The Mustang of Colorado ~ Written By Lydia R.

ChicknsRock

Crowing
8 Years
Oct 4, 2013
15,339
127
386
The Mustang of Colorado
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By Lydia R. [ChicknsRock]
Illustrations Found From Google.com/images
Soon To Be Published by Schoolastic ©
Horse Fiction


First Chapter Coming Soon!
 
Chapter 1
I look back at the day when I was a colt, running free through the mountains and valleys of Colorado. Now I am a broken dream, a lifeless animal pulling stagecoaches across vast and snowy roads. Yet I know someday I will be free -- spirited -- and full of life.
As the stablehand hooks on my harness and bridle, I look out at the softly falling flakes of snow that years ago I could gallop wild and free through. And now I pull the stagecoach across the deepening snow, maybe never to be free again.
Two years ago the ropes had dragged me from my home by those dreadful two-legged creatures: humans. And though my beautiful friend Pebbles was captured with me, we were abruptly separated from each other.
The whip cracked against my frosty back, forced to move faster with the other horses. When they arrived at the house at which the party was being held, we are cruelly left outside to suffer the harsh winds and precipitation. An hour passed. Two hours. After four hours they came back out and commanded us to drive them back. Finally back at the livery stable, I was unharnessed and left in my stall with dirty water and a pitiful amount of hay. And right when the will to live left me, a burst of determination came. Attracting the human's attention by whinnying and snorting, the stablehand opened the stall gate to see what was wrong. I lunged forward, knocking him down and running out of the barn, galloping away from the abusive people.
 
Chapter 2
Not far after I galloped far from the town had I met a new human. I stopped to look at him, then he slowly walked over to me. I snorted loudly and half-reared, but the man only backed away a little. I looked at him for a moment, and seeing that he had no ropes to capture me with in his hands, nickered softly.
"Whatcha doing there, boy?" he said. "You look half-starved." he approached me carefully, and before I knew it he was patting my neck and clicking to me.

I felt that the man was not a predator, but I was still on the alert.

"If you want a nice place to stay 'till your owners come a lookin' fer you, you're welcome to stay at my farm," he said. The man spoke to me like he would to his own kind. His voice was rough and clear, but kind. Slowly he mounted my back, and seeing that I was submitting, threw his leg over, took hold of my rope, and nudged my flank with his foot. I willingly trotted off, though I was too weak to go much further. I knew this man was good, unlike the harsh and brute beasts back at the stables.
We traveled three miles down the snowy terrain. It wasn't easy. There was a slippery hill to climb, and then after that an old bridge over a frozen lake. It must have been an old bridge, for every step I took it creaked and groaned, as if it would collapse at any minute. A mile from the bridge was a little farm which was our destination. It was completely surrounded by a brick wall with a wooden gate. Inside was a medium-sized farmhouse with two chimneys, and beside it a chicken coop. An exceptionally large barn was a little ways off from the house; that was where the man dismounted my worn back. Then he lead me into it.
The barn was a lively place. Stalls of horses lined the sides, chewing timothy hay and nickering welcomes to me. At the end of the barn was a hayloft, where a mother cat watched her kittens as they played in the hay.
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The man put me in one of the stalls, where I was fed and watered.
 

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