~The Best Mustang in Britain~
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~His life before I met him:~It was another evening in the foaling season. The autumnal sun was casting her light upon the land, soft and gentle. Her golden light created a golden hue across the landscape, lighting up every insect dancing across the sky in a brilliant light. Even in the valley, her light managed to reach the river. It was like liquid gold. By this river was the herd. A rainbow of mustangs: bays, greys, chestnuts, paints, appaloosas. Even though there weren't many horses, their colours were still something to behold.
Normally, the whole herd would have been grazing at this point. But not now. The lead stallion, a great black mustang, stood outside the main group of the herd. He was watching the nearby trees. In the centre one of his favourite mares, a beautiful chestnut snowcap mare, was giving birth. She was lying on the ground after going into some difficulty: one of the front hooves was caught. Though she had the protection of the rest of the herd, she was still vulnerable to predation. The stallion was not taking any chances. He stood guard, his noble, proud head held high and his ears held upright and alert. The mare nickered softly as she tried to force the foal from her womb. She pushed and pushed as hard as she could and the hoof was eventually freed. The rest of the birth, though painful, was smooth and easy, with the dark bay foal you see before you now breathing as soon as he was out in this new world. The mare nickered softly to him as she got to her feet, encouraging him to do the same. He was very wobbly at first, falling over several times before he finally got the hang of it. The stallion, pleased to see that his mare was alright, walked over to inspect his latest offspring. After sniffing the colt, he nickered to the mare and nuzzled her flank affectionately. He was pleased with both the foal and the fact that she was alright. But the herd would not be able to celebrate for long. The scent of the afterbirth would soon attract the attention of predators, putting the colt's life at risk. As soon as the foal could walk, the herd began to move on. They would be able to relax once they had left this place behind them.
Time went on and the little colt grew into a fine young weanling. He lost his soft, fluffy baby coat and grew a shimmering, auburn adult coat. His mane, once soft and softer than downy feather, was a now illustrious and flowing black mane. He had inherited a white frost blanket from his mother, which adorned his dark coat. A white star rested on his forehead, while two pasterns and a coronet wrapped around the base of his legs. He was certainly turning into a handsome young colt. In fact, he'd already drawn some of attention from some of the fillies from the other bands within the herd. The stallion watched him, along with all of his other progeny, assessing their progress within the herd. The little colt had caught his attention most of all, as he seemed to be fairly strong. Maybe one day, this young foal would be the one to carry on the great stallion's legacy: the one to lead the herd in freedom.
However, his freedom would not last forever. By the time he was a yearling, the yearly mustang round ups had begun. For you see, the mustang have predators, such as wolves and cougars, but there are nowhere near enough of them to keep their numbers in check. Without any control, the mustang population would grow to the point where there wouldn't be enough resources to cope with them. They would all die of starvation, slowly and painfully. This is where man steps in. In helicopters and with specially trained horses, they corral the mustang and decide which to take from the wild and which can go back. This is exactly what happened to the colt and his herd. After hours of going through the horses they had gathered, the men decided to take several horses in from the wild, including the colt and his mother. The rest of the horses were set free, including the colt's father. Whilst the rest of the herd ran free, colt and the others were taken into a smaller pen to be caught and trained.
Hours upon hours of work was needed to break in the once-wild horses. Man was predator to them. Man had forward-facing eyes. Sharp front teeth. A predator's stance. The horses bucked and reared in fear of meeting their ends. What's more is that the yearlings they'd kept behind were separated from their mothers, as were our little colt and his mother. Though it was distressing to start with, they kept all the yearlings and the mares together in isolated groups, meaning they could still form smaller groups. Eventually, with weeks of training and gentle encouragement, all of the horses began to trust man. They let man near them. They let man touch them. They let man climb onto his back. Nearly every horse was trusting enough to do this. But the little colt could not let man anywhere near him still. He still reared and kicked like a wild horse. But he would be rejected by wild herds if he were released, as he carried the scent of man. Instead of being sold directly to families, like the rest of his herd, the colt was given to a horse sanctuary for some one to one work.
~That is when I found Flame...~
