Flame And The Wild Herd

A Failure?

He struggled and fought to free himself, but to no avail. The ropes cut into his tough, golden flesh, leaving him as hopeless as the wise bay mare had been when she had nearly been caught. Flame panicked. This had never happened to him before. Usually he could face anything saying "been there, done that". Unfortunately, this would have to be an exception.

Flame was led to the men’s camp – not without a fuss, naturally. He kicked when the ropes were loose, and bit when the men ventured close enough to his head. But they had hobbled him with ropes, and the makeshift halter he wore allowed very little free movement of his head. He vowed to never set eyes on men again, and to run away if ever faced with them. He didn’t care if that would classify him as a coward – anything to escape the controlling wrath of horsemen.

Finally, after a thirty-minute walk, a panicked Flame was led into a fenced corral. It was circular – about 30m in diameter. Flame jostled to rid himself of the cursed halter. He half-bucked, half-shied to the right. He felt two men shoving against him, pushing him into the enclosure. After a minute of struggling, they managed, and the gate slammed shut behind them. Wham. Flame hung his head. He was a failure.

A failure to his herd, letting them down, endangering them. A failure to himself, endangering his freedom and letting himself fall into the clutches of the men. A failure to mustangs everywhere – the invincible Flame, defeated, what sort of role model was he? He whickered softly. He was a failure to horsekind.