The hint of spring did nothing to cheer Tress. The fresh grass didn’t taste as sweet as at Flowering Valley. Buds on the trees looked pale and tired. No butterflies clouded thimbleberry thickets. The only things in abundance were the annoying flies. Tress whisked them away with her tail, but no sooner had they risen from her coat, they settled back. She longed for Breeze with her idle chatter and mutual swishing. Had Streak sent her east yet? No doubt she was being feted by her new stallion.
Tress didn’t even have Wolfbane’s company. She wasn’t sure whether she preferred the loneliness or the gruff presence of the stallion. Apart from returning to ensure she remained at White Water Cliffs, he spent his days scouring the country for other mares. So far he hadn’t brought back any.
At least the spring flush of growth renewed her strength, even if she had lost her plump glossiness. Her mane hung in dirty tangles and a snagged blackberry runner in her tail scratched her hind legs at every step. It didn’t make sense for Wolfbane to establish a territory where no people lived to care for them.
She climbed to the top of one of the rocky outcrops, scrambling and puffing up the steep slope, bounding from boulder to boulder. Wind whistled past her ears and eagles glided below her. To the north, range after range of hills blurred in a grey haze. To the south, dense forests blocked any chance of seeing what lay within. The river wound through towers of volcanic plugs, islands of sheer rock, their isolation a reflection of her loneliness. Despairing of seeing any other horses, she headed back down, her heart racing as her hooves slipped on the scree.
She picked her way along the river, snatching at mouthfuls of feed from habit rather than hunger. The rushing water reminded her of River Lifeflow blocking the way back to Flowering Valley. And the wolves. She daren’t risk the woods on her own. Instead, she meandered aimlessly along the creek, waiting for Wolfbane to return. Maybe this time he would bring company.
The shadow of a hill loomed over her. She shivered.
Something groaned behind the shrubs.
She shied, her hooves slipping and clattering on the pebbled river bank. Her pulse raced. Snorting, she scented the air for any threat. That wasn’t wolf! The pungent sweat of horse wafted on the breeze. Whickering, she took a tentative step towards the source.
The groan came again, louder.
Tress broke into a trot. “Hello? Where are you?”
The smell of fear checked her. She halted, tense, every sense alert. “Are you hurt?”
One step at a time, Tress wove between the shrubs.
A mare lay prone on flattened tussocks, her barrel heaving and legs twitching. The chestnut raised her head and glanced at Tress with pain-filled eyes before slumping back. “Go away. I don’t need your help.”
Tress shook her head in confusion. She couldn’t see any wounds, or sense any predator. If an accident had befallen the mare, then surely she’d need assistance. “What’s wrong?”
Another groan answered her.
Tress stared, uncertain what to do.
Two long forelegs poked from under the mare’s tail, followed by a wet brown head resting on huge knees. A white membrane slithered out of the mare towards her hocks. The newborn struggled out of the bag and scrambled towards the mare’s head. The chestnut stretched her neck to lick the damp bundle.
Tress stepped back, not wanting to interfere, yet fascinated by the birth. She had never witnessed a foaling before.
The mare heaved to her feet and shoved her baby with her nose. The foal splayed her front legs and hefted herself up, only to fall flat on her chest. She tried again. Her legs wobbled and gave way. At the third attempt, the filly remained standing. She shook her whole body and nuzzled her way to the mare’s teats.
Tress stared in awe. What would it be like to have a foal? With the coming of spring she’d had urges she’d never experienced before. Sometimes she even forgot Wolfbane’s rudeness and aggression when she saw him galloping, his muscles rippling, his power evident.
Visions of the black stallion came to her. Was Fleet still alive? Where was he?
Her dreams of unicorns had long since faded, survival requiring her sole attention. Many of Starburst’s lessons had proved crucial, even if as a filly she’d thought them pointless, like eating broad-leafed plants as well as sweeter grasses, ensuring she drank even when she wasn’t thirsty, and respecting the personal space of her elders.
Allowing mares their privacy at foaling had been a strict rule, but after so long without company she couldn’t resist staying with the chestnut. “I’m Princess Silken Tresses of Flowering Valley. You have a beautiful new filly.”
The mare stopped her washing long enough to bare her teeth at Tress. “If you’re going to hang around, find me something to release my afterbirth.”
Tress couldn’t remember which herbs would work. “What do you need?”
“If you’re a princess surely your dam taught you that. Yarrow and raspberry, I think.” The mare turned back to her foal, who switched her tail as she suckled.
Tress hesitated. “What’s your name? How much do I need to get?”
The mare blinked long lashes at Tress. “I’m Half Moon. As much as you can carry, I guess. I don’t know. This is my first foal. Leave me in peace.”
Tress foraged for the necessary plants, listening to the mare comforting her foal. A pang of longing for her mother twisted her gut. Starburst would know what herbs to gather. She always assisted the mares of Flowering Valley when their birthing time came, leading them to a sheltered spot away from the herd, keeping other horses away, and visiting them only to ensure they had everything they needed. After a few days, she would accompany them home and introduce the newborn to the mare herd.
She imagined Starburst doing just that now at home. Her heart thumped. Flowering Valley was no longer her home. She should never have run away.
But she had, so it was pointless her thinking about that. Determined to make the most of her situation, Tress carried a mouthful of flowers back to Half Moon and the new filly. The little one’s nut brown coat matched her tufty mane and tail except for large white splotches on her hindquarters. A narrow strip of white ran down her face and she had long white legs to her knees and hocks.
Tress dropped the plants at Half Moon’s head and reached her nose forward to greet the baby.
Half Moon bit hard on Tress’s neck and spun, lashing out with a hind leg, her hoof connecting with Tress’s shoulder. “Get away! She’s my foal.”
Tress hurried backwards. She shivered in shock. “I was only saying hello. Fine thanks for bringing you what you need.”
The chestnut mare rolled her eyes and glanced at the proffered herbs. “There’s no need to come near.”
Disappointed at not finding a friend, Tress wandered off to graze. For the remainder of the day she kept her distance, watching as the foal became stronger on spindly legs. Before long, the filly could gallop and buck with confidence. After another drink of her dam’s milk, the tiny horse folded herself in the shade and slept.
Tress day-dreamed. By next spring, she might have a foal of her own.
Half Moon tore at the grass, gradually making her way over to Tress while keeping an eye on her filly. “I’m sorry I was harsh. I’ve heard of newborns being stolen.”
Tress turned her rump to Half Moon. “I haven’t even had my first season, so I’m hardly a threat. How would I feed a newborn foal?”
The mare came closer, staying between Tress and her foal. “I’ve said I’m sorry.”
Tress blew acceptance through her nose and turned alongside Half Moon. They grazed and shared histories, gradually opening up about how they came to be there. Tress took especial note when Half Moon mentioned the former lead mare of White Water Cliffs, Queen Sapphire.
That must be Fleet’s dam. So he was a prince. She shared the news about Sapphire fleeing to Dark Woods and birthing a colt before a wolf killed her. “Fleet has been sent to seek help from the unicorns.”
Half Moon curled her upper lip. “I’ve never seen a unicorn. I think the tales are fantasies of the bachelors who can’t build themselves a herd. Don’t expect any help from that quarter.”
Over the next few days, Tress and Half Moon stayed together. With pleasant company at last, Tress began to enjoy spring. As the newborn filly grew stronger they ranged further afield. Eventually Tress was invited to greet the baby. “What have you called her?”
“Pebbles.” Half Moon whinnied to her foal, who had taken off to explore. The filly came galloping back, kicking up her heels in play. “Her spots look like the stones in the river.”
“I wonder where she gets such unusual markings.” Tress nuzzled the filly’s rump as if to check the white splotches were real.
Half Moon pushed her away. “Her sire is an appaloosa. We should go and find him. I doubt he’ll be far.”
Tress chirped up. “You mean he’s near here? Why didn’t you say before? Let’s go!”
Anticipation lent vigour to Tress’s stride as she followed her new friend at a trot. They wove through a scattering of trees and crested a rise into a glade where several other horses grazed. A young stallion whinnied when he saw them.
Half Moon broke into a lope. “That’s Boldearth. Come and meet him.”
Boldearth cantered to greet them, his head raised and tail high despite the ravages of a hard winter showing in his protruding ribs and hips. “Congratulations, Half Moon, a beautiful filly. And who’s this?”
Tress danced over. She’d certainly be happy to have a foal by this stallion. “Hello, I’m Princess Silken Tresses of Flowering Valley.”
He wiggled his lips, his eyes sparkling. “I don’t think you’re a princess here, nor of Flowering Valley any more, but you’re welcome to run with us if you like.”
Tress didn’t sense any malice in his words. “Are you king of this territory? I must warn you that Wolfbane, Oakvale’s former Head of Warriors, claims it too.”
The young stallion reached forward to blow at her nostrils. “No-one is king here, not since King Thunder was killed. There’s no structure, no warriors, no queen. A few mares run with me, others wander with my brothers. We’re too busy fighting wolves to worry about squabbling among ourselves.”
The lack of formality was a new concept to Tress. She wasn’t sure she approved of the loose arrangements. “How do you know when to move to new grazing or where the best watering places are? Don’t you need a queen to guide the youngsters and ensure they eat a balanced diet?”
Half Moon nudged Pebbles closer. “That knowledge has been lost. Finding enough to eat takes all our effort. We go where the grass is best. There’s little competition.”
As they talked, other mares came over and added their stories. A buckskin pony with a patchy coat spoke of the dangers. “If a bloodwolf or its drool touches you, you die. If they don’t kill you straight away, your wounds become poisoned. You can’t walk. You can’t eat. You go mad and leap from the cliffs.”
Tress threw up her head in shock. “You mean horses kill themselves?”
“Yes. That’s why we live up this end of the valley, away from the bodies.”
Boldearth told how the wolves had slaughtered all the people because there had been no warriors to warn of the danger. “The village is a terrible place.”
About to tell them about the mare at the cavern, Tress spotted Wolfbane galloping towards them, his ears pinned to his neck, the ground shaking from his hoof beats. “Watch out! He murdered Precipice!”
Boldearth cantered off to face him. The two stallions drew close. Wolfbane reared and thrashed his hooves, challenging Boldearth.
The younger stallion ducked away.
Wolfbane pursued him, driving him with his chest, ignoring his attempts to converse.
Boldearth dodged, nimble on his feet, snapping back in defence.
The mares retreated to a safe distance. Tress quaked as Wolfbane’s screams echoed against the cliffs.
The appaloosa’s inexperience was no match for the heavier stallion. After receiving vicious bites to the neck, shoulders, and rump, he fled.
Wolfbane pranced up to the small gathering of mares. “You’re all mine now. Get moving. We’re going upstream.”
Tress led the way without hesitation. Two of the other mares balked and received nasty kicks for their trouble. Even Half Moon was driven by the stallion’s teeth, Pebbles sticking close to her dam’s side as they trotted ahead of Wolfbane.
The small herd spent a tense night under the shelter of the cliffs near the hay cavern. The roar of the falls brought Tress bad dreams, bloodwolves with poisonous fangs leaping and snarling, and horses throwing themselves to their deaths, their bones littering the river.
When she awoke, she found Wolfbane storming in a rage.
All the other mares except Half Moon had disappeared.