The Young Black Stallion by Walter Farley

but didn’t join them, content to keep a respectful distance from the herd. As the days went by, however, this distance diminished. He moved with them as they wandered over the slopes and ridges to different grazing grounds. When there was little grass to be found, he learned to eat the moss and lichens that grew on the rocks, just as the ibex did.
    In time he was crossing terrain that was far more treacherous and forbidding than the wall that had reared above him in the canyon. He ran with the goats, living as they did, becoming one of them, looking as wild and untamed as they, at ease in the vertical spaces of the high country. For Shêtân, like the ibex, the freedom from disturbance on the mountaintops was more important than the better grazing below.
    Soon the colt knew well the goat paths for many miles around and the best places to graze. He wandered the mountains, eating when hungry and sleeping when tired. As the spring days became longer and warmer the colt grew bigger. His muscles developed and became well defined. There seemed to be nothing lacking in his conformation, no sign of weakness. The tender-hoofed yearling who had lived in the green valley no longer existed.
    Even though he had been accepted by the ibex herd, Shêtân still remained aloof. During the half-light of dawn, when the morning star began to rise above thehorizon, he would stand alone on some high cliff, his dark body outlined against the blue sky. The wind filled his nostrils, singing to him of other lands, other worlds.
    On one such early morning, as Shêtân stood atop a precipitous cliff, a streak of light blazed through the clear mountain sky for a moment and then was gone. The young stallion reared up and pawed the air with his forelegs. He looked as if he wanted to climb higher into the sky, to leap up and cross the bridge that would take him beyond the stars. He whistled a sharp blast. Then, echoing across the canyon, a bellowing cry answered him. The black colt pricked up his ears. He heard the cry again. It was a hostile sound, a challenge to any and all who heard it.
    A white ibex ram, twice the size of any other goat in the herd, stood alone on a rocky crag not more than a hundred feet away. The long, crooked spirals of his broad, tapering horns were chipped and marked from heavy fighting. They raked up from his proud head while a matted beard hung down stiffly from his chin.
    Below them the herd of ibex clustered together on the plain. The other goats began bucking and grunting as they watched the stallion and the ram face off and challenge each other. On their high promontories, the two males were perched where one would expect to find birds of prey rather than creatures with four legs and no wings.
    The ram charged down from his lookout and joined the other goats. The submissive younger rams stretched out their necks, lowered themselves to the ground and backed away from the path of the threateningibex, who let it be known to all that he was king of the herd.
    As Shêtân moved closer, the aggressive ram separated from the others and began to circle the colt. He shook his saber-sharp horns, legs stiff, hair erect. In response the colt lashed his tail and flattened his ears back on his head. He raised his foreleg as a warning to the ibex, who inched closer and closer. The ram charged.
    Shêtân did not try to meet head-on the horns that came hurtling toward him. Instead he broke away to sidestep the low pass. Then he leapt upon the ram’s broad back in an attempt to knock the ibex to the ground. But his enemy would not go down and shook himself free. The stallion stumbled. Before he could regain his balance, the ram’s horned head gashed his right foreleg. Shêtân screamed with pain. He whirled to strike back with his hind legs. His hooves landed a direct hit and the ibex was sent tumbling.
    Forefeet trampled the ground as they sought the rolling body. The enraged horse hammered the ibex across the back of the neck. The ram slid