Disclaimer: (please see chapters before; I've written all the interesting disclaimers I can think of.)

Chapter 17

   I covered the distance in a fortnight.

   Since this was already deep in the wild, I abandoned traveling in the night and resumed to running at daytime.

   Good bee, humans!

   Two weeks, and while I ran, the mountains grew steadily bigger.

   I passed valleys of wildflowers, meadows with bubbling brooks and streams, cascading rivers, miles upon miles of trees, and all the while, the mountains loomed closer and closer.

   The nearer I got to home, the more signs I saw of wild horses.

   Here and there, in lush meadows where no one lived but the deer and the butterflies, I would find piles of droppings, marking the territories of stallions. The smell of mares and foals would be there too, but they would be stale, thin.

   On the dirt paths, I would find tracks. Dozens of them; big track, small tracks, mixed in with rabbit and coyote and cougar tracks.

   But I met nobody.

   Of course. These were their winter grazing lands. It was just the beginning of autumn now. The herds would be migrating south, down here, when the first cold winds blew.

   I sniffed around and made sure to graze only at places where no territory was marked. I didn't want stallions to come looking for me when they arrived with their families.

   As I went north, the smells grew fresher. Stronger.

   The first herd I met had come south early, probably not wanting to be in the way when the other herds began to move. I rounded a well-worn path, filled with fresh scents, and found myself face to face with a very very surprised stallion.

   He hadn't expected to find anyone down here, and certainly not another stallion.

   I didn't want to fight. I didn't want his mares. I didn't want his land, I didn't want anything from him. All I wanted was to pass through his territory.

   But here, you don't call for reservations and … yeesh …

   "Sorry," I said, and vanished up the path before he could even bat an eyelash.

   I met the second herd three moons after that. But this time, I did want something.

   I was thirsty and I needed permission to drink from their stream.

   I asked for it. The stallion eyed me, sizing me up, probably wondering if I was going to steal his mares. He stood studying me for so long I thought he was going to say no. But he finally nodded.

   So, I drank. And said thank you before I left.

   He said something too. He said, "Is your father Northlight? Because if he is…well, you just look a lot like him…we used to know each other…and if you want to know, his territory's just around the corner, next to mine, beyond that string of trees."

   I found Northlight's meadow and scouted around, sniffing. I found a familiar scent. Probably Golden's. But try as I might, I couldn't find Mother's.

   I felt an alarm bell ringing somewhere. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Mother with the herd when they left this place last spring?

   But I pushed it away and went on. She'd probably taken a different path or something. She would be alright.

   I couldn't find Northlight's scent either. But then, I hadn't known his smell very well, so I probably just mistook his for someone else. And then I remembered the stallion's words: "…used to know each other…" Oh well. the past tense didn't really mean Northlight was dead. Maybe they had just played together as foals or something and got separated when they grew up.

   So this was where Northlight had taken the herd all those years ago, when Mother and I were captured. Well, they may have gone somewhere else, but they were certainly going in this direction.

   So…logically…if I followed the general way north, I would find the hill, and beyond that, our meadow.

   I remember that day well. Several moons after I'd met Northlight's friend, the trees thinned and gave way to green grass and open plain. Soon they altogether disappeared, although there was still a dark fringe of them in the east. To the west, I would sometimes catch a glimmer of red rock, shimmering in the heat. Ahead, Three Peak, where the snow and rocks dipped and showed the sky, loomed before me. Soon, the ground in front of me began to rise.

   By sunset, I was standing on the old familiar hill, looking on the old familiar meadow.

   My hill.

   My meadow.

   And below, a small group of grazing horses…

   My herd…

   Looking down on the peaceful party of mares and foals, I felt a deep happiness washing over me from head to toe.

   I was home!

   Hmm. No sign of a stallion, but there was still a scent…

   Oh well. He'd just probably gone to have a drink. I would introduce myself when he got back.

   I turned right and headed into the trees. I would watch, observe, look around first. I didn't want to surprise them.

   In the woods, I crept forward, walking lightly, softly. As my mother had taught me to.

   My blood was racing at the thought of meeting her again.

   The wind came. It was blowing in my face. Good. The herd wouldn't smell me.

   I stepped out of the woods.

   Heads shot up. The mares and foals scattered.

   That was ok. They didn't know me. But they soon would.

   I took a few steps forward. The mares edged back.

   My head swung right and left as I studied them.

   Strange faces. Different faces. No one from my original herd.

   No one recognized me? There was a sinking feeling in my stomach.

   And then, from behind the herd, a chestnut mare, shining golden in the sunset, came forward uncertainly.

   "Spirit?"

   Golden!

   I trotted to meet her. She stopped a few feet from the bunched mares.

   I bowed and dipped my head in respect, keeping my head lowered until she dipped her head and returned the greeting too.

   We rushed to meet each other. I buried my nose in her shoulder, her warm smell filling my nostrils, and remembered doing the same thing when I was younger.

   She snuffled my mane, then stood back to look at me.

   I found that I was already taller than she was. She had to stand back and tilt her head to look into my face.

   I studied her. She was older now, built heavier, sway-backed, her muzzle graying, her coat losing it's sheen. But she was still a golden chestnut, her warm brown eyes still twinkling, her step still high, her movements graceful. In the sinking sun, her coat still looked like what I'd remembered of it; dazzling, and with a golden tint to it.

   Her voice was soft. "You've come home. I knew you would."

   Her eyes grew wide. A shadow fell over both of us.

   I wheeled around. A small, chunky stallion was standing there, eyeing me warily.

   "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

   I opened my mouth, but Golden answered for me. "He doesn't mean any harm. He grew up in this herd and he's come back looking for information. I promise he won't take any mares. Don't worry, I just want to talk to him."

   The stallion was still eying me with mistrust. He finally slid past us, going off in the direction of the bunched mares, probably to reassure them everything was fine.

   Golden led me into the woods.

   "Talk," she said simply as she fell in step beside me.

   I shortened my strides so that she could keep up.

   "Who was that stallion? Where is Northlight?"

   "I'll tell you later." She wouldn't meet my eyes. My in-built alarm bell started  clanging again. I pushed it out of my mind.

   "Talk."

   So I talked. While the sun set and the sky turned dark, I told her everything that had happened to me; every single thing that I'd done.

   I told her about Jim. I told her about Sims. I told her about life at the farm, about bits and bridles and machines. I told her about Moon.

   The night wore on and I poured everything out to her. And Golden just walked beside me and listened.

    Telling took all night. We walked in a wide circle and came back to the meadow just before dawn.

   "And so, I came here and found you." I finished. "Now, it's your turn. Where is Northlight? Who was that stallion and why is he here? And where is Mother?"

   Golden fell silent. Finally, she sighed.

   "Come here." She led me out of the woods, and back into the meadow. The other mares and foals were still asleep, huddled together. They didn't wake up.

   Golden stopped just before a huge tree with spreading branches.

   She pointed with her head. "He's over there."

   I followed her gaze, followed it and saw a huge patch of grass. A huge patch of grass greener and thicker than all the others…a patch of grass on a huge mound.

   A huge mound that was all that remained of a once noble, once powerful, copper stallion.

   I felt my throat close. My eyes became moist. I forced my mouth to move. "Who?"

   She looked as sad as I felt. When her eyes met mine, they were filled with pain. "Saber."

   Saber. The big black stallion who had his mares just over the ridge…the one who was always trying to steal our herd…

   So Saber had finally gotten the best of Northlight.

   I forced out another word. "How?"

   Golden shook her head. "Your father wasn't as young as he was. The spring after you were captured, Saber came again. They fought, like they always did. Saber was younger. He might not be that wise or experienced, but he was younger. And Northlight was growing old. Saber came out winner. He moved us to his valley over the ridge, along with his herd. But he made a mistake. There were too many of us. Too many mares with foals to feed…and not enough grass. Quarrels broke out. Saber was so busy trying to resolve the arguments that he didn't patrol his borders carefully. Another stallion came. Saber was defeated."

   I scanned the now-awakening herd, looking, searching…and not finding what I was looking for. There were bays, chestnuts, a brown…but I couldn't see a shining black back. Mother was missing.

   I wanted to know more. "What about Mother? Where is she?"

   Her words were pouring out. Her voice was shaking. She continued her story.

   "That stallion separated us from Saber's original herd. He took Saber's mares and left us to wander alone. With nowhere to go, and no stallion to protect us, your mother, as lead mare, led us back here.

   She held us together all the time there wasn't a stallion to lead us. When there were quarrels, she solved them and the mares were satisfied. She kept things running as if everything was normal, as if Northlight was still alive. When Shinto came along and found us, your mother struck a deal with him. We would let him stay, if he would continue to let her lead us. Your mother knew that was the only way to go on living peacefully, that if we let him have control, everything would fall into pieces. All the mares agreed.

   For a while, things were fine.

   Since Shinto wasn't from around here, your mother showed him around. She led him to the richest patches of grass, the coolest waters; she even climbed part of Three Peak with him to show him the other stallions' lands and their boundaries.

   But Shinto was foolish. He was young and wild and arrogant. He wanted more, much more. He was greedy. He was mean to the mares. He would disappear for days at a time, not doing his duty as stallion, leaving us alone and not protecting us. It was almost like not having a stallion around again. Your mother tried to overlook things. She persuaded the other mares to let it go, that having a stallion, however irresponsible he was, was better than having none and having to fend for ourselves. When Shinto vanished, she was there to guide us.

   One day, he told us he was leaving for a while again. Your mother knew what he was going to do. She also knew that if Shinto fought the stallion, he was going to lose.

   She advised him not to go after that stallion's territory, that it would be too dangerous for him, that this meadow was fine, was just large enough and suited us perfectly. We didn't need more land. He didn't listen. She went with him, talking, arguing, pleading, saying that she didn't want to have a herd without a stallion again.

   He hit her. And told her that if she wanted to lead the herd that much, why didn't she say so at the start?  He said that he didn't need her, that he could have done things better than she could ever have hoped to do.

   He'd outright insulted her. Everybody knew that all your mother had done, everything–hadn't been for herself. It had been for the herd. And now he was going to treat her like this?

   He was yelling at her. And she was wiser and older, a lot wiser than he would ever be.

   Of course your mother was mad. She came back and said that she'd had it. Every time Shinto did something wrong, she had smoothed it over with the mares, somehow diverted the consequences. When he'd disappeared, she'd been there, somehow as a surrogate stallion, a leader, someone who led and protected the herd. She had been doing what she was supposed to do, and he'd had the gall to hit her and yell at her?

   That night, your mother vanished. Nobody knew where she went. Nobody except for me.

   Your mother came to me late in the night. She said that she was fed up. She said that she didn't care anymore. If Shinto wanted to lead the herd himself, fine. Fine. If he didn't need her, she was going away. She was going to find another herd, make another home. She asked me if I wanted to go with her. But I had a foal at that time. And you mother was going up Three Peak, to the mountains beyond.

   I said no. I had to stay for the foal. She said she would come back when Shinto was gone. But we both knew the truth.

   Your mother wasn't going to come back. Ever. So, we said goodbye. I never saw her again.

   Shinto didn't come back. With no stallion and no lead mare, the remaining mares scattered. Some were taken by other stallions. Others fell prey to he cougars. Finally, only a small core of us was left, a shadow of the once numerous herd that had flourished under Northlight and your mother. We were thin, even though there was plenty of grass around. We were thin from worrying and fretting over what would become of our foals. The atmosphere was tense. Our coats were dull, our eyes glassy, and our minds clouded with worry. Those who still remembered living a good life under Northlight were getting old. They wanted to spend their remaining days in peace. Since I was your mother's best friend, the mares looked to me for leadership. But I wasn't used to leading. I didn't have the experience.

   Fortunately, Fleetfoot found us. His herd had been decimated; he'd lost half his mares to a rival stallion. He was looking for more members to band together against predators.

   We'd found the perfect match. He needed a territory and more members; we had those but needed a stallion. But we were still wary, still suspicious, because we'd learned our lesson: we didn't want to repeat our previous mistake and give our alliance to an irresponsible stallion.

   But Fleetfoot proved himself. He was smart enough, kind enough. He was always around. He fought off intruders.

   He gained out trust. He trained me to take charge, taught me what to do if anything happened to him. He poured everything he knew into my head. I was made lead mare.

   And so, you have seen how the herd has once again recovered and even grown."

   Golden stopped.

   My mind was still reeling with all the information I'd just gathered. So that was what had happened.

   "We don't graze there anymore," Golden added, glancing towards the grassy mound again.

   I closed my eyes.

   This wasn't what I'd expected. I'd come back here, anticipating a normal herd life.

   Only now…Northlight dead…Mother missing…and a herd who would never accept me no matter what I did…

   Nothing was the same anymore. Nothing…

   "I can't stay," I choked out.

   Golden hung her head. "You're right. This is a different herd now, one that doesn't know you. You don't belong here anymore."

   She was wise. She'd been my mother's best friend. She was the one who knew Mother best. She was wise. And she was right.

   I opened my eyes and faced her squarely. "Did my mother say where she was going to go?"

   Golden shook her head. "Just into the mountains. But I told her of a place I knew."

   A faraway look came into her eyes.

   "The most beautiful valley you've ever seen. I was born there. A smooth green bowl…a tiny waterfall at the other end…a stream flows past… cliffs all around…the only ways to get into it is to either climb straight down from above, or go through the Ibex.

   The Ibex is a rock. Three, sharp points jutting out to open space. The middle one, called the Ram's Horn, is the longest. There's no other way through. You have to step off the Horn. But you won't fall to your death. There is a ledge just below. You will land on it. Follow that ledge, hugging the cliff wall. That particular place is surrounded by thorny bushes. Step through. You'll see a tiny, narrow, path under overhanging cliffs. Those are the Ram's Wool. Keep on that path and you're there."

   She turned to me. "She might have gone there. Or she may have just wandered around. I do not know."

   I felt a surge of fear. Fear not for myself, but for my mother. Mother was old now. She might still be fast, but she would be weak. Well, not weak, but still… She wouldn't be able to fight, if predators found her. And she was alone.

   Golden saw my look. "Don't worry. It doesn't look like it, but there are a lot of green valleys tucked away up there. If Bella found them, she wouldn't have to worry for the rest of her life. The grass is good, and water flows. I know," she added, because I'd turned to her, amazed. "I know because I grew up there. My herd was once the most dominant among all the Northlands, or the Highlands, as we called them. My father controlled almost the whole north. But now, no one's left. And no one knows much about the mountains. These days, nobody is willing to take risks. They just want to stay here, in the Southlands, or the Lowlands, where they can be sure of warm sunshine and green grass. They think the mountains are cold, snowy, forbidding. They are right. They think the mountains are dangerous, formidable, harsh on the weak. They are right. But the mountains are also much much more…and to those who are strong, the mountains can be a blessing. The mountains can give them life. It all depends on you. I haven't told anyone about the valley behind the Ibex until now, except for your mother,  because…well…I-I was waiting for the right horses. Horses who would be worthy of the valley. Great horses."

   "Not even Thunder?"

   She shook her head slowly. "No."

   I could feel my throat closing again. She had given up what was probably the most beautiful place here, the richest valley around. She had given up that secret to…me. She had looked past her son, her own son, and almost practically turned over the secret of the valley, to me.

   "Why?"

   She didn't answer me.

   "No one adventurous enough to go up there and discover the hidden potentials of those mountains. No one is brave enough. No one," she paused, then added softly, "except for you. If you are willing to do it."

   Now that got my attention. "Me!?!"

   Golden looked at me like I wasn't using my head. "Of course you! Where do you think you're going to go? All the valleys and meadows around here and occupied. You'll have to go somewhere else. And where else but the North?"

   Determination filled me. "I'm going to find her. I'm going to find her and bring her back." I announced. "Then, you two can spend the rest of your days together, rolling on the grass, swimming in the creek..."

   "I'm old now." Golden smiled gently. Sadly.

   "Don't get your hopes up too high. You and I both know that lone horses don't survive very long…"

   I let out a breath. I would go look for Mother. But I needed to find someone else first. "Do you know where Thunder is?"

   I held my breath. She can't tell me that Thunder is also gone too…

   To my relief, she brightened. "He has his own herd now. Follow the stream until you see a break in the trees. That will be his meadow."

   I thanked her and spent the rest of the day wandering around, going east, then west, remembering all I knew, drinking in the sight of home before I had to leave again.

   I returned at sunset. Fleetfoot was waiting for me. Golden had obviously told him who I was. He invited me to stay as long as I liked, even to go with them to their winter grazing grounds, but I thanked him and told him that I was leaving tomorrow.

   I spent the night, then before the sun came up, found Golden, asked her to thank Fleetfoot for me again, and set off.

   The morning air was crisp. Fog swirled around my legs.

   The creek was to the east, in the woods. The stream led to and from that. I followed Golden's instructions and soon found the break in the trees, just like she'd said.

   Wow. I've never been this far east before.

   I scrambled up the bank and shook off the water like a dog.

   The break was ahead. I could see patches of grass here and there, between the trees.

   A twig snapped behind me. I wheeled around.

   A dark horse was standing in the shadows in the small clearing across the stream, hidden by the fog. Nearby, I could see other dark shapes, smaller, who were bunched together in the trees.

   A stallion and his mares.

   The dark horse was walking forward.

   And then, the sun came out. Golden rays spread across the valley. Light filled the tiny clearing.

   The dark horse cast a look behind him, then stepped into the light.

   I caught my breath as he emerged.

   He wasn't black or dark brown, like I'd imagined. He wasn't even a liver chestnut.

   He was a dapple-gray.

   The stallion shook his head. Silky silver mane flew over rippling muscles. His dark gray coat had a smooth sheen. Light white spots, soft silver dapples ran down his flanks, merged with his iron gray coat, and deepened into black on his legs and nose.

   He was beautiful.

   But he was also a stranger. And I was wary of strangers.

   But still...there was something…something vaguely familiar about those eyes…warm brown eyes I was sure I'd seen before…

   "Spirit?"

   My eyes met his across the water.

   "Thunder?"

   The next second, we were both flying down the bank.

   We reared, forefeet waving in the morning air, and brought our feet down together. The resulting splash drenched us both as we met in the middle of the stream. Tiny water droplets flew as we rubbed the sides of our heads together. The water swirled and flowed around our knees and pushed against our sides. It tugged at our tails, rose up to our chests and carried with it a tide of lightness. He shoved his nose onto my shoulder, the way he always did, and I could feel the happiness rising again. Northlight may be gone, Mother missing…but Thunder, Thunder my half-brother, Thunder my best friend, was still here.

   I wheeled and kicked water in his face. He sent a splash my way too, laughing, then turned and whistled up the bank.

   We scrambled out of the water, bucking and wheeling together, as the mares came out from the trees.

   There were three of them, three graceful fillies, each beautiful, each light and fast.

   I nosed their faces in greeting as Thunder introduced us.

   "This is Spirit, my brother…Spirit, this is Sunbeam,…Turquoise…Jasmine…"

   They dipped their heads in return.

   "You have chosen well," I whickered so that only Thunder could hear me. These were good fillies, able to take care of themselves. He had gone for quality instead of numbers. That was wise.

   We walked back to Thunder's meadow, me talking with him, the fillies following behind us.

   Thunder exchanged stories with me. I told him I was going up to the mountains to look for Mother.

   "Come down anytime you want to. You'll always be welcome. We're not migrating south, since there are only four of us; the grass here will be enough to last through the winter."

   I nodded my thanks, told him that I was grateful, but that I couldn't stay long since I intended to be back before winter was here.

   We said goodbye at the edge of the meadow.

   Then, I turned my head towards Three Peak and started off.

   Three Peak was all that I'd envisioned of mountains. It was also much, much more. The lower slopes were easy to climb enough. I picked my way up, weaving, zigzagging through the rocks and pebbles and the occasional flower brave enough to poke its head up this time of the year.

   Hello, brave little flower.

   Hello, rock.

   Hello, Three Peak.

   I climbed up, up, up, until I reached a ledge. It jutted out, far above the lowlands, or what Golden called the Southlands. Inwardly, I found myself doubting her. Were these meadows really considered south? Were there really more valleys, more places to be discovered north?

   I would soon find out.

   Meanwhile, this ledge offered an excellent view of the lowlands.

   Thank you, ledge.

   I could see plain after plain of lush green grass, extending away, farther than the horizon. That was to the south. To the west, or to my right, the grass ended abruptly in what I recognized as my old meadow. There, the Red Rocks began.

   Cliff after cliff, rockface after rockface rose tall, standing proud. I'd played among them once…

   I stood there for along time, just listening to the wind coming and going, standing still and letting my mane and tail flow.

   Then, I started thinking of what I would need to look for to find Mother.

   It can't be that hard, could it? I turned and moved on.

   One black mare…and how many black mares are there with perfect white stars on their foreheads?

   And she would leave signs that she was there, wouldn't she? Tracks, trampled grass, droppings, snapped twigs…

   But then, this one black mare was very good at hiding.

   However, she herself had been my teacher.

   I was confident enough that I could find her.

   But how good she really was at hiding, I soon found out.

   There was nothing. No sign or trace or anything that proved that she had existed at all.

   I felt my confidence level dropping lower and lower and lower.

   Wait. She may have gone to that place Golden was talking about. What was it again?

   Oh yeah. Through the Ibex. Either that or I would have to climb straight down a cliff wall.

   Maybe Mother had gone there. Oh goody. I had a destination.

   And then, I found a problem. Golden had told me how to get to the valley. That was through the Ibex.

   But she hadn't told me how to find it. She hadn't told me where it was.

   Even then, that might not be too hard either? How many places do you know of that are smooth, like a bowl, have a waterfall at one end, with a stream flowing through it, and is surrounded by cliffs.

   Okay…I may have an idea of the place I was looking for…but I just was not going to comb through eight mountains looking for it.

   Because that was how many mountains there were in this string of ranges.

   I spent the rest of the day wandering around. The air was cold and crisp, reminding me again that autumn was here.

   Autumn…  

   I also spent the next two days wandering around. And pushing back thoughts like, This is stupid. Or, How pointless is this? I'm never going to find her anyhow.

   And since there were no horses around here, I couldn't ask anyone if they'd seen her.

   However, there were other animals…

   Oh hello, cougar! Wait, wait, wait! Don't eat me yet. I was wondering if you've seen a black mare–? No? Oh. Ah, I'll meet her when I'm in your stomach, you say? No thanks, never mind…

   Unfortunately, I don't speak Cougar.

   Hey, eagle! Have you seen a black mare? I mean, your eyes are pretty sharp…hey talk to me! Wait, where are you going? Come back!

   I don't speak Eagle either. But then, it must have been pretty easy; you just flap around and scream. Or screech. Or squawk. No wait, squawking is for parrots. Screaming. Screaming is definitely for eagles.

   Imaginary conversations like the above were floating around in my head.

   Just when I began to lose hope, just when I thought I was never going to find Mother, on the third day after I climbed Three Peak, I found tracks!

   Not cougar tracks, not other-woodland-creatures-tracks, but horse tracks! Hoofprints embedded on the ground…

   I rushed to them, moving my nose over them, trying to identify them.

   They were old. Very very old. There was only a hint of the smell, the scent of the owner.

   Then I realized. With a sinking feeling, I realized: the tracks were bigger than mine. The horse who made them had feet bigger than my feet.

   And how many times have I compared my feet to Mother's, and wished that my hooves were as small as hers?

   I shook my head and backed away.

   Well at least that told me something. At least, I knew now that I wasn't the only horse in those mountains…

   Hours of futile search later, I paused to think.

   What was I doing? I was going around in aimless circles. No wait. That wasn't it. I was going on a well-beaten path, following Three Peak. Yes, that was what I was doing.

   But what if I tried, instead of going along the outside of the mountains, what if I tried going deeper into the mountains?

   I thought about it and shrugged.

   But now that I'd thought about it, it sounded logical enough.

   If Mother didn't want anyone to find her, she would have gone deeper, where no one would ever think to go and look for her.

   So, instead of going along the path, I turned and began climbing again. Higher. North. Deeper.

   Were the mountains what I thought they were? Not just mountains but…

   Were they?

   Two more weeks later, I found out.

   Two weeks later, fifteen times I saw the moon later, I stood on the rim of Three Peak and looked down on everything inside.

   Exactly as I'd thought the mountains were.

   The string of mountains in which Three Peak was included stretched out right and left, as far as the eye could see.

   So, that was the mountain range–right and left.

   Behind me, so many miles behind me, or backwards, were the sunny valleys.

   And before me, down down until it's misty bottoms, lay a whole new world.

   The Three Peak and it's mountain range stretched out in a straight line. There was another mountain range across from it.

   But this mountain range across from it wasn't like any mountain range I'd ever seen yet. It had a flat top. All along the horizon, almost along my eye level, existed another Great Plain; level ground, and yet, it was on top of a mountain.

   I didn't know it yet, but that kind of landform was called a plateau.

   Sorry, really, but I haven't taken any Geography classes.

   And in between this mountain range and that plateau, was a whole new world of valleys and more valleys; forest, and woodland and plain. Rivers and streams criss-crossed the land.

   It was like a cup, a bowl, a deep, deep valley sunk between the mountain ranges. Over to my right, I could just make out where the Three Peak mountain range ended and the start of the slope of the plateau began. In between, was a small gap where I could guess the river flowed through. Over to my left, same thing.  And Three Peak's mountain range, the one I was standing on right now, rose up before it like a wall, protecting it from humans and intruders.

   Ahead, there was a tiny glimmer in the distance that suggested that there might be a waterfall.

   That made sense. Two sources of water, one flowing from the river on the plateau and coming down in a waterfall, and the other a river winding it's way through the deep valley, feeding streams and creeks and brooks.

   It was beautiful, filled with sunshine and birdsong and flowers.

   It was peaceful and calm. No humans! No predators! Well, not that I know of…yet. But it looked safe enough.

   But this was not the place Golden was talking about.

   Obviously, I hadn't gone through any Ibexes to get here. And this was not a straight cliff face; Three Peak sloped down gradually. Sure there was a waterfall in the distance, but Golden hadn't said anything about a plateau. And I was sure that she would have told me if there was.

   Now I had two choices.

   I could either go down this slope, and begin to explore the land below, or I could go back where I came from and continue looking for Mother.

   I wanted to go down. I wanted to claim this whole beautiful basin mine.

   But I knew I couldn't. Deep down inside, I knew I couldn't.

   So, I turned and left.

   But I looked over my shoulder at the dip in the rock that was one of the easy entrances to the place and promised myself that one day, I would go back again.

   Now I saw the Three Peak mountain ranges in a whole new perspective. It was a thick belt, very thick, that curved around in a somewhat half-moon shape. In between was the deep valley I had just seen. Across that valley was the plateau. But this mountain range itself was wide across. And on this mountain range itself, there were more little nooks tucked away inside, more little valleys, more little cracks to be discovered.

   This mountain range was like Swiss cheese, not because it was like a triangle, but because it had small holes.

   Those holes are the places I'm talking about.

   So, Golden's valley must be one of those holes.

   The only problem was that, in a Swiss cheese, there are a lot of holes. And on this mountain range, there were even more.

   Two days after I left the deep valley basin, it started to snow.

   Lightly at first.

   Tiny ice flakes came down and settled on me. At first, they melted at once. But soon, the flakes became bigger, and a slow stream of water was flowing of me.

   But by night, it had become 'heavily'.

   I didn't bother to shake the snow off anymore, because once I did, more snow would begin to pile up anyhow. And this might make good camouflage.

   As a golden horse, I was pretty conspicuous in black-and-white rock and snow surroundings.

   Well, I couldn't just stand there and be a snow statue.

   I set off to find shelter.

   The trail I was on now was wide. Very wide. In some other places, it was even wider, wider than the track at home. It curved away behind me, twisting, turning, zigzagging it's course through this mountain. I couldn't see what was ahead.

   This mountain was not Three Peak. I had left Three Peak yesterday.

   But just ahead, there was a dark shape coming up that might be a cave.

   But it could be the cave of a cougar or something else I definitely do not want to meet when I am in a snowstorm, covered with snow from head and foot, and hopelessly lost.

   I gritted my teeth and moved past the cave, hoping to find another one.

   Around the turn–whoa.

   The trail ended in space. It made a wide circle, almost a platform, and it ended in space.

   I'd been leaning forward, against the wind. But now, I rocked backward, trying not to look at what was happening to the rocks and pebbles my hooves and sent clattering down the slope.

   Okay…no choice, have to go back. I didn't have to worry about falling unless I intentionally did it, because as long as I hugged the rock wall, there was still enough space for several horses all strung out across the trail. If it could be called a trail. So, I could rule out death by falling.

   More likely, I would consider death by freezing.

   The air was already chilly, and in the places where snow had melted it's way off my back, it stung.

   The cave again. I could go back down, past it in hopes of finding another cave, but I hadn't seen any on my way up, so unless caves magically appear and disappear, I would have to get to more level ground before I came across more shelter.

   And I was pretty sure I was going to become an ice cube long before that.

   I would just have to take the risk.

   The cave was bigger than me. It's smooth stone walls rose up and curved over my head.

   My hooves clip-clopped on the stone floor as I made my way inside.

   The cave was warm. Well, not warm, exactly, but still warmer than outside.

   It was a wide cavern, narrowing down in the far end. It didn't stop there. That narrowed end was still big enough for me to squeeze through.

   But right now, exhausted, hungry, and cold, I didn't want to know what was in there.

   The main chamber of the cave was wide enough for me to turn around in a circle and lie down stretching out.

   I didn't lie down. Horses don't lie down when sleeping. Well, some* do, but most don't. They can't sleep for more than 5 minutes on the ground, because it makes breathing uncomfortable.

   Another reason why I didn't want to lie down: I didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night nose to nose with a very angry, very surprised cougar who'd just come rushing in through the snow and the wind into his home to find a huge horse stretched out on the floor, snoring away.

   I don't snore. And I couldn't find any smell of cougars.

   But if there was any predator who'd come inside, I wanted to meet it standing up.

   Sort of like humans not wanting to fight sitting down.

   Better be safe than sorry.

   I dozed through the night.

   By morning, sunlight was streaming in through what was left of the cave entrance that hadn't been covered up with snow.

   It promised a bright day.

   I started pawing through the snow.

   Almost an hour later, I was still there, pawing through the snow.

   Finally, I gave up, trotted to the end of the main chamber, turned, and charged full out.

   The blocked up entrance gave way at first contact. I fell through, throwing back my weight to keep from sliding off the cliff.

   I slowed and looked around. It was just what I'd expected: sunny day, with everything sheer rock and solid ice, with a layer of snow on top, glittering and shining.

   The place was beautiful.

   Cold and forbidding, it was beautiful at the same time. Still and silent, the cliffs rose up around me, reflecting the sunlight; the air was cold and clear. It stung my nostrils as I breathed in deeply.

   I stood for a long time admiring it, feeling like an intruder upon this peaceful silence, this quiet calm. I didn't want to move; the mountains had cast a spell on me and I didn't want to break it. I stood there, drinking in the sight, my eyes moving over miles upon miles of this mountain range.

   It must have been hours later before I forced myself to turn my back on everything and go.

   I nearly stepped on the horse before I saw it. All I could see was a black hoof sticking out of a mound of white, and maybe the tips of a tail. Holding my breath, I began pawing away the snow gently.

   It was lying against the rock wall. That was why I hadn't noticed it before. In the dark, and covered with snow, I'd just thought it was a rock. It must have been there a long time, the snow and ice preserving it, keeping scavengers from finding it.

   I went around the back and pawed off more snow.

   It was a mare.

   A cold sense of dread began creeping up my stomach. Chills began running down my spine.

   She was pure black, lying on her side with her legs stretched out, her mane spread in wave upon wave of shining silkiness, spilling over her neck and face.

   I went up front and brushed the mane away from the mare's face.

   She was beautiful. Her eyes were closed, as if she was just sleeping, her lips curved gently in a peaceful smile, her whole profile radiating dignity and nobility.

   My eyes fell on the diamond. Then, I wished I hadn't seen it.

   Along with the white diamond stamped on her forehead, the perfect white diamond that I'd remembered so well, reality stamped in my mind something I absolutely refused to believe.

   I pressed my nose on the mare's cold stiff neck and let the tears flow.

   If only my crying would awaken her. If only my tears would trickle down her body and wash away the cold stiffness of Death and bring her back to life.

   No. She was not dead. There must be a lot of pure black mares with perfect white diamonds running around in these mountains, and this could be just one of those. So what if she just looked a lot like Mother? That didn't mean Mother was dead. If a twin died, it's living twin wasn't considered dead just because he or she looks like the other twin that died.

   I wished she could come back to life so I could ask her who she was, so I could be sure.

   But I knew. Deep inside, even though I didn't want to believe it, I knew.

   Sadness filled me. Grief and rage and anger, all boiled and churned and mixed up together came pouring into me. But most of all came the sadness, the pang of loss, the sadness that I would never hear her laugh or speak to me or see her run with the wind in her mane again. Ever. 

   I reared and brought my hooves crashing down on the rock face. I reared again and again, taking out my anger and sadness on the rock.

   Ice came crashing down. I dodged out of the way and turned the corner.

   Out on the wide platform ending in open space, I reared and screamed my grief out for the world to hear.

   That wasn't enough. I leapt off the platform, not caring if I would die, not caring where I would land, just knowing that Mother was dead, Mother was gone, and everything I'd worked for, all my hopes that I would come home and find her, everything that I'd done; all the escapades, the whole journey west– everything–had gone to waste.

   I hit land with a jarring thud. I didn't care. I took off again, running, leaping, crashing through thorny bushes and rock and snow, all the while screaming in my mind, She's not dead! She's not dead!

   I was running from the pain. I'd been running from humans; I'd escaped. I'd run from other horses; I'd won the races.

   But you can't outrun pain. It stays with you, mile after mile, and no matter how long you run, how fast you run, it stays with you.

   I didn't know for how long I ran. I didn't know where I was going, where I was headed. Bushes scratched me; tangled my tail; I ran into rocks and snow and more rocks and snow. I ran as fast as I could until everything became a blur, until all that I was aware of were the voice in my head, arguing Yes, She's dead! No she isn't! Face reality! She's dead! No she isn't!

   I ran until I was tired. Not just plain tired. Whopping, knees-buckling tired.

   And then I stopped.

   It was just like what had happened when Sandstorm died. Now the rage was spent, all that was left was the pain. Sadness. Grief. It was like there was a hollow inside me which had leaked out all the anger and was now filled with pain.

   I staggered and leaned against the rock wall. I was leagues away from the cave and the platform and…Mother.

   Something was bubbling beside me. It was a brook.

   I stood there for a long, long time, just watching the rippling water, wishing that it could sweep away the past, wishing that I'd never found her, and yet glad at the same time that I had. Now I wouldn't have to walk around for the rest of my life wondering where Mother was.

   It was singing. The brook was singing something I'd never heard before and didn't understand, and yet at the same time, deep inside, I knew exactly what it meant.

   It was saying, Let it go. Let it go…

   The brook couldn't sweep away the past. But the pain could go. That was it. I had to learn how to let go. I stood for hours, watching the brook, letting it wash away the pain and sadness, until all that was left was the hollow feeling inside.   

   I stood for hours until almost all the pain was gone and there was just this numb feeling left.

   Then, I went back.

   I found the place again. I took the body with me, until I found a place not far, where the view was breath-taking. I dragged and rolled rocks to cover it, then piled snow and more snow over the body.

   There was another reason why I had chosen that place. It was quiet. It was peaceful. But the real reason why I chose this place was because it was high up, where it would always be cold, where the snow would never melt, where the air was so thin I was almost gasping. The cold would preserve the body. It would stay untouched for as long as…I don't know…for a very very long time.

   I covered the body with rocks piled snow on top, packed down the ice, filled up every little nook and cranny.

   Then, I stood up to admire my work.

   With the rocks and the snow, scavengers would never find her. Other animals would never find her. No one came up to this place. Here, she would rest in peace, undisturbed.

   Golden would have been proud. Underneath all that rock and ice, Mother was lying with her head pointing to the north, to the open range, her hooves in the galloping gait, forever running with the wind and the snow, running free forever.

   I bowed my head and left.

 

   The next several days were spent wandering around, doing nothing, just remembering, reliving every moment I'd had with her. I recalled every single memory I had of Mother and I relived them.

   The second snowstorm hit. It was heavier than the first.

   Driving winds. Small ice balls. Snow in flurries, snow in rushes, snow that pelted me and piled up on my back.

   This one was bad. If I didn't find shelter soon, I could slip, run into something, or fall to my death in a place I can't even see.

   I bowed my head against the wind and walked on.

   The snow was knee-deep and still rising.

   Soon, I was reduced to trudging. Taking a step at a time, fighting the wind threatening to blow me off my feet.

   My mane was frozen stiff with ice that had melted and frozen and melted and frozen dozens of times. Ice crystals were encrusted on my eyelashes and mouth. The tips of my ears and nose were numb. Every breath I took sliced through my throat like a knife. My mouth was dry.

   I just wanted to go to sleep. But going to sleep would mean never waking up again.

   Yeah. Maybe that was it.  Maybe life was meaningless. Mother gone…no place here…and I would never go back to the humans…

   My eyes were almost closing. Eyelids…heavy…so heavy…hooves…even heavier…

   Then, my right foot sank into nothingness. I pitched forward and pulled it back just in time. That certainly woke me up. I stood and watched as the snow on my back went sliding off, expecting to see it hit the far bottom of the gorge, shaking with the realization that that would have been me if I hadn't pulled back.

   Only it didn't.

   I mean, the snow did fall, but instead of hitting the gorge a long way down, it just went Whumph! on what must have been a ledge below.

   Ledge. Maybe it led to shelter.

   So, I closed my eyes and jumped blindly, praying that I hadn't seen an illusion, that there really was a ledge.

   My hooves hit with a jarring thud.

   I rocked and steadied. And discovered that this wasn't really a ledge, or what you would call a ledge.

   It was a tiny trail, that just ended under the dead-end, curving to meet the rock wall. I glanced upward to see where I had been standing before.

   This wasn't so bad. At least the wind was blowing over my head. I shook off the new pile of snow and followed the trail.

   It wound its way, following the rock wall for a time before straightening itself. It led under tall, overhanging cliffs jutting out high above my head.

   There was even less snow here. The wind came gently, making the skeletons of thorny bushes beside me rattle, whistling through the passage.

   I followed the trail. What choice did I have?

   Ahead, it opened to a  wider spot that was following the rock wall again. It curved down gradually, almost like a ramp.

   And–whoa! A cave! Without pausing to think, I dashed inside. 

   Before I'd even thawed out, I was asleep.

   Sunrise. The light was almost blinding.

   I woke up feeling light.

   I was snow-free!

   For the first time in days, there wasn't a load of ice on my back!

   I set off to explore.

   This place was a whole different place. Smooth round walls rising up, almost level with each other and going down smoothly to the valley floor. Triangle Trees, with their pointy tops and their crunchy cones (not that I would eat them grew on the slopes all around. The valley floor was smooth. Round.

   This valley was almost oblong. Trees on the sides. A river that led out of the cliff walls. And feeding the river–yeah! A waterfall!

   I dashed to see. I'd never been this close to a waterfall before.

   The water was frozen. It rushed down in swirling currents, in a foaming mass.

   I closed my eyes and imagined it during summertime. The roar wouldn't be that loud, since this was just a small waterfall. But droplets would spray out. The water would bee cool, delicious. Sweet.

   Beside the waterfall, there was a way up. I climbed it.

   The path ended just beside the waterfall. Up here, there were more trees, almost like a forest, hiding this little valley from view. I stood beside the start of the frozen waterfall and looked down on the little valley tucked away in the mountains.

   This valley wasn't small. Not that big, but still big enough to support a good-sized herd of horses.

   I stood facing the valley, my head in the direction from where I'd come from last night, and I studied everything.

   Trees ringed the place. And instead of the river cutting away in a straight line through the heart of the valley as I'd imagined, it twisted away from the pool beneath the waterfall, veering to the left, hugging the tree-line, leaving a good, nice, wide-open space to my right.

   How could Golden call this place little? The open plain to the right of the river alone was already one and a half-times bigger than Fleetfoot's meadow.

   Wha–what was I thinking? I had no proof that this was what Golden had been talking about.

   But come to think of it, if this wasn't the place, then it sure looked a lot like it. And recalling, remembering how I'd gotten here–yeah!

   I'd jumped down and landed on a ledge…that must be the Ibex and I didn't even know it! Follow the trail…yeah, it led through overhanging cliffs.

   This was it!

   I felt a surge of happiness, the first trace of happiness in days since I'd found Mother.

   My hooves followed the trail down again. Now I was facing the waterfall, the valley behind me, the river now to my right, the plain to my left.

   Speaking of the waterfall…wasn't it that moving water never froze in winter? But this waterfall and the river was…

   Then again…maybe not. I trotted to the waterfall and hit it with a hoof. The ice cracked and a small hole, even smaller than my hoof, appeared. At first, nothing happened. Then, a stream of water, a tiny spurt, shot out and hit me on the nose.

   I jumped backward, my nose stinging. The water was still spurting out, and I guess would go on doing that until the waterfall thawed… or the ice err… melted…

  But I was thirsty. Melting snow would be a good idea, But that would take a long time.

   I looked at the spray again. My mouth opened automatically. The jet of water hit the back of my mouth. I swallowed and let it run down my throat.

   The water was icy, bitingly icy. But it was also clean and sweet. In summer, it would be delicious.

   Summer. In summer, with this place blooming with wild flowers and the river bubbling quietly and sunshine and birdsong filling the valley, this would be beautiful.

   And no one was here. I didn't have to fight anybody to take this place.

   It was all mine.

   I'd found a new home.

   I went back, out of the valley, back the way I came last night. I climbed the cliff opposite the Ibex and studied it.

   Now I could see why it was called the Ibex. Golden had said there were three rocks.

   There were three rocks. One of the, what she had called the Ram's Head, jutted out to space, narrowing down to a sharp point. The two other rocks, the Ram's Horns, stood upward, pointing outward.

   The tiny ledge was just below the Ram's Head.

   I named it the Ram's Mouth.

   Hey, if that's the Ram's Head, with the Ram's Horns and the Ram's Mouth, why was it called the Ibex?

   Oh well. Whatever…

   I didn't go back inside.

   Instead, I set off. Southward.

   It had taken me weeks, more than a month, maybe, to find the Ibex, what with all the wandering around and the finding of things that were necessary and unnecessary. But now, with the way more familiar, I found Three Peak and got back down to the Southlands in less than a week.  

   But during that time, I'd found a reason for staying. It had come to me when I stood on the ledge on Three Peak, overlooking the Southlands, when I'd been watching a distant speck of gray galloping in his valley.

   Thunder didn't know I was watching him.

   I didn't mean him any harm. It was just that, standing there, with everything spread out before me, an idea had entered my head.

   Yes. Why not?

   After all, that was what all stallions do when they come of age: gather a herd and get a territory.

   I already had my territory.

   All I needed was a herd.

   I didn't waste any time. I wanted to go and be back here before winter truly arrived. And this was already the start of it.

   That afternoon found me clopping my way down Three Peak. By nightfall, I'd reached Fleetfoot's valley.

   Fleetfoot saw me. I dipped my head and asked to speak with Golden.

   I told her that I'd found everything I'd set out to find and more: the valley, Mother, the Great Plateau with the deep basin between it and these mountain ranges.

   Her head drooped sadly. But she didn't run and run as I did, or rear and scream like I had done.

   Her head just dropped and a deep sadness came into her eyes, one that unlike ebbing away and leaving a bitter trail like mine, would stay with her for the rest of her life.

   "You don't understand. You lost a mother. I lost my best friend. I lost my sister."

   At least I knew how it felt.

   "Don't cry. I lost my best friend too."

   Her eyes widened as she looked up.

   "Yeah. When I was away from here, when the humans had me, I found another best friend. I had two best friends for a while. One is Thunder. This is the other one. Then, this friend died."

   Her voice was soft. "How did he die?"

   "He was killed. By a monster."

   "I'm sorry."

   "I'm sorry too. I'll always miss her. But at least she died the way she wanted to do: not in the clutches of the humans, but out in the open range."

   Golden nodded, her eyes fixed on a faraway place.

   "I'm going south again."

   That got her attention.

   "What?! Why? I thought you hated humans!"

   "I do. But there's something…no, someone…I left behind."

   Golden's face broke into a slow smile.

   "And you're going away to bring her back?"

   "Yea–wait! How did you know it was a her?"

   "I'm old, Spirit. I've seen the look on your face when you talked about her many many times before not to recognize it now. You see, that was also the look on you mother's face when she talked about Northlight."

   I shook my head, speechless.

   "Make sure you bring her to meet me when you do." Her brown eyes were still sad, though right now, they were twinkling at me as she trotted away.

   She was getting farther and farther away. Her voice came floating back up to me.

   "And make sure you do come back!"

A/N: * One well-known horse who slept lying down is (drumroll please) Seabiscuit. Yeah, the unremarkable-looking horse who lost nearly every time he ran in his two year old season, and climbed up the ladder to become Horse of the Year. He beat War Admiral in a match race, and War Admiral, the legendary son of Man O' War had won the Triple Crown.

   National Geographic showed a special featuring Seabiscuit on its Saturday Unlimited show, and they interviewed people like Red Pollard's (Seabiscuit's jockey; he broke his leg three times; yeouch) daughter, Norah, and the Seabiscuit book's author, Laura Hillenbrand. (If I got the spellings of the names wrong, kindly point out any mistakes I made and I'll correct them. Thanx! J  Or, as they say, TY!)  

Timeline (just thought this might be helpful, since the story gets a little bit confusing when the horse isn't in the human world and you can't exactly follow the human calendar):

         The Belmont is run in early July, if I'm not mistaken.

          Spirit was stolen a little over two weeks after he won it.

          He spent over a month in the trailer, which makes it about late August, by the time he escaped. Another month passed, which makes it about late September or early October, and then he saw the Three Peak mountain ranges.

         A little over two weeks later(early-mid-October), he reached his home meadow. A few days with Thunder and Golden, and two more weeks later, he found the Great Plateau. (Late October or early November.) Two days after that, he found Bella.

           3-4 days and he found the valley Golden was talking about.

          A week later(mid-November), he sets out South.

   Sorry this last chapter is a bit confusing and monotonous–this is there and that is there–but I needed to describe the landscape. So that I won't have to do it later on. I promise this is the first and the last that says "Oh the plateau is blah blah blah" etc. I hope…

   Ok, I know this chapter is a little…unbelievable. I mean, snow in November? But that happened in the high mountains, so it just might have snowed a little earlier than the lowlands… bear with me anyway. By the way, when does it start snowing in the US? I won't know…I've never been through a winter, much less seen real snow…probably because I live somewhere near the equator where people get barbecued everyday…regular or spicy? Just joking :…

   Anywayz, hope ya like it!