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Wild Roots - Part 1
 By Savveh   •   17th Nov 2010   •   2,654 views   •   2 comments
Flea circled the area, the small mare's barrel sagging dangerously, heavy with a foal. She was chalk white other then some small freckle like spots that dappled her body. She was the oldest mare in the herd, her temper gone sour after years of putting young cocky horses in their place, after years of traveling from summer to winter grazing, and the struggles of foaling. Year after year it was the same old song and dance, and each year Flea became more bitter. By now no horse dared test her position as lead mare. She no longer warned. She would go straight to biting and kicking, even chasing her challenger. And so now all she had to do was glance at the horse and they would be dismissed. They steered clear of her and that was that.

Flea had been circling the grazing since sunrise, for if she stopped, the contractions would claw at her until she nearly fell to the grass in overbearing pain. Her colt was well overdue, thanks to a late breeding. It was now midsummer and all the other mares had already foaled, some near weaning already. The other mares stayed well out of her way.

FoalThe only horse that dared bother her was Diablo, the lead stallion. Flea was very sweet on the big stallion. Despite being a Mustang, he looked more Spanish then that. Perhaps somewhere in his lineage he did have some Andalusian in him, a breed in which he deeply resembled, from his thick neck and roman nose, to his long mane and tail and deep grey coat. He was a brave leader, doing everything for his herd that he could. He was the oldest stallion in the Calico Mountains, and his body was battered with battle scars. Yet he had never lost a fight, never chased off. He was very wise, and tricked other stallions into giving up many mares thanks to his abilities to act.

First the stallion would pretend to leave his mares in the open, leading the stallion to attempt to snake away his mares. Once the rival stallion's mares mixed with Diablo's, the big grey stallion would gallop and chase the rival stallion away. Flea, who knew this game very well, would then gather the mares and lead them further down the ridge and hold them there until her stallion returned. This was how Diablo came to be the proud owner of the largest herd in the mountains, perhaps in all of Nevada. He and Flea reigned over it with the pride of a King and Queen.

Yet even now Diablo kept some distance, watching Flea with intent. As if he knew of her age, and how strenous foaling was becoming. She had always been small, but she used to be petite and doe-like. Now she had a enormous broodmare belly, her neck drooped, her mane and tail were sparse and coarse, and her eyes were dull. Her bitter demeanor reflected her looks.

It was finally dawn now and the mare turned to leave the herd completely to foal. Diable pinned his ears, not sure if he trusted the mares leaving. She was old and perhaps may need comfort of some sort, something to help her. And the mountain lions that had taken two foals already - they would be a threat. But as soon as Diable began trotting after her, she wheeled around and pinned her ears, teeth bared. Diable nearly slid to a halt and clamped his tail, lowering his head. She turned to leave again.
Diablo did not follow.

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net
Horse News More In This Category:  Horse Fiction      Horse News More From This Author:  Savveh
Dixie Chick  
Love it!!!!When will you post part two?
  Nov 17, 2010  •  2,009 views
 
Dixie Chick  
Love it!!!!When will you post part two?
  Nov 17, 2010  •  2,009 views
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