The Albino Colt's Story...Conclusion
Summer to Autumn, Autumn to Winter,
Seasons flowing, albino colt growing.
The snow had come to the craggy dale
And it was empty as the herd moved to lower ground.
In steppe pastures in Montana hills,
The herd of Mustangs fought the winter chill.
Pawing through the snow for the dried grass beneath,
Eating scrub bush to beat Death's bequeath.
The wolves haunted the outlying sides of the night,
Their howling sad and mournful in the moonlight.
The weak and sickly of the herd fell to prey
Before the dawning of each cold-laden day.
The black stallion paced and fought, wearing himself thin,
The albino watched learning time and time again.
He was now weaned of his sorrel dam,
And grazed as the rest of the herd on winter's lam.
He could blend with blinding light
To the snow, shimmering in sparkling light,
When the sun would grace their way,
It was easier to live the next day.
The black stallion had not the time
To worry of an eager colt, edging into puberty sublime.
His job of protector and king in one
Was in the harsh winter, a battle hard won.
It would not be this year that the white colt would come,
He would be driven out when the spring did come.
A yearling, he could fend for himself as need be,
And one less worry for the black stallion to see.
But come the spring in another year,
The albino colt would give his father something to fear.
The time had come
As Spring danced
Through the craggy dale.
Now, almost two, the albino colt,
Sleek, strong, powerful, and wise,
Cantered into the dale.
His sire, the black, stood his post,
His eye ever watchful.
He saw the flash of white
In the western end of the dale,
His nostrils flared,
And his blood pumped faster.
He waited in suspense,
Like a black raven hovering,
The challenge was not his to make.
The albino reached the edge of the herd,
Who moved aside in respect.
He halted, raised his slender head
And gazed upon his sire.
Skyward, he went on hind legs,
The front hooves pawing and clawing the air,
And issued forth his call.
It was the call of time infinite,
A clarion call of challenge,
To stand and fight
Or turn to flight.
The black stallion reared in answer,
And gave his answering scream.
Turning on fleet hooves, he came down,
Into the dale's grassy floor was he bound.
They met mid-way, ears laid back,
Teeth bared, beauty turned to ugliness.
They twisted together in the air,
Biting and hooves beating,
Tearing at tender skin till both were red.
The albino stallion was young and untried,
The black stallion older, experienced and wise,
And each had a hidden asset.
The black was defending his home and harem,
His long held place as king,
And to the insolent stallion-still-colt,
Would this lesson he bring.
Youth does not always over-ride strength of heart.
The albino was fearless and precise in his blows,
What he lacked in experience,
He held in desire.
Even in his heart, he respected his sire,
But the time had come,
For genes in new blood to run.
They fought without mercy and without malice,
A matter of nature,
Who was the strongest and who was the wisest.
The mares and foals huddled in a circle,
In terror and fascination bound.
They saw the black slip and land upon the ground.
This was killing time as all knew well.
The albino should crush his adversary
Under his hooves of hell.
Yet, for some reason unknown to either horse,
The albino stayed and watched where his sire laid.
In his mind was the countless times,
The black had fought wolves and defended the herd.
He had ruled with courage and wisdom learned.
The wounded black rose slowly to his feet,
Staring in agony at his imminent defeat.
The albino paused still, his ears pricked forward,
And then as a tiny colt, he wuffled in affection.
Then with a beauty born of natural grace,
And a coat white as snow-fire.
He wheeled and cantered away,
Back from whence he had come.
There were other herds and other challenges,
But this was one victory that would remain unwon.