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| Hooves thundered on the ground as dust boiled and churned. The heat of the plains below the mountain fairly burned. His mane flagged in the wind as he bolted through the brush. The hoof beats drumming like awarning in their rush. Around the mesa and through a wash the group raced on. Wild and black as burnt embers, this desert fox�s son. Shadow the blue black stallion led his band of mares. He fought to keep his band together, his brides and his heirs. Struggling on the ground the foal met mother earth. Tiny hooves beat the ground only minutes after birth. Sunlight glinted from his skin, his father�s panther coat he bore. He danced and bucked and pranced around then on to explore. The desert is a ruthless place, unlike any other. Nightshade suckled strength from underneath his mother. Some day he�d own his share of the desert and its canyons. He�d lead his brood of mares as his constant companions. He�d take them through mountain trails and along the mighty rim. Across the desert floor and rocks, no matter, they�d follow him. But his future deeds were far away as he ran with the other colts. That night a rare and frightful thing, thunder and lightning bolts. He ran between his mothers legs and stared up at the sky. You could see it when the night lit up the reflection in his eyes. Soon a gentle rain fell, nourishing water for the plains. Drinking later from a creek and off to play again. The Masked Writer <o.-> <-.-> � 2002 T Lovett |
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| Nightshade |
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