I ran and the wind ran with me. The wind is a strange creature; he sneaks up as the creeping mouse, runs fearlessly beside me as the roaring lion, than padding away as the light-footed deer. I noticed the wind, but barely. The only sounds in my head were the drumming of my running hoofbeats and the frightened snorting of my here.
My herd. My family. They were all I knew and I struggled to keep up with their fast paced dash to safety, my heart beating frantically. As if she could hear my panicked heart, Mama, at my side, glanced down at me clearly worried. It scared me to see the fear in her eyes. Mama wasn’t scared of anything. This was wrong. Why were we leaving our home in the lush, green meadow?
I wanted to stop, to halt, to give up, but when I slowed, the great force of the panicked horses behind me pushed me forward, submerging me is a pool of brown and grey. My own golden coat was lost in the colors of my herd and the world around me. The hazy, purple mountains we were headed for made me feel small and helpless, a tiny speck of gold in a maze of rock and stone. But my father, Storm, pushed us towards them, seeming to think we could defend ourselves from the horrors behind us.
But I started to tire, as did the other foals. Seeing us stumbling and tripping, my father swerved quickly into the dark forest.
Come, came the commanding nicker. We’ll be safe here.
The shadows of the dark forest consumed us as we stepped warily into the trees.