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Chapter 16

   My ears filled with banging and clanks.

   My eyes shot open. The farm was never this noisy. Where was I?

   I raised my head. I was lying on a bed of thick straw. That was nice. Dark, gray, metal walls rose up around me. That was nasty.

   Up above my head, a tiny crack of a window let a ray of sun into the metal stall.

   The metal stall bumped and jarred to a stop. With a slosh, cold water hit my back and drenched part of my neck. I turned to see an overturned bucket.

   I scrambled up immediately.

   An ear-splitting head-ache hit me. Heavy doors swam in my vision. I steeled myself against the rocking motion of the metal stall and turned my head around, fighting the nauseous sensations rising in my stomach.

   Unfortunately, horses can't puke.

   There was a human sitting on the hay, asleep. His head lolled from side to side, sometimes dropping onto his shoulder. Another bucket was in his lap.

   He was a stranger. I was wary of strangers, but I was also very hungry. And he was asleep.

   I carefully took a step forward and peeked into the bucket.

   Oats!

   In a flash, I'd forgotten my carefulness and had shoved my muzzle into the bucket.

   They were different oats, not the same as the ones on the farm.

   But they were food, and I was hungry.

   I cleaned the bucket, feeling a lot better (the dizziness had gone down a little, even though my stomach still lurched every time the stall did). And a lot more alert.

   Why was I here? Who was this human? Why was I not back hom–

   "Ahh!"

   It had all come flooding back. My head still ached, but it was clearing a little. Clearing enough for me to remember what happened.  

   I remembered standing in my stall. I remembered breathing the strange stuff and getting all drowsy and being led here.

   My eyes shot to the metal stall again. It was moving, rattling, jerking. I'd been in one of those before. A van. This had to be a van.

   They were taking me away! No. I was being taken away.

   Where?

   How long had I slept? I dashed to look out the window.

   It was just big enough to poke my nose through.

   Fine. I gave up and stood thinking.

   It was morning.

   I glanced at the sleeping human again. He was wearing the same clothes I'd remembered him wearing. But it had been midnight then, so I wasn't really sure.

But I knew for a fact that humans changed their clothing everyday.

   So…either I was asleep for so long the human had already washed and dried and was now wearing the same set of clothing he wore, or he hadn't changed his clothes at all.

   I brushed his shirt with my nose. The smell of sweat was still strong. But what made me make up my mind, what confirmed my guess, was the still-lingering, cloying, musty smell of the strange liquid they had used to make me fall asleep.

   I turned and studied the door. It looked heavy. If I tried to break it open, I would get out. But the human would also wake up.

   Should I get rid of the human before I did it? But no…that would mean killing him. And…I'd never considered myself a killer. I'd thought about it once, just after Sandstorm's accident. And I'd firmly decided I wasn't going to kill anyone, any-horse, not unless I was forced to do it to defend myself.

   I looked at the human again. Maybe I could knock him out. I'd heard about those stories; horses kicking their humans; the humans fell into a deep sleep and woke up later.

   Yes, maybe that was what I should do. But I'd never intentionally kicked anyone before. How strong should it be, to not kill him yet to knock him out?     

   I raised my cloth-bound hindquarters and gave the wall a practice kick.

   There was just a thug! But a huge dent appeared in the wall.

   Too strong. I backed up to try again when the human stirred.

   I forgot everything about using the wall for target practice and trained my eyes on him, tense.

   The human raised his arms and stretched. He opened his eyes and stood up.

   I lowered my head and stamped the floor with one hoof, narrowing my eyes, flattening back my ears, telling him with all the non-violent signs I knew to keep back.

   He took a step forward.

   He was either very brave or very stupid. I bared my teeth.

   But he was just bending over to pick up the overturned water bucket.

   Then, the van gave a particularly violent jerk. I hit the wall, and the human was sent sprawling at my feet.

   He regained his balance before I did.

   We glared at each other. Then he reached out a hand and hit the van wall several times.

   The van continued moving before finally slowing down after a while. Something banged. I swung my head around, distracted. The human with me in the stall reached forward. One swift click and he had me on a lead line.

   I didn't fight him. If I was docile and quiet, he would let down his guard. I could get away then.

   So, for the meantime, I played the loving little horse.

   He led me to the door. I pushed his shoulder with my nose.

   I waited. No reaction. Ok…umm…different tactics…

   The door opened. Sunlight streamed in. I half-closed my eyes immediately, and stepped out with him at the first tug on the line.

   The moment my hoof hit the ramp, I knew something was wrong. Every time I put my left forefoot down, every time I took a step, a sharp ping! went through the air, along with the usual muffled clip clop.

   My shoe was loose. It had probably happened back when the blacksmith was shoeing me the other day, and I'd pulled away before he could nail in the shoe properly.

   Sims' friend was waiting for us. He cursed when he heard me, and knelt down to examine my feet. I stifled the urge to hit him around the head and snuffled his hair instead. Maybe if I was "good" enough, he would take all of my shoes away.

   Not that I minded about wearing shoes going back to the wild. It was just that I didn't like the idea of returning home bringing something man-made with me.

   Sims' friend straightened. He scratched his head. He paced a few steps.

   "Something's wrong with the horse."

   I pricked up my ears. Good! Very good. He'd noticed.

   "Why?" asked the stranger.

   I pawed the ground impatiently. Come on…take off the shoes…

   "I don't know."

   Go on! Take off the shoes!

   "It's just that…well Sims said that he's usually vicious towards humans…he'd tried to kick me back when I first met him…and look at him now, standing there, not raising a whinny in protest. I mean, he's been with you most of the night and he's not even tried to kick you?" Sims' friend sounded amazed.

   Oh. Oh that. And I'd thought…

   " Of course, I could just be wrong…or he may just have not liked certain humans…or maybe it's just the van and us and the strangeness of everything…but…" His eyes narrowed. "I may not know a lot about horses than I pretend to…but…horses don't suddenly change their behavior overnight." His eyes were slits.

   Aughhh! Ahh Ahh AHHHH!!!

   Stupid me! How could I be so idiotic? Of course he'd noticed! I'd been a fool to not behave more like myself.

   I set out at once to correct that.

   My hoof pinged! again as I stamped the ground and swept back my ears. Maybe that would convince them…

   Fortunately for me, the sharp ping! reminded them again of my loose shoe. And to my great relief, at last, at last, they got out a hammer and decided to just remove all of my shoes. Partly because they didn't know how to nail one on again, and partly after having seen me walk lopsided with one shoe-less hoof.

   Besides, they didn't have any more new nails.

   While they were still figuring out how to get the nail out, I stood and looked around. It was nearly noon, with the sun high overhead. We were off the road, and parked well away from it, even though I could still see the thin gray ribbon of asphalt stretching away to the horizons on both sides.  The truck was pointing to the West. Behind us, I could see a small lump of a multi-colored mass that had been houses and buildings and farms.

   Of course. They didn't want anybody to see me. By now, Chaya and Dick and Terri would have found out that I was missing. They would have started looking for me hours ago, if this was already almost midday.

   The rich green grass tickled my knees as the wind went through them and made them dance.

   I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. And began to formulate an escape plan.

   The stable was back there, somewhere. If I could get away now, I might be able to reach home within a few days, assuming we were that near home. Of course, I'd have to outrun the humans first.

   And that was my greatest worry. Out here, in this wide, endless plain of forever-waving grass, there would be no grove of trees to hide in, no rivers or streams to lose my scent into, no fallen logs to zigzag through or make them lose sight of me.

   Out here, I was helpless, with only my speed for protection. And I doubted that could last me until I got home.

   No matter how many books you've read, how many movies you've watched, how many stories you've heard, it simply isn't possible for a horse to go on galloping day and night, day and night, without ever stopping. Those things you see and hear, specially in stories about war chargers and noble mares running on and on and on through the night, bearing their masters and mistresses to save a castle or to battle a dragon or to rescue a pretty maiden–those things just can't be done. I mean, horses get tired too. They're not machines.

   No offense. I even wish it could be done. Then, I wouldn't have any problems anymore.

   But that's fairytale.

   And  this is reality. Out here, with the truck, they could easily outrun me and catch me again when I was tired. And after they caught me, they would be sure to tie me up, or to shackle me, or to do some way to keep me locked in. Then I won't have any hope of running away anymore.

   I'd changed my mind. I wasn't going to run away now. I was going to run away later.

   But no. The realization hit me with a bang. The longer I waited, the farther I would get from home, the longer the distance I'd have to travel, the more chances are of my getting caught again.

   Now I was really torn. The idea of running away now was beginning to look attractive again.

   I could do it. I could knock them both out, and make my escape. By the time they woke up, I'd be miles and miles away.

   But what if I was mistaken? What if we were farther from home than I'd thought? I'd seen these machines run. They could go on running for days and nights, as long as they were fed Machine-food, and as long as they were in good condition. They could cover dozens of miles in a matter of hours. What if they'd been running at a gallop for days and nights and we were leagues and leagues away and I didn't know it? In a strange neighborhood, I would get lost quickly. And what if I was caught by other humans who would sell me off to even farther places? Or what if they kept me and beat me again? I would never find my way home again.

   I couldn't be sure. There were a lot of what if's. And I couldn't risk losing my chance for freedom. I'd have one chance. Only one chance to do it. One chance and that was it.

   And I wasn't about to waste it.

   So, when the humans finally took off all my shoes, let me sniff around, shook the line and said, "Hey Mister! Inside now," I followed meekly, quietly, my feet strangely light.

   I allowed them to rake a few brushes through my coat. I let them laugh and shake their heads and shut themselves inside once more.

   I stood still in the van while it chugged and jerked and started to move away once more, knowing, knowing that if I was wrong, I'd be farther from home that I'd ever been in all my years of captivity.

   Knowing that if I let this once chance slip through my fingers, or rather, hooves, I would never forgive myself for it.

   Days and nights passed while we were inside the van.

   I knew because I kept watch. And I counted the nights, each time the sun set and the moon shone. Every sunset, I pushed away some hay at a corner of the trailer and made a long scratch with my hoof along the wall. It was a straight line, just enough for me to see and count. If you didn't know it was there, you would never have noticed it.

   Most of the time, we were in the van. After that one brief walk outside at noon, they never let me out again when the sun was shining.

   They shoved moldy hay into a rack, gave me a bucketful of stale water every time the bucket was drank dry or was overturned by the motions of the van (which was more likely than not; I could swear that the floor never went thirsty again while I sometimes had to look for every drop of water I could find) , and fed me a handful of oats every now and then, if they felt like it.

   At least they took away the damp straw every time the water-bucket overturned. If they didn't, I would probably have gotten the thrush, which is a disease of the feet. Horses get it when they stand for long periods of time in damp and dirty straw.

   I stayed in the van and listened carefully to every word that passed between  Sims' friend and the stranger.

   And I learned a lot.

   Sims' friend was called Boss. Well at least, that was what the stranger always called him, though I wasn't really sure that was a name. As in, "Oww! Ouch!! Okay, okay, alright Boss! ALRIGHT! I'll do it!", when "asked" to muck out the stall.

   The stranger, now not a stranger, was called "Yo!". Or sometimes, "Stupid!". Or even "You Idiot!". As in, " You idiot! How could you have forgotten to put the shovel–" blah blah blah. But he was mostly called 'Yo!' I'm not sure those are names either. But whatever…that was what they called each other, and that's what I'm going to call them.

   And by the way, I'm now referred to as "Hey Mister!". Or sometimes simply as "Hey You!"

   Wow. Two additional names. That makes it a grand total of four, aside from "Spirit" and "Free Wind", not counting all those names Chaya called me when I bucked her off, or those names Mother called me when I was very young and very small and very *innocent*.

   So many names. I'm flattered. Can you smell the sarcasm?

   But that's not the point. The point is, after several days of observation, I soon found out that Boss was the dominating one, and Yo the underdog, the one sent to do all the dirty work, the one who had to do everything while Boss lazed around.

   For instance, Yo was the one who mucked out the stall every morning. Now even I know mucking out a horse stall is not exactly pleasant, unless you're so awed and amazed and everything that you'll be thrilled to do it. Most horse-lovers, like the grooms back home or others, don't mind doing it. But these humans did.

   Boss ordered Yo to fetch things, to repair the van once, to groom me while he would be the one to walk me around, or to sit in a chair outside, watching.

   I found out that they weren't the ones who'd wanted to steal me in the first place. They were 'hired' by someone.

   Wow. That's a whole new perspective of the strange and peculiar humans in their ridiculous clothing.

   But I suppose that's the way their minds work.

   I won't know. I've never been a human.

   I heard Boss once. He was holding a small black square to his face and talking very fast. He sounded angry. Yo was out front, driving the van, so I only heard a few words above the noise.

   Something like, "You said $ 4 million split! We get 2 million bucks each. What?! No….Yeah he's here…No. No–"

   Whatever it wasn't, I never did get to find out; the van had just let out a particularly loud clunk! at that moment.

   "No. I want…higher. Yes. No, higher than that. He still gets a million, but I…yeah…yea–"

   Another noise; a bang! this time.

   "No. It's either 6–no–yeah. Yeah. But I'm warning you, either you pay us or we set him loose or sell him elsewhere." He slapped the black square and slipped it into his pocket.

   This was a one-room van. You go up inside the ramp, and that's it. No stalls, no partitions, nothing whatsoever. So we had to share the stall. He'd been nearly shouting. My ears were still ringing.

   I swiveled them backwards when he flopped down on the straw and studied me.

   "There you go, Mister. 6 million bucks; 4 for me, and two–" he sniggered "– for him. And the best part is," he stopped forward on his hands and knees so that he was looking up at me–" the idiot doesn't even know it! He still thinks we're getting 2 million each."

   I stepped away. My hindquarters hit the stall wall. He scrambled up and took his usual place, near the door, beside two bulky things I've heard are called 'backpacks' containing their clothes and food, and the iron bins with my food inside.

   I settled into my new dark home. Everyday was the same, every night no different. Time was measured only by the length of the sun's rays coming inside the narrow window. Days were monotonous.

   The humans took turns driving the van. Each morning, the one who had driven the night before came inside. He changed places with the one had spent the night with me. First they fed me, changed the water, and mucked out the stall. They ate, changed clothes, and then the one who had been driving settled down beside me for a good day's rest while the one who was driving took his place up front.

   The whole day was spent inside the van. The humans didn't stop often in daylight, longest during noon, where they would eat once more. Then it was back to more driving and rattling and more bone-and-teeth-jarring bounces and bumps and loud clunks! and thunks!    

   Every sunset, while they ate (humans either had a very large appetite or they just like eating), and changed places once again. While they were doing this, sometimes outside, I would scratch my line on the wall and carefully cover it up again with straw.

   They argued often, mostly because Yo didn't want to do what Boss ordered him to. Then Boss would hit him and he would go, stumbling, muttering, shaking his head, throwing glowering looks back at Boss as he went about his chores.

   Days with Boss were different from days with Yo. Days with Yo were filled with silence. He mostly spent his time snoring away.

   Days with Boss were sometimes interesting. He didn't sleep as much as Yo did, and he never snored. Instead, he slept with his mouth hanging wide open, so that once, he nearly swallowed an adventurous fly who had flown too close. Fortunately, the fly got away. Just barely.

   Other times, when Boss wasn't sleeping, he would talk to me, but his talking to me was as different from my talking to Moon as night was from day.

   Boss told me about everything he did; his past accomplishments, his plans for future crimes, his family and his past.

   I would stand with my feet braced, ignoring him while he chattered away.    

   Once or twice, when the hay ran low or they needed anything else, one of them would park the van away from a town, while the other would hike on foot toward it. And they usually came back with supplies.

   They never let me out during the day. At night, usually when it was nice and dark and quiet, they would stop, far away from the road, clip on my line, and let me stretch my legs.

   And always, always, the view would be the same. An endless expanse of grass, with the gray road stretching in both directions. Sometimes, there would be a tall metal tree with several rectangular leaves pointing in different directions. Sometimes there would be a fork on the road, either where we had come from, or to where we were going. Sometimes, there would be a small lump in the distance, with bright twinkling lights, and I would know that those lights weren't stars; they were the last town we passed through.

   And always, always, no mountains. No trees. No hills. No anything. Just grass. Sometimes, I would see a black line running across the plain, and I would guess if they were trees or distant mountains or just my mind playing tricks on me again.

   And as each day passed, I sank more and more into despair, until I began to wonder if this journey would ever end. I gave up all plans of escape. I wondered if I would ever get out again, see the sun, run with the wind in my mane, talk with Moon…

   And then one midday, the humans seemed lightly tense. Earlier that morning, Boss had taken out a round cylinder and a brush. He'd dipped the brush in the cylinder. It came out with some thick dark liquid, which he dribbled all over my coat while Yo held me. Boss painted me all over until I wasn't a golden dun anymore; I was now a pure black. The paint smelled funny but I was kept from further investigating as to how it tasted by being tied to a ring on the wall I hadn't seen before. And now, both of them were out at front. It was the first time they'd left me alone on my own.

   I soon found out why.

   When I was stolen, I knew that sooner or later, someone would come looking for me. I'd thought that only our stable would know about it. I never imagined that others would be looking for me as well.

   I was dozing when I heard the voices. Boss was telling someone that I was "–just a hunter" he was bringing to a friend. He made up a whole story of how I was his horse and he was bringing me to stay on his friend's ranch for a few weeks because he was going away on a "vacation." Whatever a 'vacation' is.

   Boss told the somebody that if he wanted to see me, he could but added that I was "very nervous and bound to kick someone; he doesn't like long journeys, but you can take a peek on him."

   Someone had taken a quick look in the high window.

   Then, more talking.

   I stood thinking very fast. Why was this human questioning Boss and Yo? What did he want to know?

   And then I heard my name. " – looking for a horse called Free Wind–" Why was he saying that–was he looking for me?

   The horrible realization hit me. Someone was looking for me–and I hadn't even told them I was here! Maybe that was someone from home.  If they found me, I could get away once and for all!

   It was hard to lift my head with the line tied to the ring. But I tore out the rope and sent out a shrill whinny as the door banged. Oh no! We were already moving! I kicked the wall, continued kicking and kicking until I knew the human wouldn't hear me anymore.

   And I continued kicking, now in frustration. He'd almost found me! Oh if only the human had cared to take a closer look…

   All through the afternoon, I continued kicking, alternating all hooves when one got tired, until finally, Boss hopped back beside me and yelled at me to stop it.

   Yelling didn't make me stop. A hard whack to the head did.

   I staggered sideways, my head ringing. And I stopped.

   From then on, Boss and Yo stopped only at night. They spent the day sleeping away, and I overheard them saying it was too risky to travel by daylight anymore. They didn't take off the black paint.

   Fine. I was going to be a black horse. Fine. I've always liked black horses, except for one very big and very mean black colt whom I've always disliked. You know who.

   It would be nice to pretend to be a black horse.

   The new life continued. Now, after I kicked him once, Yo decided he was better off sleeping in front, with Boss.

   That was ok. At least I wouldn't have to listen to him snore. Yeah, that was what my life got around to these days : watching these two humans sleep.

   And then, one morning, before they drifted off, I heard something that made my ears prick up, something that ignited a spark of hope, something that rekindled the flame of home-sickness.

   They were talking about where they were headed. I'd known we were going southwest, out of Kentucky, a long way from home. And that they were bringing me 'west'. I knew that my mother had once been brought 'west' too. And that 'west' eventually ended up near the 'Coast'. 'Coast' meant the sea. And I certainly didn't want to go swimming.

   What had started everything was the phrase, "Hey, wasn't that where those broncos run and where the fella back there was supposed to come from?"

   I know broncos mean mustangs. And they had said that we would pass that place soon.

   I was excited. Very excited. All thoughts of my human home rushed out of my head, to be replaced by the familiar peaks of the mountains bordering my meadow, the woods, the canyons and gorges, and my herd.

   And now came a drastic change in the plans.

   Once, before, when I'd planned to escape, I'd planned to go home. Home to Chaya, home to Dick, home to Moon and the farm.

   Now, when I escaped, I would go home. Home to the wild.

   Every time they let me out, I would look for the dark smudge in the horizon that would mean mountains. Mountains were my landmark.

   And one night, I saw it. There were more trees now, and the landscape was changing.

   I would wait. I would use the humans. We were going closer and closer to those mountains. I would wait until we got close enough, not too far, because that wouldn't do any good, and not too close, because I didn't want to lead them to my herd. Too late and I would overshoot. Just right, I had to do it just right.

   I clopped back inside the van, my head filled with happy memories of running in a meadow filled with golden sunshine.

   Soon. Very soon. I would run in that meadow again.

   The next day, I counted my scratches. Or at least, I tried to count them.

   Unfortunately, horses can't count.

   But the scratches were many. So many I could guess that at least a full moon must have passed, more or less.

   The day passed. Boss and Yo had a quarrel, over who would do what. Boss and I had a quarrel, over who got more space.

   The sunset. I added another scratch and waited patiently for my evening feed.

   But today, instead of putting out the hay, Yo led me outside.

   They rarely let me do that now. But if they did, they usually did it before feeding me. That was normal. I trotted around and came to a stop.

   Boss was staring at me with an strange expression on his face. That was unusual.

   He'd never looked at me that way before, as if he was now seeing me in a new light, aside from being a money-making object. But I'd remembered at the way he'd began observing me when I ran, or when I trotted, or when I walked.

   Now, he stood up and walked over. I stayed still, the memory of the sharp whack I'd gotten when he was in a bad temper still fresh in my mind.

   "Yes," he mumbled. "Of course. Thoroughbred racehorse…how could I've been so stupid? Triple Crown winner…and I'd never thought of riding you…"

   Before I knew it, he was on my back, his knees pressing my ribs.

   He shook the lead line and squeezed with his heels. I broke into a trot. I made trotted my bounciest trot, hoping his teeth would be jarred out of his head while we were at it. 

   He swung the line and hit my flank. "Faster!"

   Fine. Okay alright…you don't need to yell. I broke into a canter. His hands were clenched on my mane.

   "Whee! Show me that Triple Crown speed of yours. RUN!"

   I was getting annoyed. After 3 years as a racehorse, I didn't mind being ridden now. But he wasn't sitting on a saddle; no bridle, nothing whatsoever. I was getting annoyed because he was sitting all wrong, leaning too far to the left, then too far to the right. His weight shifted from side to side. I was getting confused. Back at the farm, we had been taught to change directions at the merest shift of the weight. And he was shifting from side to side now, so fast hat I didn't know which way to turn.    

   I was annoyed because his hard grip on my mane hadn't relaxed. With his bouncing up and down, he was almost yanking out my mane.

   I didn't like that.

   And I was annoyed because the free end of the line was bouncing along with every stride I took, swinging from side to side, hitting my knees, almost making me trip. If only he had the good sense to pull it in, I would be most grateful.

   Unfortunately, he didn't.

   We were already very far from the van. I turned and headed back.

   He took his hands from my mane and punching the air.

   "Wheeee!!! FASTER!!!"

   The line was bouncing harder, faster, and it stung.

   I went as slow a gallop as I could. I wasn't used to being ridden bareback, and if I went any faster, he was sure to fly off and break his neck. And he was sure to drag me down with him. I remembered Sandstorm's accident. He'd tripped. His rider had jumped clear just in time. But then, Terri was an experienced rider, not to mention a jockey. This human was probably too foolish to know what to do if he and I fell.

   "WHOOPPEEEE!!!! YIIHAHH!!! I'm a cowboy!!!! WAHOO!!!"

   Who wouldn't get annoyed at being ridden while running at your slowest, fastest pace, trying to obey your rider's commands to go faster and yet not daring to because you don't want him to fly off and drag you down with him? Who wants to be ridden by a yelling maniac waving his arms about and behaving like a kid?

   And then, I heard his voice near my ear. "Awww, is that the best you can do? Is that your very very fastest? Awwww, poor horsey. Did you win the Triple Crown by doing that too? Why, even I could outrun you! Ha ha! FASTER!" The first part was said in a singsong voice. The second part was yelled out.

   He kicked me in the ribs. Hard.

   Ok. I don't get mad easy. But this human had gone way overboard.

   I put on my horse brakes. Yes, right from a gallop into a straight stop. He didn't fall off. Instead, his upper body slammed forward, onto my neck.

   Bah.

   I reared. And reared even higher, higher than I've ever known I could rear.

   Uh oh. Too high. I went down backwards.

   Together, we crashed down onto the earth. This foolish human didn't jump clear. I landed on top of him.

   There was a sharp crunching sound.

   At first, I thought that I'd broken my neck or leg. Then the moans of pain reached my ears. His fingers were clenched around handfuls of my mane and the halter and the line had been ripped off.

   I scrambled up. He was clutching his leg, groaning. One swift kick to the face and he stopped doing that. His head lolled from side to side.

   And oh yeah. He looked nicer too, in his new black-eye.

   The other human, Yo, came running, waving his arms.

   No, I didn't wave back.

   Right now, I was mad. I whirled and swung my hindlegs upward blindly.

   There was a sharp crack too, as I felt my hooves connect with bone. Yo's head snapped back and he fell.

   I sidled closer and put my head down beside their mouths.

   They were still breathing. Good.

   That would keep them knocked out for hours.

   But what should I do now? I was stranded in the middle of the desert, with two unconscious humans and a trailer.

   Great. Just great. Should I wait for them to wake up? No, probably not. I didn't want to think about the possibilities of what Boss would do to me if he woke up and found I was still here.

   I snorted at the thought of Boss running around, trying to catch me, waving his arms like mad and yelling, "Bad! Bad horsey! Stay! No, STAY! I said STAY! Bad horsey! Very bad horsey!"

   But meanwhile, should I just leave them lying here? Or…yeah…

   Yeah…I hadn't thought of that before…

   Why not just run away right now?

   Come to think of it, that was a good idea.

   If I got away now, I would have several hours head start, because after they woke up, they would probably sit around, tending to their bruises. Then they would set out to try find me.

   By then, if I ran hard and kept up the pace, I would have gotten far away. Very far away.

   Also, once they woke up and found me still here, they would do what I didn't want them to do; tie me up, lock me inside, never let me out again. And once that happened, the chances of getting away again were very, very slim.

   Oh goody. But I hadn't planned on escaping this early.

   Oh well. One chance. Might as well take it.

   I set off, cantering. Running felt wonderful. Being used to running almost every day, after weeks of being cooped up inside the van, my muscles were screaming for action. 

   I was some distance away before I slowed and looked back. What else would keep them busy for hours?

   An idea began take shape. Oh yeah. Why not?

   I'd noticed that the humans a great deal of time arranging their things. They liked everything neat and tidy.

   Maybe…

   I went back. Back to the trailer. Past the knocked-out humans, past the line and halter lying on the ground, and back into the trailer.

   And there, I wrecked everything I could.

   I grabbed their backpacks with my teeth and dragged them outside. They were sealed, but I tore them open somehow. Then I scattered their belongings, gripping an open back-pack with my teeth holding my head to one side to keep them away from my legs, and cantering in ever-widening circles around them both.

   Both backpacks done, I went back inside. The straw! I stood, with my head inside and my tail facing out, and began to paw backwards.

   Soon, straw was flying thickly through the air. I made sure to make a nice, thick mess of their things and the straw.

   I toppled the hay stacks, rolled the water bottles outside with my nose and kicked holes in them, and overturned the bin of oats.

   The horseshoes were thrown outside. Anything else that was small and had several pieces, I scattered.

   The front of the van was made of glass. Two sure kicks shattered the windshield.

   I added to the dents already on the walls.

   Then I stood back and studied my work.

   Oh. And one last thing to make sure they would never, ever find me.

   I ran a good distance away.

   Then, I lowered my head, and charged full out.

   The trailer loomed up ahead, getting larger and larger by the second.

   I hit it with my shoulder. It shuddered. I hit it again. And again.

   Each time, it shuddered more and more, until it began swaying, tipping, going from one side to another, its wheels alternately in the air.

   I reared and hit it with my hooves one last time.   

   It groaned. It swayed. It groaned some more. Then, with a final groan of defeat, it gave in.

   I scrambled out of the way as the van tipped, went into a canter as it fell on it side, wheels spinning crazily in the air.

   I turned my face to the northwest and ran. I didn't stop. And I didn't look back.

   Just moving and not standing still felt wonderful. I'd almost forgotten the feeling of the wind whipping through my mane, the feeling of flying flat out and not caring a single thing.

   So I went into a gallop.

   And as I ran, it felt like a huge burden had been lifted off me. It was like I was once again the wild young yearling; no memories of being abused, no thoughts of tracks or races, and best of all, nothing at all about two-legged creatures.

   I didn't know for how long I ran. But I covered distance quickly. Traveling with the road in sight, I followed it to…I don't know…I just followed it.

   Then, came the crossroads. Three different roads branching off from my own one.

   And I didn't know which one I should take, which one I should follow.

   A voice, a barely remembered whicker came into my mind, a whisper in my ears, an echo of my mother's voice.

   Listen to the wind… listen to the wind…Yes. That was what she had said. But wait. There was more…

   The wind talks…It swirls and talks…it whispers to us…and we only have to listen to it…so whenever we are lost…when we can't find our way home…we just have to listen to the wind…listen…listen…

   And then, I remembered something else; something else my mother had said.

   Follow the sunset by day…and the north star by night…every true mustang will find his true home…where he truly belongs…

   Well, I certainly didn't fit in the strange world of the humans. But now, I wasn't entirely sure my herd would take me back…

   So, I closed my eyes and listened some more to the wind.

   I waited.

   Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…

   What did that mean? Can someone please hand me the wind dictionary?

   WHOOSH…WHOOSH…

   This was getting ridiculous. I was standing here, in the middle of nowhere, and listening to the wind talking.

   What?

   I waited some more. But then, the wind can't speak horse, and I certainly haven't heard of a place called Whoosh, if such a place exists.

   And then, when I was about to open my eyes, the wind came. It came, stronger than ever before, and it blew against my neck. It was strong; my head changed direction. It blew and blew, until at last, I thought it was pushing me. But where?

   My eyes flew open. My mouth opened too, about to complain out loud.

   And then I stopped. I closed my mouth.

   I was facing the west, the spot where the sun would set.

   Of course. I could see it now.

   Go to the west…

   West was away from the road. Very far away.

   So, I ran, facing west, following not the road, following not my guesses, but following the wind. And the wind was blowing, pushing me west.

   I ran.

   Then, when the trees in the distance looked remotely like trees, I stopped, turned my head north, and went into a trot.

   The moment I entered the trees, every last shred of tameness disappeared. I slowed to a walk, panting. There wasn't a path, so I made one of my own.

   Going through the forest reminded me of playing with Thunder in our meadow. And remembering brought an ache, a sweet, longing ache to be home again.

   I wandered for hours, pushing north blindly, not knowing where I was going, but knowing that the trees would somehow end.  

   Every step I took, every whiff of the wind came bringing long-lost, long-forgotten memories back to mind.

   I wondered about Thunder. He and I shared the same sire, and Northlight had been big. Thunder would be almost as big as I was now, maybe even bigger, since his mother hadn't been exactly small. Would he have his own herd? Yeah he probably would. Would he have a lot of fillies? He would be an experienced fighter now, maybe even more experienced than I was. I daydreamed of helping him fight whatever stallion was threatening his territory or trying to take his mares. Would he still recognize me? Would we still be friends?

   Probably. Then again, probably not.

   Mother. My throat closed at the thought of meeting her again and telling her of everything I'd been through. She would be twelve, thirteen springs now, turning fourteen next spring. But she would still be black. The white star on her forehead would still sparkle and shine. She might be older now, but she would still laugh and make me laugh. And best of all, she would still run. And I would race with her. And I would make her proud.

   Northlight. He might be also be older, more noble, more distinguished, but still might, still powerful, still invincible. I wondered if he would still acknowledge that I was from his herd. Or would he have forgotten me already?

   The sun sank slowly as I pushed my way deeper into the forest.

   Since I was alone, I was easy prey for coyotes or cougars. But I could fight them…

   Night. I was getting alarmed. It was already dark, and I still hadn't found a clearing.

   And worse, I was getting thirsty.

   Hungry was no problem; I could reach over and munch on a leaf anytime I wanted.

   But water now…

   I hadn't come this far, gone to such lengths just to die of thirst.

   I hadn't fought and bucked and kicked all this way just for nothing. 

   When I didn't know what to do, I gave up and stood still and closed my eyes.

   The night was eerie. It was filled with shadows, shadows of the fearful, shadows of the unknown, shadows of predators, waiting to pounce on me. Strange sounds and smells came.

   After years living with humans, I didn't recognize them.

   I don't like getting scared. But right now, the familiar, icy feeling of fear was rising in my stomach, sending chills down my spine, making every whish sound like a cougar's breath, every twig that snapped sound like a snake…

   I was alert. I was tense. I was ready to bolt.

   But bolt where? Surrounded by trees, shadows and darkness all around me, I couldn't run anywhere. Here, my speed was useless.

   Stop. This was all wrong.

   A wild horse wouldn't have been scared. A wild horse would have known exactly what those sounds were, and what to do. He would have known exactly where he was.

   Guilt filled me. I had failed! All those lessons my mother had taught me long ago; all those days spent observing and teaching, all that time to prepare me, to show me how to survive on my own, everything–all forgotten.  

   I had failed her.

   I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to face reality.

   But when I stood still, and kept my eyes closed; when I just listened to the wind going gently whish whish through the trees, when I listened and gleaned comfort from the strange rhythm of the wind and the trees and the grass swaying, swaying, gently dancing in the gentle rhythm of life, slowly, everything began to filter back into my head.

   Slowly, everything began coming back.

   That whish whish! I realized suddenly. I knew what that was. That was the sound the branches of the Tree-that-reaches-the-sky made when they rubbed together.

   And oh! That sound! That was the owl hooting good night. And the frogs croaking. I heard the insects buzzing.

   The smell! That wonderful smell. What was it? I'd forgotten what it was.

   But oh! It was the smell of the grass. Not green, human cultivated grass grown with barrels of fertilizer, but the sweet smell of the sun-ripened, almost-dry, sparse grass of the wild.

   Wild grass! Real grass! The grass on which the wild horses ran…

   Sounds, smells, everything came flooding back.

   Suddenly, I remembered. I remembered everything, every single thing I'd learned.

   Suddenly, the forest had gone from being a strange place full of fear to a familiar place filled with the things of the wild.

   It was like waking up, like after a long, deep sleep, it was suddenly opening my eyes and seeing sunshine again.

   My eyes shot open. I felt recharged, thirst forgotten, in my excitement of remembering.

   Then I glanced down. And immediately jumped aside. I looked back over my shoulder and saw, clearly, a glaring trail of broken twigs and misplaced pebbles; snapped branches and trampled blades of grass that anyone with eyes might be able to follow.

   I also saw the hoofmarks.

   Ack! I winced.

   But there was nothing I could do about it.

   So, I set my face forward. And went on.

   But there, back there, I left the last of the tame horse behind. From there on, I was again a wild horse.

   The trail that humans could follow stopped back there, in the middle of nowhere.

   Because from that moment on, I traveled as a wild horse, not as a tame horse.

   My thirst returned. So I followed my new-found nose, followed my instincts, and found a small trickle of water; followed that trickle of water until I reached a creek.

   And at that creek, I drank, the water flowing down my parched throat, the cool, sweet, water that spoke of snow-covered mountains. Fresh water. Wild water.

   Then I went on, pushing back the weariness, going ever northward, until at last, when the sun peeked over the mountains, I found a nice dry cave and slept.

   That was the way I traveled: sleeping by day, running by night.

   This way, I found that I didn't have to lose sweat in the heat of the sun and have to stop for water often; I could travel in the cool of the night, running in the moonlight.

   The day after I left the cave, the forest ended. Once more, I faced an open unending plain, a sea of grass that waved and tickled my knees.

   But this time, unlike before, I knew what to do, where to go.

   Galloping by moonlight was wonderful. I could go on for hours, trotting, cantering, trotting again, galloping when I felt like it. The wind was cool. I had moonlight to guide me.

   I didn't get thirsty that easy. There was no sun to blind me, no scorching heat to make me wish it was winter, and best of all, no fear of humans.

   Humans sleep by night.

   And that was when I moved.

   That way, I made my way steadily north, until the dry, sparse grass gave way to the lush green kind I'd grown up on, and the Prickly trees became Triangles.

   You know, the Triangles? The ones with the crunchy cones?

   I hugged the tree-line, running on the outside and when dawn came, entering the forest for a drink of water then off to find some sort of shelter. Sometimes, I even slept out in the open.

   Plains may look endless. But they aren't.

   Nothing ever is.

  On the third or fourth moon after I found the creek, a little after a week after I escaped, I reached the foot of the plateau. The plateau that had, for a week, been my steady landmark, a slowly rising mound of red rock.

   I'd followed the creek north, tracing it back to it's source. But now, the grass simply ended, just like that.

   And before me, the rock face began.

   No choice. I couldn't go back.

   I looked for a trail and began to climb.

   How I made the rest of the journey, I don't know. All I ever remember are the cool nights of running, the brief climb up the plateau, across it's face, and down the other side, and more endless running through woods and plains and woods and plains again. How many deep streams I forded, how many rivers I swam, I never bothered to count.

   One full moon had passed since my escape, one and a half moons after my being stolen, two springs from when I was first captured.

   Chaya and Dick and Moon and racing and silver bits and creaking saddles were worlds away.

   But by now, I'd forgotten all about them.

   All I knew was that, somehow, following the north star, the brightest star at the very tip of the beak of the Eagle, with it's head to the north, its wings to the east and west, and its tail to the south, (horse constellations are different from human ones), I threaded my way through the country. Somehow, I would get there.

   I didn't care when something came across my path. If it was big, I climbed it. If it was small, I jumped over it. Always, always, steadily northward.

   All I knew was that I was headed home.

   And then, one day, I'd climbed up a high knoll where there was a good view of the surrounding plain.

   It was then that I saw it. A huge range of mountains in the distance, with the familiar dip in them, with only open blue sky.

   Those mountain ranges! They were, had always been, a familiar sight in my foalhood. Somewhere, at the foot of one of those mountains, somewhere among the mass of lush green valleys that lay at the foot of those mountains, just below Three Peak, would be my own meadow.

   With renewed hope, I set off.

A/N:  mystery008 – how is your gelding?

The copper araibian – Samson's leaving? That is sad. Did you use to ride him? Why did he get lame? What color is he? How old is he now? And is San Jose in California? I'm really sorry; I'm not familiar with all the places and stuff.

Wolfite – Seen the horse who plays the Black–wow, that's cool. And he wasn't afraid of all the people around and the stage smoke? For a breed like an Arabian, that's incredible. I mean, Arabians and Thoroughbreds are normally very spirited. They usually shy at things and noises, and etc. He must have been well-trained and used to crowds of people and stuff. How are Han Rose and Claudette?