His golden coat shimmered in the setting sun. His muscles rippled with pure strength, ears flicked, trying to pin point the sounds. His nose flared with the smell of gunpowder. His eyes darted from bush to bush, he looked ready to bolt.
A stick cracked next to him, and immediately his eyes darted in the direction and found the source of the noise. He relaxed a little when his eyes fell upon a wallaby.
Another shot rang through the air, causing birds to fly from the trees in fright. He bolted. He ran for his life, galloping like the wind itself. He galloped through the trees with great expertise.
Another shot rang out, this time closer. The stallion swerved with fear. A searing pain shot through his flank, shooting up to his chest. He slowed, eyes wide with pain. He faltered for a split second, but pushed on, leaving dust as he galloped.
The pain was growing fast, spreading into his legs, he slowed, sides heaving with exhaustion. He stopped, head hanging low.
His feet dragged through the grass. His pride had been snapped. He was the Phantom Stallion, known for dodging the bullets, always escaping. But now he was ruined.
His legs gave way and he collapsed, dust flying as his wounded body fell. He lay there, sides still heaving. He knew it would happen some day, just not so soon. He was still a young brumby, full of the spirit to live.
Hours passed, and he had given up trying to get up, and just lay there defeated, his life slowly draining out of him. His ears flicked up when he heard crunching through the under growth. He lifted his head in an effort to see who or what was coming. His eyes fell upon a young women. He whinnied to her, pleading for help.
She bent down, stroking his magnificent face, looking into his eyes. What she saw shocked her; visions of his herd going down, one by one, and bullets, whizzing past his head, as he galloped, free as the wind.
She got up, and with one final worried glance, ran back into the bush, crying. She knew there was nothing she could do to help the young brumby.
The stallion was puzzled. Why had she come and gone so quickly? He thought she would help him. He lay there, every breath getting heavier and more painful. From what he could see, the sun was setting, going below the distant mountains.
He watched slowly as the sun set, his eyes growing heavier. He gave in. His spirit was broken, his trust gone, his life about to end. What had he ever done to those men, to anger them that much as to want to kill him?
With one final breath, he slipped away, leaving his pain, his broken body, and cracked soul behind.
©Monika Gotthardt-Marshall
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I wrote this a while ago, about 3 years or so. I had just gotten into writing. Anyway, I found it, modified it a bit and thought I should post it. The story relates to wild horse shootings, that are trying to be prevented here in Australia. I visited a brumby sanctuary with my class. I had been a member for a while, and donated money yearly. They rescue wild horses, bringing them in and training them to find new homes. Though the story is sad, its reality.
