It was mid July during one of the driest years on record, and with forage and water running out on their usual grazing lands, the bay mare with the star on her forehead took the herd on a trek she had been on only one time before. That time had also been during a year of severe drought, back when she was six months old and running beside her mother, another bay with a narrow blaze down her fine-boned face. With pasture and water running out, the bay mare’s mother led the herd along this very route for five days and nights, eventually ending up in a large open, green meadow with a wide, shallow river running through it. There had been cattle there, and humans on horseback eventually showed up and chased the herd off, but not before they had eaten and drank their fill over the course of the moon’s cycle from sliver to full.

The bay mare’s memory of the route had been accurate so far, right down to the good grazing areas along the route, like this one. The herd would graze for the rest of the day and into the night before resting and moving again just before dawn. There was a narrow game trail not far from where they currently were that led from the top of the mesa to the canyon floor, nine hundred feet below. The path was steep, rocky and dangerous, but once at the bottom, the traveling would be easy for the herd for the remaining two days and they would certainly make good time.

The stallion let out a loud warning snort that brought all the horses to attention. He snorted again, and then bolted back in the direction from where the herd had just been. Within seconds he had disappeared over a little ridge. The gray colt had been hanging on the outskirts of the herd. He followed briefly, getting to the ridge from where the gray stallion had last been seen. He could see the stallion running in the distance, away from the herd and toward nothing the colt could see.

He watched until the stallion was little more than a small dot in the distance, then turned and made his way back to the herd that by now had gone back to grazing quietly. He was cautious at first, looking back over his shoulder for the stallion from time to time. But the closer to the herd he approached, the bolder he got until he was closing in on the mares. He trotted up, dropping his head and snaking it, pinning his ears and flicking his tail. He circled around menacingly, driving the mares into a small circle, then chasing babies and scattering the youngsters. He then turned back to the mares that were splitting up and calling for their babies, forcing them back into a circle, then going back at the babies and youngsters.

Over and over he circled the mares and chased the youngsters, until his behavior was all consuming. He never sensed the stallion return, and he certainly never saw or heard him charging up from behind. The stallion, neck bowed, ears pinned and mouth open, came at top speed and bit the colt hard in the flank, easily tearing the hide and opening up a ten-inch-long gash. The colt was taken by surprise at this flash of pain, and instinctively jumped and kicked in the direction of the bite. The stallion, undaunted, came forward with ferocity like the colt had never seen before. He bit the colt hard on the hindquarters and opened up another gash, the searing pain of which drove the inexperienced stud colt away from the herd.