Disclaimer: The Black isn't mine, but everything else is.
Chapter 2: The Herd
As the moons passed, day after golden day melted into the happiest time of my life. I had my mother, food, foals to play with, and the security of the herd. At my age, it was more than I could ever ask for. As I grew, I came to know my mother and the other herd members much better.
All the foals had been born now, and there were eleven of us that year; five colts and six fillies, though all the mares said that this year had one of the lowest birthrates ever. Thunder and I were some of those born earliest that spring, so that by the time the little newborns were just taking their first steps, Thunder and I were already galloping and frolicking with the older foals, of which there were three.
One was Blaze. The second one was a dark brown colt with a mean pinched look about his head and an attitude to match; his name was Raha, and his dam was also one of the mares who had originally come from Saber's herd. Northlight wasn't his real father at all; his dam had been in foal when Northlight took her along with Reva and another mare last spring. Raha was the oldest of this year' colts, having been born at the end of December, while the rest of us were born in January or February. He also turned out to be the meanest, far meaner and nastier than Reva ever was.
The last foal was a dainty paint filly. Her white coat looked like someone had poured caramel brown paint on it at random. Great big islands of brown swam against patches of shining white. She had a gleaming white triangle on her forehead, and a creamy mane and tail. Her mother had called her Nightingale. She was the prettiest of that year's fillies.
At first, like us, the younger foals stayed by their mothers' sides; they were too shy and uneven-gaited to be playing with us, though sometimes, we could see their eyes gleaming with longing as they watched us play. But it didn't matter. In a few days, they became as surefooted as we were, and soon, eleven foals were romping all over the meadow, chasing each other, exploring the nearby woods to the east and the canyons and mesas to the west. We were never allowed to go up the mountains, and though there was a hill south of the meadow, we weren't permitted to go there either.
And I finally found out what my mother had meant when she said that I was 'built for speed'. We had been running a pasture race that day. Raha was in the lead. I was second, with my head at his flank and all the other foals spread out behind us. I had lengthened my stride, sure that he would accelerate with me, sure that this time, like all the other times, I would still come in second. Raha didn't go faster. I was out front. I had glanced back over my shoulder and saw Raha with this confused and shocked look on his face. That was when I crossed the stump we were using to mark the finish line. From then on, I was never beaten in a pasture race; it would either be a win or a tie. And wins came very often.
I wasn't the oldest or the biggest of that year's foals, but I was the fastest. I could even outrun some of the yearlings. My mother said it was because of the Thoroughbred blood. And maybe, maybe, there was the offhand chance that it might be because of my Arabian blood, although we were so far down the family tree my mother doubted that it would have any effect on me. " Look at you," she had said. "Dun. And you must be- what? His great-great-great-great-grandson. There must have been at least five generations of thoroughbred blood mixed in." I had asked her about what she knew about the Arabian stallion of whom we were supposedly descended. She had glared at me the moment the word " supposedly" came out of my mouth, and I had immediately regretted saying it. It was true, she told me. Her mother had told her, and her mother's mother before that. The stallion was called The Black. He was very fast, and very famous. And he was also the main reason why she was black. That was about all she knew.
This newfound speed came in good use when playing. And we played a lot.
Thunder and I were always together. Maybe it was because our mothers were also always together, but Thunder and I became the best of friends. In the early morning, when the other foals were all still sleeping, we would sometimes go off under cover of darkness and sneak deep into the woods, where we would run and run, racing against each other, enjoying the feel of the wind as it whipped our manes off our necks, running just for the joy of it. We had already beaten a well-worn path winding through the trees, zigzagging around bushes, going through logs and other obstacles. The more daring, the more challenging the obstacle, the more we loved it.
In the afternoons, my mother, who was undeniably as curious as I was, would sometimes lead us in the opposite direction, into the mountains in the west. Here, we discovered a whole new world of canyons, gorges, cliffs, and mesas. Golden and Thunder sometimes came with us, and sometimes they didn't. If Thunder came, we would play hide-and-seek among the dusty, sandy cliffs while our mothers investigated the caves that lined the cliff faces. If Thunder didn't come, I would follow my mother, carefully putting each tiny hoof ahead of another, climbing up the narrow trail to the top, going around and peering over the cliff edge, then carefully making our way back down to the ground.
This way, Thunder and I became as surefooted as mountain goats. We came to know the terrain so well we could go around with our eyes closed and not stumble a single step. We knew where every single hole was; in rainy days, which patches of ground would hold us up so that we wouldn't slip and sink in the knee-deep mud, and which patches would give way beneath our hooves and subject us to a mudbath. We knew every single cliff and cave was, and even some of the valleys hidden so well deep in the mountains that no one ever knew of them except our mothers and us.
Even though she wasn't the oldest, my mother was one of the wisest mares who had ever run with Northlight. She taught me many things. Important things. Lessons that could save my life, or prevent my capture. Lessons like, if we didn't want to leave any tracks, we should always put our hooves on stony ground, instead of on the soft dirt or on the grass where we would surely leave hoofprints. How to go about silently and without trace, so that when we reveal ourselves, we would give the impression of appearing out of thin air. If we wanted to lose someone on our trail, we should always go through water. "Do not go galloping straight into an open meadow; watch and listen under cover of the trees first for signs of danger or predators." She told me after we witnessed the attack of a coyote on a jackrabbit who had run so carelessly into the open prairie. It is best to see, and yet to remain unseen. When traveling, we should stay in camouflage as much as possible. The wind should always be in our faces, not in our backs. When we had to cross an open space, cross quickly and quietly, and remain alert. And the most important thing of all: my mother taught me to fear Man.
"All two-leggeds are not to be trusted." She told me. Man would try to capture you; he would force a horrid metal thing in your mouth, control you, and use you for his own purposes. You would be kept a captive all your life; yes, you will be treated well; given good food and a nice stall, but you will still be a captive.
"And the worse thing", she said, "is that when you try to escape, he will put a trance on you; he will lock his eyes on yours. You would find yourself frozen into place, as if paralyzed; you want to run away, but you just can't take your eyes off him, and all the while, he is inching closer and closer to you, with a rope in his hands. You will stand there, terrifies, wanting to run, but still unable to move, until the man is right beside you; he will throw the rope around your neck, and then and only then will the trance be broken. You will suddenly wake up, and find that you can move again, but now, you have a rope around your neck once more, and your last chance of freedom has been taken away." A shiver ran through her body. " I have seen it happen before…. But it would never happen to me." She would sigh and her eyes would get that dreamy, faraway look, as if she were remembering something. At that time, as a foal, I didn't take her too seriously, especially when she talked about Man. I wasn't even sure if any such creatures existed. And the idea of a two-legged being sitting on our backs was ridiculous. I would soon find out how wrong I was.
Of course, after a few days of continuously asking questions, I finally got the story out of her, about where she had learned all this. And I finally knew why Reva had called her 'outsider'.
My mother wasn't a mustang. She was an escaped Thoroughbred racehorse, with a bit of Arabian blood in her.
" My owners were all right, but they were hardly around. I was left alone with my trainer, and the other horses. I was an outcast from the start, just like my mother was. Most, but not all, Thoroughbreds are proud horses; very, very proud, temperamental, and easily insulted. Many of the other horses don't want anything to do with me, because I'm what they say a mixblood, even though its just a pinch of Arabian blood. Sure, they tolerated me; when we had to gallop on the same track, they wouldn't complain, and some of the others were even nice to me, but then, in the paddock, where we usually stayed, they wouldn't really let me join them. Once I started winning races though, the attitude changed. At first, they pretended they hadn't noticed, but then, some of the other horses began to get angry. They said that I, as a mixblood, had no right to keep on stealing the wins from them Thoroughbreds. By being a mixblood, and winning races, I was staining their breed's reputation."
"The Thoroughbred breed was supposed to be the fastest on earth. What would happen if the outside world had found out that the horse who had won the race wasn't really a pureblooded Thoroughbred? That would give them a bad look, and it simply wouldn't do, they said. They were insulted.
The cold ignorance started in the paddock. Whenever I approached them, they turned their backs on me. From there, it went to the point when I merely had to go near them and they would go on the offensive, using their teeth and hoofs to keep me away, as if I were something filthy." I could hear the bitterness in her voice. " I mean, it isn't my fault if I've got Arabian blood, is it?"
"The humans put me a stall in a little building they called a stable instead. Even though there were other horses coming and going in and out of the stable, I was kept away from them.
It got unbearable. I don't know what made me do it; maybe it was the Arabian in me, or maybe it was my own recklessness and rebellion, but I decided to run away. I knew I couldn't do it then, because the farm where we were kept was teeming with humans, and even if I did get away, I had to go miles and miles before I could leave civilization behind. I had no plan then, aside from the fact that I was going to escape. So I waited, and an opportunity came when we were being taken to a race far away, someplace the humans called 'The Coast'. We were being taken on an airplane, but there was this bit of the journey in between that had to be made by a noisy electric contraption called a truck. In between, we would pass places where there were no humans; where, I had heard, wild horses still existed, running free across a wide green prairie. I decided I would get away then. The time came for my escape; everything was perfect; there was a thunderstorm that night that would cover my escape. But now, I had a huge problem; there were three other horses with me, and there was no way I could slip off without them knowing. So, even though they pretended not to hear at first, I persuaded them to join me, and together, we broke free of the two humans who were with us at that time, and galloped away under cover of darkness. When daylight came, the humans had a problem; they had a car, but in this rocky terrain, wheels were of no use in capturing horses. And they needed to get us again, and fast; we were racehorses and racehorses aren't exactly cheap. They needed strong, tough, stock horses that could carry them over the miles and miles of land, and getting stock horses at such short notice was nothing short of a miracle. They had to get to a town first."
"The humans drove off. I was ecstatic. I was finally free. I lead the other horses, trotting and cantering miles a day, and we went deeper into the west. We came upon a mustang herd, but seeing and smelling us, they recognized us for what we were; fugitives; and refused to let us drink from their creek. We traveled further and found another herd; this one a small one, with only a colt and several fillies in it. They accepted us, and we settled in. That colt was Northlight.
And everyday, waking up to sunshine and green grass and fresh water, I was happier than I'd ever been. I thought the humans would just let us go; give up and never come looking for us. I had underestimated our value; I was wrong."
" They came back seven moons later, and somehow managed to track us to here.
Now the herd was also in danger. One by one, the three horses were caught again. And finally, I was left, my companions taken, the mustangs now viewing me with distrust and suspicion. The humans came looking for me. I lead them away from the herd, and faked my own death by jumping over a cliff. I was sure I had them fooled, but I didn't think I had the trainer convinced; he was a shrewd guy and for a moment, I thought that he might still believe me to be alive. But he went away with the other two-leggeds, and I returned to the herd and convinced them that the humans were gone for good. They believed me, but as a precautionary move, Northlight led us deeper into the west, where no human had ever set foot.
And there, the herd grew. The grass was green, and there was fresh water. I was happy again. There were hard times, when there were famines and droughts, but I didn't care what happened to me as long as I remained free. Northlight and I grew even closer. I don't know why, but he valued me above all his other mares.
I became mustang, adopting their ways. But the small core of mares who were there when I fir st arrived still remembered me for who I was, and when Northlight won new mares, the news that I used to be a tame horse somehow got to them. There's no kind of hostility like there once had been between me and the Thoroughbreds, but now, an invisible, almost undetectable barrier sprung up between me and the other mares.
Golden is one of the few who have really accepted me.
Others, like Reva, became nasty. I didn't know why, until Golden told me one day that she, Reva, had been jealous of me because I was Northlight's favorite mare, and also the lead mare. Others resented my position.
Reva has never forgotten that I came from the human world, and she rubs it in whenever she can."
" Whenever I had a foal, I would teach it to fear humans; teach them the tricks of survival, because I knew that the humans would come again, and I wanted the foal to be forewarned. And this time, if we were caught, the two-leggeds would make sure that we would never be able to get away again.
The winters passed, and I thought the humans were gone for good. I was wrong. They came back three springs ago, looking for me. I was obviously more valuable to my owners than I thought, and somehow, they knew that I wasn't dead. I narrowly escaped. Since then, they come back every summer, and always, always, they hunt for what they called ' the black mare who ran free.' "
" You," she continued, " are my fourth foal. I ran away when I was three summers old, and this is now," she paused and thought. " my sixth spring with the herd."
" All the other foals have either died or been killed," she continued sadly.
"Datu, the first foal, grew to be a fine young stallion; he was killed by one of Saber's sons when they were fighting for territory.
Star grew into a stallion too, but when the humans came, they tried to capture him for something they call a ' ro-di-o' , whatever that means. They cornered him at a cliff and instead of being caught, he jumped the over cliff instead. We found him a few moons later, down a steep gorge, with his neck broken.
Sunbeam was born during a drought. We were starving, so Northlight led us south towards our winter grazing grounds. The journey was hard. Most of the foals that year didn't make it, and neither did he. Coyotes ran him down, along with one of Golden's fillies.
Snow, the last foal before you, was your only sister. She died eight moons after she was born. We never knew why. Pity really," she sighed. " She was one of the most beautiful fillies ever born to the herd."
My mother turned her gaze on me. " And then, there was you. So far, you are the only dun ever born to me, and I think… to the herd. And of all the foals ever birthed here, you are the only one who has shown signs of having inherited the best of both sides; the dam, and the sire."
" The best," she continued softly, " of the east, and the west."
As I grew, I learned to distinguish between right and wrong by my mother's actions. Good behavior earned an approving glance, and sometimes a smile. Bad behavior got something nasty. When I was still small, all I'd ever get for misbehaving was a hard nudge or a reproachful glare. As I grew older, the nudges gave way to sharp nips and severe scolding. And as I wasn't exactly a little angel, my mother was soon nipping me a lot. I once heard her complaining to Golden that her teeth would be wearing down soon enough because she was nipping me so often. " He's not exactly disobedient, but he's just so feisty and naughty that he's in trouble most of the time…" she would say to Golden sometimes, perfectly loud enough for me to hear, and Golden would always smile gently and say, " Don't worry, he'll soon outgrow it …"
My mother wasn't the only one whom I got into trouble with. Reva took to stalking me whenever I left my mother's side, her eagle-sharp eyes fixed on me, ready to report whatever slight mistake I made to my mother. This was where my mother's hiding lessons came into use. I would go into a clump of bushes at the edge of the meadow in full view of her, then wait for her to come stomping in search of me. Then, while she raged and fumed and made a lot of noise stepping on dried twigs and swishing through bushes, I would slip around behind her, silent-footed and trackless, and double back to the meadow, where I could live in peace. Sometimes, when she couldn't find me, Reva would instead go looking for Thunder, venting her frustration on him. Because of this, he became even more than a close friend and a half-brother; he became an ally. Together, we would sometimes lead her on a wild chase, in and out, in and out, through the trees, sometimes letting her see just a glimpse of us, playing with her imagination, always watching her, but never caught ourselves. She finally got tired of it and reported back to my mother and Golden that Thunder and I were 'up to something no good' and that they had better keep a closer watch on us. My mother didn't say anything then, but I could have sworn that her eyes were twinkling.
The summer passed in a whirl of sunny days, starry nights, romping and playing in the meadow, and more exploring than ever. During this time, Thunder and I were gradually weaning ourselves. When we were first born, we would watch our mothers cropping the thick grass and try to take a bite too, but our necks were too short and we soon gave up trying. Now, however, we had grown taller and more filled out on our mothers' rich milk, and we soon found out that we could also reach the grass. At first, grass tasted queer, but we soon got over it, spending more of our time grazing and nursing less and less from our mothers. Before we knew it, we were getting all our nourishment from the grass, and our mothers were gently kicking us away from them if we tried to take a drink, getting harsher and giving painful bites if we persisted. After a particularly hard kick that left my ribs sore for several days, I didn't bother to ask for milk anymore.
I also found that, although at first, my mother was very worried whenever I left to get a drink of water or play hide and seek with the other foals in the forest, she grew much more lenient as I grew older, and wouldn't get as much angry or worried as she would have if I had been younger. When I nervously asked her about it, she said that as we were now weanlings, she knew that we already knew how to be careful and to take care of ourselves. After that, I grew more independent.
Autumn came. The humans who supposedly came during summer didn't. My mother hadn't noticed this until I pointed it out to her. " Maybe they got fed up and don't want to come back. Or maybe they came but couldn't find us." She had said hopefully. " But you be careful. This might still be some trick of their's. Don't leave any tracks and stay hidden; you never know what might happen."
" Mother is getting paranoid." I told Thunder later when we were grazing side by side. " Maybe she isn't." he whickered. " Being careful has kept her free for years." I just snorted to show that I didn't really believe him.