But Steve wasn’t listening. He was staring at the red stallion. To Pitch, to anyone else, it would matter little who won the coming encounter. To anyone else there was little to choose between the two stallions. But Steve thought of the red stallion only as Flame. His Flame! The horse he had found again! He didn’t want to lose him now. Flame had to win! If this was to be a battle to the death, he wanted Flame to kill!

The red stallion had made no move toward his foe. He stood there quietly, confidently, as though he knew he was king and any challenger to his throne would have to bring the fight to him. Steve watched, marveling at the red stallion’s coolness, yet afraid for him as well. “Flame,” he said aloud. “I don’t want to lose you now. Get ready for him, Flame. He’s coming. Don’t underestimate him!”

“Just look at that red horse, Steve!” Pitch’s voice was guttural, his words hardly distinguishable. “He’s been through this before. He’s not scared a bit. He’s fought his way to the top and that other stallion is going to have to kill him to take his title away. Look, Steve! You never saw such confidence as that red devil has!”

Pitch’s words went unheard by Steve, for the boy saw nothing but Flame, standing there, waiting; heard nothing but the running, steady rhythm of hoofs belonging to a horse as beautiful, swift and strong as the red stallion. Steve knew that in a little while one of them would be no more. It could end no other way, where there could only be one king. Unashamed, he prayed that Flame would win.

The sound of the running hoofs came ever onward, and still the red stallion didn’t move forward. Steve saw him turn his head upwind again as though still wary of something he could not see. The beat of hoofs became louder and Steve was forced to focus his attention on the dark bay stallion. The challenger was now rushing headlong into the encounter, and as he drew closer his gait slowed. He was beautiful and powerful to see, and fear for Flame took hold of Steve as he looked again at the red stallion.

His small, arrogant head had turned away from the south and he now faced the challenger. At a sudden, piercing scream from the bay stallion he flattened his ears and shattered the air with his own high-pitched whistle. Then, his ears forward, he moved in a slow but steady gait to meet his opponent.

Within the walled amphitheater of Azul Island, across the short, thick grass and ever-lengthening blue shadows, the two stallions moved toward each other to fight for supremacy of a band whose eyes were turned away from the encounter and who would wait for the stronger of the two to claim them.