After a long while the red stallion, still chewing the grass, moved in Steve’s direction.

Excitedly, Steve watched him, yet his voice remained low.

“I’ve got to have patience,” he said aloud to himself, knowing it did not matter what Flame heard. “I’m sure he’s coming, but it’ll take time. I’m keeping my promise to Pitch. I’m not chasing Flame. I went for the packs because Pitch wanted them. I don’t have to go back right away. I didn’t tell him I would. I’m waiting, Flame. I’ve got lots of time. I’m going to stay here until you come all the way.”

Now the red stallion was only twenty yards away from Steve, and the boy could see the bulging veins that stood out on the sides of his head. The ears were cocked, coming almost to a point at the tips. He held long blades of grass in his mouth without chewing them. He was listening to Steve, associating this voice with the one he’d heard so often during the past few hours. His large eyes became curous as he saw the figure lower itself close to the ground, so low that he had to look down to see him.

Steve was squatting on the ground, knowing that the stallion would be less frightened of him if he made himself as small as possible. He was certain Flame was coming to him. It was just a matter of a few minutes before he would be able to touch him. He began talking once more, his hand outstretched.

Five yards away the stallion stopped to graze again. Steve moved a few feet toward him, then came to a halt, thinking it best that the stallion come all the way to him. Flame moved closer, his teeth still chopping the grass. Steve waited, his heart pounding, and he tried to keep the excitement from his voice. The stallion didn’t look up again, but his head moved alongside Steve’s hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, the boy moved his hand to the stallion’s muzzle. Gently he touched the mole-soft skin, and there was no objection, no movement from Flame at his touch. Steve stroked the horse. “You’re mine, Flame,” he said. “You came to me, just as I’d hoped you would. It’s the way it should be.”

After a while, Steve examined the blood-clotted wounds. There was only one that caused him concern. It lay low on the stallion’s chest and the open flesh was covered with the sand and dirt of the pit. It needed to be cleansed or it would become infected. The other wounds on the stallion’s strong body had already begun to heal.

Steve rose to his knees, running his hand across the blood-caked mane. He wanted to take care of the chest wound, but he would have to wait until the stallion had complete confidence in him.