush me with his hands, which made me feel taken care of.

The next day, the boy tried again to mount me. I was still nervous about this whole business, so I gave a little rear. He talked quietly in my ear, and I calmed down. I stood there with his slim weight on my back. He wasn't much, and I found I didn't mind all that much. The boy squeezed his calves against me, and I remembered the "walk" signal. I walked confidently and easily. After a little bit, he changed his seat position and used one leg stronger than the other. I didn't understand what he wanted, so I kept walking. He squirmed around on me a little longer, and then reached his hand toward my head and pushed it. What did he want? He pushed a little harder on my head and turned it, and my body followed. Oh, he wanted me to change direction. The boy gripped my long mane firmly and squeezed harder with my legs? Trot? I switched to my long-legged trot, the boy bouncing on my back. Soon he settled into my motion, and I found he was not bad of a rider. Now he's tugging on my mane. What does he want now? A good tug, and I decided maybe he was getting tired of my trot. I slowed to a walk, and got a pat for a reward.

He rode me for a long time, trying to teach me what he wanted. Since we had no bridle, he used my mane to signal me to slow down, or stop altogether. It felt strange at first, but eventually I understood. He started to not need to push my head around to get me to turn, as I followed the direction of his legs. I was glad, as I didn't like him messing around with my head.

The sun was setting and he was still on my back. I was ready to run. I stood still for a split second then I just had to bolt. The boy grabbed my mane just in the nick of time. I wouldn't have cared if he had fallen off me because I just NEEDED to run! Faster and faster, my legs stretched out as far as they could go. The boy found his balance and hovered over my back. I was able to run even faster as he unhindered my movements. I reached the end of the beach and would have gone on but I felt a strong pull on my mane. I wasn't done yet! I was about to thunder on when I got another yank on my mane. He wanted to stop. I decided to slow down and listen to him. I switched to my long reaching trot, and nearly bounced him off. He continued to talk to me and I listened. I slowed back down to a walk, and felt his joy flow into me. I was happy that I pleased him. I liked pleasing him. He guided me up the hill to the stream, where he finally slid off, and we both enjoyed a long drink.

As the days went by, the boy rode me more and more. We found ourselves a team. He asked, but never demanded I do what he wanted. He understood my wild nature would not listen to demands. I could be reasonable if he was. I joyed in the partnership and loved to gallop under him and bring him along. We became good friends, and I found happiness in our uninterrupted partnership. He improved his riding skills, because he soon learned not to take my obedience for granted. If he kicked me unprovoked, I bucked, or reared and sent him off. I learned to listen to his softest commands. I followed him everywhere, or sometimes he would follow me if I chose to lead. We sometimes played a strange game...he would chase me and I'd dash out of his reach. Then I would let him win and touch me, then he'd run out of my reach, and I would follow the little gadfly, ensuring I didn't accidentally trample him. He fed me as much as the dried green stuff as I wanted, which I was glad for, since there was little grass to be had. He grew thinner, and I felt my ribs show as well. It couldn't be helped. I only hoped the rains would come and grass would grow, but I had an idea that a boy needed more than grass. He sometimes caught a flashing silver thing from the sea and cooked it on his campfire, but I'm sure it wasn't enough. Young colts are always hungry, and I thought a young boy was likely the same.

I usually stayed by him during the night and slept on my feet, or stretch out onto the sand. One night, however, I woke suddenly with a sense of danger. I lept to my feet and smoke choked my nostrils. I screamed with fear, for the fire the boy had made seemed far too big. I realized that his shelter had somehow caught fire. I neighed loudly again, and heard him wake. He shot out of the burning crackling shelter and stared at it. I stayed near the spring and watched him dash back and forth with a shell full of water. He splashed the water on the fire, but it did not good. The burning heat was tremendous and I was forced to vacate the spring for the choking smoke. The boy eventually gave up his efforts and went with me. The trees I liked to stand on caught on fire too, and we retreated further. I had liked those trees to stand under the hot sun, but it couldn't be helped.

We stood there together until dawn. I decided to look for more grass while the boy went to the beach. Presumably he was going to rebuild a shelter. Why can't he sleep outside, like me? Humans were funny that way. I pricked my ears. Did I hear something? Raising my head to look around, I scanned my area. It must have been nothing. I bent my head down and continued to graze on the sparse grass.