They had been lurking in the bush for months the police said later, waiting for the chance. The rest of the herd runs but the chestnut pony with the wild mane and gentle eyes stands
his ground to protect them. The girl watches paralysed with fear. The horse rears up, whinnying a battle cry. Snarling a challenge the dark shadows come at a run towards their
prey. The girl screams, knowing what will happen, too late. One of the dogs are tossed high
in the air but the many other fangs rip through the flesh of the pony. The horse kicks at
another and misses, putting himself at great risk. The girl now runs forward wielding a
pitchfork. The dogs back off, knowing that they would be hard pressed to win this fight.
She stabs at another, and the dogs turn tail and run. The girl's mother hears the
commotion and comes running up on the scene of carnage. Dead dogs and blood
everywhere. And the girl, kneeling beside the stricken horse, crying.
The old man straightens up and looks at her. The look in his clear blue eyes says it all.
"He's gone. I'm sorry, Helena. He was a good pony but in the end, he killed himself." No!
She thinks, he can't be! Treilan was her life and soul, her companion, the one whose
shoulder she cried on. Now he was gone, life ripped away from him by the cruel fangs of the
wild dogs. He had taken a few of those mangy mutts down with him but ultimately it was he who died...
