by Paula Boer
Without warning, the stallion charged forward, teeth snapping. He hit Fleet with his full weight, knocking him to his knees.
Squirrel grabbed an overhead branch and swung to safety.
Good. He couldn’t think about the man now.
Gasping for air, Fleet staggered up. The close confines of the woods prevented him from turning around and fleeing. He had hoped to meet other horses and enjoy conversation and mutual grooming. Nothing had prepared him for this assault.
“My patience is running out. State your full name and business. You’re too young to be a delegate.”
Other horses emerged among the trees, mainly bays and chestnuts with a couple of buckskins. They ranged in age from colts to older stallions marked with scars, with no mares or fillies, standing rigid behind the challenger’s position, staring in silence.
Fleet’s mind whirled. What had he done wrong? “I’m Fleet of Foot. Sapphire, my dam, had a terrible vision of unnatural wolves with crimson-streaked fur and humped backs, destroying horses. One of these bloodwolves attacked us. Now she’s dead. I’ve got to find King Streak.”
“Sapphire? The only one I know is old Queen Sapphire of White Water Cliffs. She’d never raise a colt with such appalling manners even if she could still conceive. And I’ve never heard of Foot. Where’s that?” The stallion remained standing with his neck arched and tail up, every muscle bulging.
Fleet shook his mane as if he could untangle his thoughts. “No. Foot is part of my name, Fleet of Foot. My dam used to be from White Water Cliffs, but I was born in Dark Woods. She fled after King Thunder, my sire, was killed.”
A loud snort erupted from the bay. “So, Prince Fleet of Foot of Dark Woods, you think to trick me? I presume you’re after King Flash’s mares. Get lost before I teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”
The other horses edged closer, whispering and whickering to each other.
Fleet took a few more paces back. “It’s no trick. I’d love to be part of a herd, but I must find King Streak and warn him of the danger.”
The stallion advanced and struck out with his front hooves. “I’m Wolfbane of Oakvale, Head of Warriors. This is King Flash’s territory. We don’t need your warning. If you really want to find King Streak, go back to the river and follow it north to where it forks, then head east to Flowering Valley. If you try to cut through Oakvale, we’ll kill you.”
Seeing in Wolfbane’s eyes he meant what he said, Fleet bent himself double in an attempt to turn around. A branch snapped off on his rump. The sting against his wounds drove him to panic. He fled through the trees along a narrow trail, crashing through the undergrowth.
Wolfbane’s neigh rang out behind him.
Fleet broke out of the tight copse into clearer ground that allowed him to travel faster. Unlike Dark Woods, here the trees had spacious clearings, and tracks dotted with low shrubs he could jump. He raced on.
Why was he running? He had sought other horses and now he fled like a foal from a swarm of insects. He slowed and tried to gather his wits. By the time he reached the edge of the forest, he dripped with sweat and his rump throbbed in pain, but he was no nearer to deciding what to do next.
He’d love Squirrel to wash him. With a jolt, he remembered the man had retreated to the trees. He was on his own, alone again. The man’s absence saddened him.
Should he go back to the river as Wolfbane had ordered, or risk heading due north to find King Streak and save covering old ground? How far away was Flowering Valley? He couldn’t afford to delay. But if he stayed in King Flash’s territory, he ran the risk of being attacked.
Flashes of crimson wolves leapt through his mind, leaving him nauseous. Dizzy spells had haunted him ever since the wolf attack. In these moments, all he wanted to do was lie down and give up. Only his promise and loneliness kept him going. But finding other horses had brought no relief.
He rested until the pain numbed and the dizziness receded. But he must locate King Streak, pass on Sapphire’s warning, and learn about unicorns and the horse with twisted horns.
He walked on.
Heat from the overhead sun added to his exhaustion. Blood seeped from his reopened wounds. He ignored it. He didn’t have the luxury of resting to let the gashes heal. He glanced at the trees and made up his mind, heading back to their shade, north.
A movement in the forest halted him.
Squirrel emerged with outstretched hands.
Nickering, Fleet strode across. No smell of other horses lingered on the air. He rubbed his itchy head on the man’s shoulder, relieved Wolfbane hadn’t followed him.
Squirrel grabbed handfuls of grass and rubbed away Fleet’s sweat. Lightening his touch, he checked the wounds before rummaging in his pack and applying the salve.
Forbidding himself to be lulled by comfort, Fleet nudged Squirrel to mount; having found him, he didn’t want to leave him behind again. After the man scrambled onboard, Fleet trotted along a leaf-strewn track, glad to have company, albeit not a horse.
The ground trembled. Snorting accompanied the growing pounding. The smell of horse drifted on the air.
A buckskin stallion appeared at full gallop, teeth bared and front legs thrashing as he churned the earth.
This must be King Flash!
Fleet shot into a gallop. He considered Squirrel only when the man grasped his mane and clung tighter with his legs, but he couldn’t slow. At least his youth and speed offset the buckskin’s stamina and knowledge of the country. He galloped on, ducking branches, jumping logs, and swerving around others. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d dreamt of racing across open grasslands.
On and on he rushed until he encountered piles of dung, their scent demarking the end of King Flash’s territory. He slowed to a canter, then a trot. Dripping in sweat, he dropped to a walk.
A fresh set of dung piles steamed and swarmed with flies. He sniffed them. These belonged to a different stallion. This must be Flowering Valley. He drew warm air deep into his lungs. What reception would he get from King Streak?
Chapter 3
Morning sunshine glistened through the spider webs at Flowering Valley, their threads heavy with dew, a sign the long days of warmth would soon end. Tress nibbled at the damp grass and picked at the remaining clover heads. Switching her tail at a fly, she wandered closer to Breeze, her best friend. “Let’s go to the camp. I need a brush.”
Breeze, a dark palomino, agreed. “My winter coat coming through is making me itchy already.”
Having been born the same day the previous year, at eighteen moons old Tress and Breeze had filled out with the promise of the grand mares they would become. Their once lanky legs had strengthened, their necks crested, and rumps rounded. Although they had both been sired by King Streak, Tress always made the decisions as her dam, Queen Starburst, was the lead mare.
Tress broke into a trot. Going for a groom was a distraction as well as a pleasure. Since yesterday her mind had spun from the news her sire had shared. “I’m expecting the delegates from other herds soon to negotiate for mares and fillies. I need you looking beautiful and on your best behaviour. No nipping or kicking when we have visitors.”
Her dam also had instructions. “Watch out for the bachelors, both our warriors and lone travellers. Stay within the confines of the other mares. You’re too great a prize to risk being stolen by an inexperienced stallion with no territory.”
Streak had high hopes of a making a good trade for Tress due to her special colouring, as well as her bloodlines. Many stallions had expressed an interest and admired her beauty, her white mane and tail a stark contrast to her unusual black. Streak would bargain hard to expand his territory or gain more mares.
Tress grumbled as Breeze caught up with her. “Why can’t we choose our own mates? I don’t want to leave home.”
Breeze swung her flaxen tail in a jaunty manner. �
��You know you can’t have a foal by your sire. You’d probably end up with an ugly colt with a big nose. I think it would be good to get away from here as long as we can stay together.”
Being separated had never occurred to Tress. “If they try to split us up we should run away and find a handsome bachelor.”
Breeze snorted. “Dream on. Where would we go? There wouldn’t be anyone to groom us or provide feed through winter. And what about wolves?”
They reached the collection of mud huts where the people lived. The dwellings nestled next to a copse of firs that provided shelter from northern winds. Smoke twisted from an opening in the roof of the open-sided shelter that dominated the central clearing. Women sat cross-legged under the shade of the trees and wove baskets from willow saplings, nattering and laughing as they worked. A girl hummed as she stirred a clay pot over the fire while other young women pounded grain. The men would be down near the river gathering hay. It was too early for the oat harvest. Then the horses would gather too, gorging on the fallen grains and chaff.
Breeze ambled alongside Tress as they entered a swept area on the outskirts of the village. Tress nickered, causing two women to emerge from a nearby hut bearing hog bristle brushes. They commenced grooming the fillies, teasing tangles from their manes and tails and massaging their coats. Every handful of hair went into a basket to later strengthen the walls of their mud huts or to stuff their bedding. The long mane and tail hairs would make twine or jewellery.
Breeze faced Tress without moving from the woman grooming her. “Did you see Blackfoot staring at us yesterday? It would never surprise me if he made a challenge for us before spring.”
“He wouldn’t!” Tress stamped a hoof, shocked the stallion would deign to consider mating with one of Streak’s mares. Breeze must be wrong—she was always imagining things like that.
“Why not? He’s been Head of Warriors for several years.”
Tress denied the possibility. “More likely he’ll die of old age, or chasing hogs. He’d only take over if Streak dies.”
The fillies gossiped on, luxuriating in the attention and the warmth of the sun. As the woman caring for Tress picked burs out of the long hairs around her lower legs, she lifted each hoof in turn to be checked for stones.
Breeze crept closer to her friend. “Did you hear Acorn thinks Blue Eye was sired by Blackfoot? She reckons Heather disappeared into the trees with him when she was in season.”
Tress tossed her head. “How can you spread rumours like that? You know it can’t be true. Streak would run Blackfoot away if he had any suspicions.”
“Blackfoot has a blue eye. And they both have one black hoof. Anyone can see Blue Eye will go grey in a few years.” Breeze stepped across as her groomer changed sides.
Tress defended her sire. “Streak is grey too, so that’s no proof.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you, being the princess? I don’t see how being foaled by the queen makes you any more special than the rest of us.”
Stung by the old argument, Tress snapped at her friend. “And you still think you’re special because of your golden coat. Maybe it was you who was sired by an outsider.”
The palomino shrank back. “That’s mean. If Streak thought I wasn’t his bloodline he wouldn’t trade me next spring.”
“He probably wants to get rid of you because you’re such a mouse.”
Breeze didn’t reply. She nuzzled the woman to thank her and accepted a handful of oats. “I’m finished here. Let’s get a drink.”
As Breeze walked away, Tress hesitated, still annoyed at the argument. Another woman brought out an empty sack to show her. Tress signed her understanding with a few bobs of her head and called after Breeze. “You go. I need to speak with Starburst first.”
Still in a huff, she trotted off to find the queen who had been the herd’s lead mare for ten years. Tress found her disciplining one of this season’s colts who had strayed outside the boundaries the queen declared safe. She always wanted to know where all her subjects were. Teeth bared, Starburst chased the recalcitrant youngster back to his mother’s side. Tress waited for her dam to notice her and come over.
“I saw you and Breeze go down to the village. Where is she now?”
“She went to the river. I came to let you know the people want a hog hunt. Do you want me to take a message to Blackfoot?”
Starburst gave a loud snort. “Absolutely not. I’ll let Streak know and he can organise the bachelors.”
“But if I’m training to be a lead mare I should learn to communicate with the stallions.”
Her dam switched her tail in annoyance. “You don’t need to go flirting with bachelors to learn how to communicate. Why didn’t Breeze come here with you before going to drink? That’s your normal routine.”
Tress lowered her head. “We had a bit of a disagreement.”
The mare nipped at her filly. “I assumed it was something like that. Go and make it up to her. I don’t want anything disrupting the harmony among the herd.”
“What makes you think it was my fault? She was the one spreading rumours.”
The queen stamped a front hoof. “Don’t argue with me. I don’t know what’s got into everyone lately. I’d normally think it was hormones playing tricks with you young ones, but spring is far away. Something’s not right.”
Chapter 4
Fleet picked at grasses and sipped at creeks, drifting from one patch of feed to the next between small clusters of paper birches, eating only because he must. His stomach churned and his muddled thoughts added to his dizziness. The sores on his rump pulled tight at every step, never letting him forget the bloodwolf. And he’d seen only one! What would an army be like?
How could he safely approach King Streak to pass on Sapphire’s warning? And he wanted to join the herd. Maybe other bachelors could tell him more about unicorns. If they pushed him away, he’d have to try to steal a mare and start his own herd. But how? And where? Were there any vacant territories? What else hadn’t Sapphire taught him? The last thing he wanted was to return to Dark Woods and his memories, despite the security the thick forest offered.
It didn’t help his mood that Squirrel had wandered off to gather berries and nuts. Fleet hated being alone. Would Squirrel leave him to be with his own kind? Did people always wander by themselves? How many were there? He had learnt nothing of them other than that the man ate plants as well as animals. Was he a threat, waiting for Fleet to recover from his wounds before shooting him? It was all too confusing. He needed to find King Streak and learn all he could—if the stallion didn’t try to kill him.
Fleet crested a ridge and halted, every muscle alert, every sound and scent accentuated.
Horses milled in the meadow below, two greys in conversation while the remainder hung together in loose formation. None of them grazed.
He had no chance of outrunning such a large mob in the open. Remaining among the trees, he announced his presence with a low whinny. “Hello! I’m Fleet of Foot of Dark Woods with a message for King Streak!”
The larger of the two grey stallions regarded him with pricked ears and called a greeting. “Come down. I’m King Streak of Flowering Valley.”
Relieved at the positive reply, Fleet strode down the hillside, ready to turn and flee if it was a trick. At least twenty stallions watched every move he made. Taking care not to slip on the steep stony slope, he held himself erect, tail high and neck arched, to appear older and experienced. As he neared, the grey who had spoken strutted out to meet him. Fleet halted and extended his nose.
The grey ignored his greeting and stood firm. “I don’t recognise you. What’s this about a message? Who from?”
With his heart thumping and blood running hot, Fleet met the king’s eyes. “I’ve travelled a long way to pass on the dying vision of my dam, Sapphire of White Water Cliffs.”
“Queen Sapph
ire? Dead, you say. That’s very sad news, but hardly surprising. She was a fine mare in her day, but ancient. And King Thunder, what of him? I assume he’s your sire, Prince Fleet of Foot.”
The title Wolfbane had also named him confused Fleet. “I’m not a prince, at least I don’t think so, but yes, King Thunder was my sire. He’s also dead.”
Streak threw his head up in alarm before inviting Fleet to join the other horses. “I think we all need to hear what you have to say. I thought you were too young to be an emissary or seeking your own mares.”
After he was introduced, Fleet told of being born in Dark Woods. The stallions listened with politeness. Enjoying their presence, Fleet relaxed for the first time in the company of horses other than his dam. He explained how he and Sapphire had wandered in fear of the stallion pursuing them, avoiding contact with anyone, and finally the attack by the unnatural wolf. “Sapphire’s final words were about her vision of a horse with twisted horns and an army of bloodwolves intent on destroying all horses! She sent me to you.”
The grey stallion stepped back as if to avoid the devastating news. The other horses muttered among themselves and shuffled their feet.
Streak looked around as if seeking answers. “Queen Sapphire is famous for her visions. She foresaw the collapse of a cliff that flooded a valley, and knew about a great fire that destroyed all the grasslands far to the east, over Dragonspine Mountains. We must take her words seriously.”
Fleet had never heard either of these stories. “What about unicorns? Sapphire said they are supposed to protect horses.”
Streak blew through fluttering nostrils. “Some say they’re no more than a myth, others claim to have seen one. I haven’t. I can’t rely on them. We’ll need to provide our own defence.”
Not understanding what that might entail, Fleet trembled. “Can I join your herd?”
The king licked his lips and flicked his ears. “Perhaps, if Blackfoot agrees, you can run with my bachelors.”
