mother aroundlike a shadow, wobbling on her skinny, knobbed legs, staying close to her mother’s shoulder, her slanted, brown eyes never leaving her. The mother was caring in a tough sort of way, nuzzling Dark Angel and making sure she was always with her.
I slowly moved the slightest bit closer, imagining the joy of the moment I first touched one of them. The young sorrel stallion caught my attention. He was spirited, breaking into a canter, whirling, and throwing heel kicks. He circled behind the small bay mare, lowering his head and trying to herd her.
I loved his spirit. I named him Firecracker.
Just as I moved a bit closer, the black stallion trotted over to Firecracker, lowered his head, and tried to separate him from the mare. Firecracker trotted a few yards away and then wove his way back in the bay’s direction. The stallion’s ears snapped erect. He lowered his head and pawed the ground.
The other mares moved a slight distance away, the mother nudging the foal along. In a matter of seconds, I realized that I was now watching the two stallions, the black and the young sorrel, face off. The black stallion was reclaiming the bay mare.
Suddenly, with a screeching whinny, the black laid back his ears, rose on his hind legs, and lunged at the sorrel. Their bodies, as they collided, made a sickeningthudding sound. Firecracker stumbled backward, then whirled and rose to his hind legs, kicking up clouds of sand, his teeth bared.
The two pawed, kicked, and twisted their heads, each trying to reach the other’s jugular vein. The sounds were awful—the thud of their bodies colliding, their screams and grunts, the battering of their hooves on the ground. Swirling dust rose into the air. I held my breath, taking one step forward and then two back. At one point both of the black’s front hooves rested on the sorrel’s withers, just like they were dancing.
But they weren’t. They were trying to kill each other.
The struggle continued, with high-pitched whinnies and sand exploding from their hooves, until at last the black sank his teeth into Firecracker’s neck. Firecracker squealed in pain and wrenched himself away. Then the black raced back to the herd, pawing the ground, bucking, and tossing his head. Firecracker, after standing uncertainly for a moment, doggedly began to make his way back toward the herd, with his head lowered. The black wheeled and charged again, reared on his hind legs, and again aimed his teeth at the front of Firecracker’s neck. Firecracker tried to pull away, but when the black’s entire weight fell on him, his rear legs crumpled underneath. After a few long seconds, the black disentangled himself from Firecracker andgalloped back to the herd. Firecracker dragged himself to his feet and trotted away, shaking his head as if to clear it.
Was the black kicking Firecracker out of the herd? I had read in my horse books that when one of the mare’s colts became old enough, he sometimes would challenge the stallion who led the group. When this happened, whichever stallion loses the challenge would then be shunned from the group and be out on his own. Was Firecracker being shunned? I had read that the herd was everything to a wild horse. Wild horses knew that surviving without the safety of the herd was practically impossible. Would Firecracker survive? Would he find another herd?
Now the black was herding the mares and the foal away from Firecracker. He circled behind them, urging them toward a marshy area on the other side of the trees. I stared at Firecracker, holding my breath, as he stood looking longingly at the harem. Again he shook his head, and his straw colored mane feathered in the wind. He took a step toward the other horses, then pawed the ground with his small, neat hoof, and lowered his head again. My throat tightened and my eyes stung as I watched him.
Even though I never talked to anyone about it, I knew that feeling. I felt shunned at school. Like whenpeople were talking
I slowly moved the slightest bit closer, imagining the joy of the moment I first touched one of them. The young sorrel stallion caught my attention. He was spirited, breaking into a canter, whirling, and throwing heel kicks. He circled behind the small bay mare, lowering his head and trying to herd her.
I loved his spirit. I named him Firecracker.
Just as I moved a bit closer, the black stallion trotted over to Firecracker, lowered his head, and tried to separate him from the mare. Firecracker trotted a few yards away and then wove his way back in the bay’s direction. The stallion’s ears snapped erect. He lowered his head and pawed the ground.
The other mares moved a slight distance away, the mother nudging the foal along. In a matter of seconds, I realized that I was now watching the two stallions, the black and the young sorrel, face off. The black stallion was reclaiming the bay mare.
Suddenly, with a screeching whinny, the black laid back his ears, rose on his hind legs, and lunged at the sorrel. Their bodies, as they collided, made a sickeningthudding sound. Firecracker stumbled backward, then whirled and rose to his hind legs, kicking up clouds of sand, his teeth bared.
The two pawed, kicked, and twisted their heads, each trying to reach the other’s jugular vein. The sounds were awful—the thud of their bodies colliding, their screams and grunts, the battering of their hooves on the ground. Swirling dust rose into the air. I held my breath, taking one step forward and then two back. At one point both of the black’s front hooves rested on the sorrel’s withers, just like they were dancing.
But they weren’t. They were trying to kill each other.
The struggle continued, with high-pitched whinnies and sand exploding from their hooves, until at last the black sank his teeth into Firecracker’s neck. Firecracker squealed in pain and wrenched himself away. Then the black raced back to the herd, pawing the ground, bucking, and tossing his head. Firecracker, after standing uncertainly for a moment, doggedly began to make his way back toward the herd, with his head lowered. The black wheeled and charged again, reared on his hind legs, and again aimed his teeth at the front of Firecracker’s neck. Firecracker tried to pull away, but when the black’s entire weight fell on him, his rear legs crumpled underneath. After a few long seconds, the black disentangled himself from Firecracker andgalloped back to the herd. Firecracker dragged himself to his feet and trotted away, shaking his head as if to clear it.
Was the black kicking Firecracker out of the herd? I had read in my horse books that when one of the mare’s colts became old enough, he sometimes would challenge the stallion who led the group. When this happened, whichever stallion loses the challenge would then be shunned from the group and be out on his own. Was Firecracker being shunned? I had read that the herd was everything to a wild horse. Wild horses knew that surviving without the safety of the herd was practically impossible. Would Firecracker survive? Would he find another herd?
Now the black was herding the mares and the foal away from Firecracker. He circled behind them, urging them toward a marshy area on the other side of the trees. I stared at Firecracker, holding my breath, as he stood looking longingly at the harem. Again he shook his head, and his straw colored mane feathered in the wind. He took a step toward the other horses, then pawed the ground with his small, neat hoof, and lowered his head again. My throat tightened and my eyes stung as I watched him.
Even though I never talked to anyone about it, I knew that feeling. I felt shunned at school. Like whenpeople were talking
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