PLEASE NOTE: The next chapter will be added once two (2) good reviews are made. If you are wondering about the 'flicker' parts, it's something that's added when a character is 'flickering' between either thoughts and reality or memories and reality.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Black, Hidalgo, Alec, or Henry. I do own Eureka, Dirigo, and any other made up characters.

Mistakes

The Black suddenly halted mid-gallop, hooves scraping the ground as a ditch suddenly appeared in front of him. He lurched forward dangerously, then careened to a stop just as his forelegs began to slide forward. He breathed hard. That was close—too close. The black stallion took some steps back, licking his chapped black lips.

"Who are you?" someone asked from behind him, and the Black leapt back in surprise, bumping right into a pretty roan mare. Thick eyelashes batted. He was quite a keeper, this black stag—she didn't enjoy Hidalgo as much. He was just a tiny pony, and was barely any worth to her.

"I'm the Black, the world's finest racehorse," the strange stallion replied. If the mare had eyebrows, she would have been raising them. Hidalgo had told her he was the world's greatest long distance racer, and she hadn't believed that a little Express Pony could take the heat. But with looks like this, she believed him.

"Yeah, and I'm Eureka," she said casually, tossing her black forelock back lazily. "I live in the Flagrantia. We usually go back around just after sunset."

"There's more of you?" the Black asked curiously. He had been in the wild for about two years, and he had gloried in his freedom. It was wonderful to be free, to feel the wind in your face, to run in a wide open space with no boundaries… this was what he loved.

"Of course," Eureka answered, giving him a disbelieving what-you-don't-know-it look. "The Flagrantia is a herd led by the pony Hidalgo, the finest long-distance racer in the world." Her last words were said rather skeptically.

The name 'Hidalgo' had been mentioned at Hopeful Farm, the place where the Black lived, a few times. Alec and Henry had discussed the results of a race between the Black and Hidalgo.

Flicker.

"No horse could ever beat the Black," Alec said, pulling out his stopwatch. "A half-mile in forty-five and a quarter seconds. Hidalgo couldn't have possibly beat that."

Henry shrugged his broad shoulders. "Who knows? The Black is one fast horse, but Hidalgo competed in the Ocean of Fire. He won, when injured and exhausted. Against the purest Arabians in the world. Al-Hattal, Camria, and Hidalgo were the only three who actually appeared out of the hundred Arabians. Three out of a hundred. What do you make of that?"

"Well, Hidalgo's sure hardy, and fast too, but he's just a little pony. A shade under fifteen hands. Besides, Frank T. let him loose a couple years back. The chances of Hidalgo and the Black meeting and racing against each other are about one to a million. Some chance."

Flicker.

Some chance. Because they met.

"Say, you want to come to Flagrantia and visit a little?" Eureka inquired boldly. The stallion would surely accompany her to Flagrantia.

"Sure," the Black replied, and followed her to a flat grassland that many horses were grazing in. Suddenly, a paint pony-stallion raised his head and bugled in outrage at the sight of his mare with another stallion.

The black stallion suddenly went stiff and waited for the paint to attack him. Eureka was backing away slowly. She would receive a punishment from Hidalgo later for letting a black stallion into the land. It was her fault that this battle would take place.

Coolly the Black pawed the ground and challenged Hidalgo with a scream, sharp and shrill. And it was then that Hidalgo attacked.