Chapter Two: Bachelor Herd
I tracked the herd with the bay dun filly for several days, and while the filly gradually warmed to me, the stallion was fully alert to my presence and would not allow me close. Our last confrontation had left me with a deep bite on my side and a swollen knee. I could not keep up with the herd with my stiffened leg, and it was becoming clear, I had no chance of getting past the older stallion. I would need to find a herd with a younger, less experienced stallion if I wanted a chance. I was sad to leave the friendly filly behind, the days spent tracking had gotten my hopes up, but without the chance to convince her to leave her, it was clear it was not to be.
I set out to find another herd, dozing rarely, the constant movement was hard on my beaten muscles and joints but the pain was manageable and would fade with time. My luck changed when I came across a river, it had carved out a deep valley further along, but here, it pooled out in a wide opening and the current slowed. At first I just drank, but the cool water was soothing and the current just weak enough and the bottom sandy enough that I could wade out a little bit further. I stood there for some time in a daze brought on by the days of sleepiness and stress. The river water was soothing and I could tell by leftovers on the river bank that other herds stopped by here regularly. There was a chance I could find myself a new herd without even moving.
Horses did come, startling me from my stupor, I scuttled from the river water and whinnied to them with friendly intentions. They stopped for a moment, taking me in, then advanced with pricked ears and I suddenly found myself surrounded by curious noses. I squealed and struck out, sending them back a step, but not wanting to lose a chance of friendship, quickly greeted them, snorting at the hairy muzzles being prodded in my direction.
Each one of them was a stallion, and without mares to defend, they were friendly and with introductions over, easily allowed me into their ranks. Each of them were fairly young, stallions that had been driven from their birth herd or had had their mares stolen by a stronger, faster horse. They had joined together, driven by their own loneliness and need for the comfort and warmth of a herd. In this factor, we were all the same, our only difference was the range of scars that pitted our coats, the oldest had the most scars, the silliest, had the deepest.
I quickly got to know each stallion individually, there were four of them. The first and by far the friendliest was a small, smutty brown and as stupid as he was brave. He would stalk up to any lead stallion he saw and mock them until the stallion was enraged enough to rise to the challenge. The only thing the small bay had on his side was his speed, and what use was that to him was he was set on picking a fight. He didn't seem interested in finding a mare for himself, just on teasing the stallions, maybe he hoped to find one that would let him tag along without taking over.
The next two were dark bay and a solid pair, two brothers that had left the same herd at a similar time. It seem clear to me, that it would not be long before they found a herd of their own, for what stallion would have a chance against a tag team such as theirs. Yet the idea to challenge a lead stallion in tandem clearly never occurred to them, the more boisterous brother always taking on the fights, while the calmer stood back and watched.
The last was the oldest of the band and I got along with him the best. A sleek grullo, he came from the same place as me, and while there was no way to confirm it, possibly the same herd. It was the grullo I would groom with, stand next to as the shadows stretched out and predators started to roam. It took a few days for me to relax completely, but the feeling of being with other horses again was instantly soothing against the constant plague of fear.
The days were warming and the rains were coming less and less, we grew fat on the new grass and energy buzzed through us. The smallest wind, or slightest tickle of a scent, be it familiar or not, would send us scampering off in an excited frenzy, and if one horse took it upon himself to stretch out in a gallop, the entire small band would follow. So it was, when we were not eating or dozing, we played, just as if we were silly colts back in our birth herd again. The play did more than just curb our energy, we practiced fighting, of perfecting our challenges and threat displays. If we could make the lead stallions believe we were tougher then we really were, we had a chance of getting ourselves a mare and avoiding a fight altogether.
I spent a happy summer in that herd, we would watch other herds pass us by with leggy foals but felt no desire to confront them. Come winter, we huddled together against the cold, the paths to the water ways grew thick with cold mud, as did the natural alcoves we chose to shelter by. Our hooves could stand up to it, and as the snows started to come in and bank up, the grullo quietly led off in search of higher ground, away from mud and sleet. In the open, the white cold pelted us and we struggled to dig for grass, it was a hard winter for all horses on the range that year. Us young stallions all pulled through, but many older horses did not make it.
As winter started to fade and rich grass break through, the excited frenzy fell back upon us. Suddenly, the sight of mares was riveting again, we had forgotten our desire to have a herd of mares of our own, but now it was all we wanted. Our play fighting grew more aggressive, we were young and recovered quickly from the harsh winter, but many older stallions were still in poor condition. It was our chance and so, when I caught evidence of another herd not far away, I split from the little band and my grulllo friend to investigate. I knew each one of their scents by now, I was confident I could find them again if my little journey failed.