*Spirit lifted his head and snorted softly, his hazel-brown eyes drifting over his surroundings. The sterling springs bubbled along, filling the air with a soft swishing sound and a clear fresh scent. Luscious strands of long grass and small shrubs grew everywhere between the brooks and pools, and Spirit was standing on a slightly higher vantage point, a grassy ledge nestled at the very edge of the springs, where the stony ground became predominant and larger boulders started to appear before they gave way to the Rocklands. Further down, past the bubbling springs, Spirit could see the hazy emerald mist the marked the start of the woodlands. Birds were calling and darting out from the trees for a morning drink, and a family of rabbits dashed along a streambank into the woods.
The island was his playground, his home, even with the dangers that came with it.
When the grass started to wane in the small copses, and summer started to draw to a close, they spent more time out in the open plains with the rest of the herd. There were no foals Spirit�s age, but he liked some of the adult horses � those who would tolerate his lively antics, anyway.
On the plains Spirit�s dam fell. Their was no cover, and while it was the best � and in some seasons the only � place to find food, it came at a price. Another of the mares, an elder gray, had become a target. Spirit�s mother, an old friend of the grey, ran to her aid. Her fierce striking hooves were quick and she was fortunate � the dragon was a young one and he was alone, not part of the usual clan that cooperated to catch the horses. The bloody battle was short. Spirit�s mother fought bravely, saving the old one. Spirit ran to meet them as the dragon fled on clumsy wings, a hoof-print right between his short-sighted eyes.
*That night Spirit followed old Grey�s advice. He left the island, his homeland, swimming across a gentle sea that reflected the stars. It was a serenely peaceful night to watch over an orphaned colt and the island he left behind.
And one day he came across the golden field.
Spirit
He had been alone and in many different lands since he was six months old. But he�d never felt the way he did now. He had stumbled one day across a vast field of golden hay, rich with the smell of the species that ran in these lands now. They weren�t so different to he, not really. Their communication and language were all but identical, and save for the addition of wings and a horn they closely resembled Spirit. He had traveled for such a long way in this world, it came as little surprise to find that this herd � or at least half of it � were a different species to him. The dreams of finding wingless, hornless horses like himself were becoming rarer, and every time Spirit romped with his friends or grazed quietly with the other herd members, the thought that he was different came less and less.
He still missed his mother, though.
She had been the one to name him, looking lovingly down at her colt, with his beautiful golden-yellow coat and the curled beginnings of a mane, jet black. He was the spitting image of an ancestor, and she named him with the hope his courage and will would also carry on to her foal.
He would need all the courage he could get. Half-weaned and just six moons old, he would find himself alone.
The rich wide lands his kind has once galloped over had receded more and more over time, until the only place Spirit�s kind were free was the tiny island of land he was born. Cut off from the effects of the mainland, mustangs continued to thrive and breed without natural predators for several generations, the last of their kind. Those remaining on the mainland grew long horns and huge wingspans, but things remained the same on the Mustang�s island until the days of Spirit�s grandsire. A predator found the island.
The mustangs� fleet hooves could not and did not save them from the winged dragons that flew across to the island to prey upon them. They would gets days or weeks or rarely months of peace, but the dragons knew their island. They would always be back for more, hunting those would could not fly faster than they, or fight back with anything other than hooves and teeth.
Spirit was the last foal born.
His mother and he spent a lot of time in the most sheltered areas of the island, in the patches of forest and the shallow caves on the southern beaches. She would try to protect him for as long as she could. They had a happy life, despite the dangers. Spirit loved his mother very much.
The colt was horrified to see his mother bleeding. The old grey looked up at him with sad eyes as she tended to his mother, trying to help her. She was brave, yes, but the dragon�s talons had done their work.
She did not make it to the next morning*
~Spirit?~ *The colt looked up into Grey�s grizzled face and blinked back his tears* ~Spirit, you will always miss her. But it will get easier. However, this I must say to you~
*The old mare�s eyes clouded over with pain. She had a slashed hock on her left foreleg that wasn�t looking too healthy, but it was a different pain on her face as she spoke to the grieving son of her old friend.*
~Spirit, this island is no longer safe for our kind. You are the last foal born to these lands� I fear you will remain so. There are few of us left, and those are old, as I am, or too proud to leave their home, their birthplace. This, I fear, you must do. Your mother would have wanted your life to be happy � and you to be safe. Find somewhere you can be yourself without fear, Spirit. Let the world know we were once a proud species.~
And so Spirit�s journey began.
As wise old Grey had known, mustangs were no longer part of this world. They all had long wings and soared majestically through the clouds, proud horns rose from their foreheads, daring any predator to attempt an attack. Some of these � Uni�s, they were called � were friendly to Spirit. He stayed with a pair of sisters, one with a foal younger than he at foot, for a few weeks. He liked the other colt, a small playful thing. Like most foals we was born without wings and a horn, and it was a great source of comfort to Spirit to see another who looked like him. But his playmate�s horn started to grow within a week, fully developed after three, and when Spirit noticed the wing-buds forming on his shoulders he gave thanks to the two Uni mares, and said goodbye to his friend. He could not have stayed with them indefinitely, and he still needed space and time to himself, to grieve and image and dream. But he learnt one thing that surprised him during his stay � he was faster by a long shot than both of the mares, and always outdistanced his friend the foal within seconds of starting a race.
His speed and wits saved him more than once. He had a run-in with a lone dragon, barely escaping with his life, he fell down a waterfall while being chased by a pack of felines, he was caught in a small rockslide on a mountainside. And slowly, the painful memories faded. He would think of his mother�s smile or her nuzzle to picture her grazing framed by the sunset�s rays without an accompanying stab of pain. He looked forward to each new day more and more, enjoyed exploring, meeting others.
He ran. He raced the wind, eagles, clouds, himself. He loved to run.
