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The white yearling mustang filly galloped - hour after hour, day after day. Her hooves churned grass and soil, flung gravel, spawned dustclouds and splashed across streams and rivers. Tireless, relentless ... running from someplace? Running to someplace? To Ironhoof, the truth was both and neither.

The Bronze Valley herd was no longer hers and she no longer theirs. Freedom ... that's what being a wild horse is all about, right? Beyond even what Ironhoof understood, at long last a choking, confining chain broke. Like the breaking of any chain bearing a heavy load, the whipping remnants damaged and hurt much.

Not one but two dearly beloveds lost to Ironhoof: Firstly Quantus, Bronze Valley's large white lead mare and its greatest strength from the thunder of her hooves and the leadership of her rumbling calls; its greatest weakness in her displaced spirit and her out-of-place being. By the herd's verdict, Ironhoof was at fault for inspiring Quantus to 'liberate herself' from a stallion's rule and her obligations to the herd where, away from the herd and alone, despite her great strength and skill, three cougars took advantage of Quantus' vulnerability, killed and feasted on her.

Secondly, Flamehoof, Quantus' son whom Ironhoof had grown very close to and reciprocated that closeness in a bond headed toward love greater than any lead mare's and lead stallion's bond - a bond of true love and spiritual connection, a connection shattered by the death of his beloved mother. Flamehoof, too, lay blame at Ironhoof and her 'ideas' though before the sting and maelstrom of his spirit that came of his mother's death, he thought Ironhoof sensical and her ideas correct, if not the tradition of the horse. The shards of their shattered bond tore wounds in both their spirits and morphed their love into a growing hatred. Ironhoof's teeth and hooves, though smaller, ripped the colt's identity and those wounds further tore apart his spirit, driving him to his own flight from the physical realm.

Their deaths were both numbingly tragic and liberating in their breaking Ironhoof from the lifelong-enslaving fate that, not entirely known to her, befell Quantus and many before her. Cursed to have desires she could not face and distastes Quantus had to ignore, all 'for the good of the herd' -- Quantus' herd, the Bronze Valley Herd. The herd no longer Ironhoof's - not to own her nor follow her lead.

Bronze Valley's herd's fate was their own - not a good fate, but no longer tied with Ironhoof's fate. Ironhoof's departure was less painful to Ironhoof than it was to the herd that counted on her strength and guidance to lead and protect them, as Quantus' hooves had led them for so long.

Through other herdlands but not to other herds galloped the white filly, her grey mane and tail never resting in their banner-like streaming behind her. Word of Ironhoof spread far wider than she had imagined, but the fear the filly's legend had instilled in other herds mattered not, for Ironhoof's fate no longer rested in joining a 'normal' herd. Whatever Ironhoof's fate was, it did not lay under a stallion.

Her thoughts and ideas were not, wholly, original; Quantus had them but buried deep, torturing her soul and her herd. Relatively young and innocent, Ironhoof had not the time to bury them so deep as she became aware of them ... and as Quantus closely watched the filly's curious discoveries and explorations of her ideas, Quantus began to dust off those same ideas within herself, ideas she had buried in her own fillyhood.

Ironhoof's ideas were, at last, free - and for the heavy price paid in the lives of the two she loved most in Bronze Valley, greater than her love for her own mother, Ironhoof had no doubt she would never put away those thoughts and ideas for anyone. Never.

'I am my own horse. I am not owned nor ruled by any being. No being owned or ruled by any other being truly lives. No being ruled by testicles truly lives. I am neither ruled nor shall I rule others. I am my own horse.'

By this mantra, the foundation of her thoughts and ideas, Ironhoof trotted a different path than any horse before her - a path none other had dared to travel before her. Flamehoof's death burned eternally the budding thoughts into Ironhoof's very soul - they were not merely part of Ironhoof, they were Ironhoof. Forever would they be Ironhoof, no matter what Fate brought to Ironhoof nor whatever Fate would bring Ironhoof to.

It was not a destination that launched Ironhoof from Bronze Valley, nor was it with regret that she departed under the herd's decision. Ironhoof's mother was her only lingering link with the herd, but though still a filly, Ironhoof knew after Flamehoof's suicide her journey was set and she was ready.

"I love ya, ma," the filly recalls her final words before this gallop began. "I won't ev'r forgetcha. I wantcha t'know ... I am strong. I'll always b'strong. I'll always love ya, even if fate takes meh 'cross many moun'ens, rivers, plains 'n desurts."

Through plains and forests, through burning sunlight and frigid nights the filly galloped on. Not without rest, of course ... Ironhoof had no delusions of immortality ... but resting, grazing and drinking were done on the go, her hooves stopped only as long as necessary and alone.

Quantus' death was brought about by the idea travelling the right path was certain and the fate of one could outshine the fate of all others - but others had their own fates; the three cougars that preyed on Quantus had theirs. 'I am neither ruled nor shall I rule others.'

Ironhoof faced danger from her first days on the earth; at just two days old, she had wandered from her sleeping damsel, chasing a fish as it swam upstream, far out of the sight of her mother. The fish met its fate in the jaws of a wolf, and the filly's fate was nearly met the same way by the same wolf. Quantus' hooves at just the right moment held fate over that wolf's fate, sparing Ironhoof in just the nick of time. The wolf came close ... did he ever come close; the little filly had seen is hungry maw open and licking its chops for her, its cold stare regarding her as nothing more than prey.

Her memory of its ferocious look, its intent, its dependency on the death of other beings to live could never escape Ironhoof any more than the mantra that is the core of her spirit. 'I am not owned nor ruled by any being.' To not be ruled, one must stand for onesself ... to not be food, one must prey upon the predator.

It was not long, on her own, that the liberated filly found herself again facing wolf ... but unlike her filly encounter, it was not one wolf but a pack. Ironhoof had just found a tree to rest beside when she heard a noise - the first unexpected snapping of a twig quickly dissipated any thought of slumber. A look in the direction of the snap revealed a pair of golden eyes and the faint black outline of one wolf.

Much more capable than she had been at two days old, with more experience using hoof and teeth to fight than mares twice her age, Ironhoof charged at the predator when two more pairs of eyes shone themselves ... and her ears heard three additional sets of paws approach from behind. Six wolves in all!

Outnumbered but determined not to become prey, hoof clashed with claw; fang sank into mane and teeth tore into fur. In the end, six dead wolves and one badly bloodied but very much alive and triumphant filly stumbled away. Some in Bronze Valley likely hoped justice for Ironhoof would come by her meeting Quantus' fate at the fangs of the first set of predators she'd run across; such hopes, unbeknownst to those who bore them, died with those six wolves. Predators might get her some day ... but not that day.

The wounds Ironhoof earned from her fight at last forced Ironhoof to give herself extra time to rest and recover. She took care to wash the blood from herself by swimming in a lake and rolling in mud afterward to further subdue the scent of her blood - she had learned some things from the Bronze Valley herd and among them the skills of a Scout: how to survive on one's own.

It was in this muddied state Ironhoof encountered a young mare, just a bit older than herself but having crossed the physical threshold into marehood, laughing at her filthy state.

"Hoping to catch some mud-wallowing boar for a mate?" the palomino mustang mare whinnied in laughter at the sight of Ironhoof. "Or maybe a mud-fish?"

"Just avoidin' becomin' a mate to a predator's," Ironhoof cheered back in a similarly humorous tone. "Already dissapointed six of 'em!"

Ironhoof's rough language garnished an even more amused look on the palomino mustang's muzzle. "By the Great Mother, filly, haven't you learned how to talk?"

"I think them wolves heard me loud 'n clear," the filly responded. "Hooves 'n teeth's all some need t'understand."

The palomino's humored tone shifted to surprise. "You serious? Wolves!? SIX wolves? That must be the Golden Ridge pack ... by Great Mother, you got rid of them!?"

The filly nodded in response. "Uh-huh."

"I don't believe you! Show me!"

The white mustang filly led the palomino back to the tree her rest had been so badly disturbed under the night before. The palomino noticed Ironhof's uneven gait, despire Ironhoof's thickly layered mud hiding the wounds, and guessed the filly suffered injuries. Sure enough, true to Ironhoof's word, six mangled, unbreathing wolf carcasses lay close by one another near the tree.

"Great Spirit!" the mare whinneyed in disbelief looking at the carcasses. "You ... you ... you are blessed!"

The filly smiled in response, standing matter-of-factly. "'Tain't nothin'. I juss learned t'take care o'myself."

"We've lost so many to this pack ... this isn't all of them ... but those are their alphas and their betas ... we've never been able to get them like this. You ... you must come with me! My herd is indebted to you!" the young mare declared.

At last, the filly's expression turned uncertain. "Wull ... errr ... I ain't sure ..." Ironhoof idly hoofscraped the ground, giving the mare a regarding gaze. "I really ain't lookin' t'join a herd," Ironhoof assertively (though not unfriendly) stamped a hoof.

The palomino turned her head, giving the filly an odd look. "You mean you're already in a herd? I wasn't aware there were any other..."

Ironhoof didn't interrupt verbally, merely shook her head in a negative response. "I'm a lone horse," she whickered.

The palomino's gaze went from odd to outright freakish, her eyes wide open in disbelief. "Are you crazy? You're still a filly! You ... you must join a herd! How do you expect to survive alone?"

"Oh, I might find somethin' sumday ... but, see, I ain't like most mares. I'm ... diffrent." Nudging a wolf carcass with a hoof, Ironhoof continued her explanation. "I don't rely on others t'look after me. I got hooves 'n teeth 'n I learned how t'use 'em. I got a brain t'think and my spirit t'guide me. I ain't t'be owned by a herd, not t'be ruled by some horse thinkin' with his testicles draggin' his thoughts like an anchor."

The young mare had never heard such a thing, and were she not surrounded by proof of the filly's strength - the decimation of a wolf pack that had preyed on their herd and even their herd stallion had been able to do next to nothing about - she might dismiss the mare as filthy, vulgar and completely insane. But there, around her, lay the truth - this filly had reality to back her wild ideas up. "At least stay with us awhile," she pleaded of the white filly. "I'm Rosehoof, an apprentice healer under our lead mare Shoshone," she introduced herself. "Let me take you to Shoshone ... even if you don't stay with us, we could tend to your wounds."

Ironhoof bobbed her head in agreement. "That sounds good ... fuckin' hurts like heck!"

"Come on," the palomino invited, turning back toward her own territory. "Our herd owes you a great deal ... you'll be fine. You won't have to stay ... I ... I actually understand," she whickered and shook her head, disbelief in herself that she actually did. "Should probably wash the mud off first so Shoshone can see your injuries ... you can always roll in some later ... I know its a scout tactic. I just rather thought ... something else when I first saw you."

Ironhoof laugh-brayed in response. "Yeah, I figured ya did." The white mustang trotted toward and into the lake, leaving a stream of mudy murky water in her wake, dunking herself under to clear the mud off.

As Ironhoof trotted out of the water, Rosehoof shook her head again in disbelief ... the filly's back and legs were littered with wolfbites and clawmarks, some of them seriously deep. Only the absolute most battle-hardy stallions had she seen so resilient to such injury; most mares - indeed, most horses would scream in pain, waiting to die. 'Something' within Rosehoof, her belief in Ironhoof, stirred even stronger. She trotted slightly ahead of Ironhoof and lead the way to her herd, taking care not to rush Ironhoof - whether the white filly thought her injuries serious or not, Rosehoof did consider them serious and would feel guilty if she made them worse.

A whinney from atop a hill drew Ironhoof's attention, a small (but mature) bay mustang mare. "That's who we heard the wolves after last night?" the bay called, stamping a hoof.

Rosehoof didn't stop her trot, instead continued guiding Ironhoof on their course. "She got them, Racer ... she got them! Six of them, including GoldEyes and RedClaw! Get Shoshone to the Healing Cave! We owe this mare big time!"

'Racer' hopped on her forehooves in disbelief. "You're pulling my tail!" the mare on the hill whinneyed. "By the Great Mother ... I'll get Shoshone immediately!" With a fast kick of her hooves, the bay vanished over the hill and the sound of her galloping echoed down into the canyon Rosehoof began leading Ironhoof into.

"Cave?" Ironhoof grunted, casting a sidelong glance to Rosehoof.

"Don't like caves?" Rosehoof whickered back, veered off the main trail leading through the canyon and headed up an incline toward the rocky canyon wall.

"No," Ironhoof whickered back. "Don't feel right bein' closed in on all sides."

"Its okay," Rosehoof whickered, pulling ahead slightly as the path narrowed to the point they had to go single-file to keep ahead of Ironhoof, dense trees and brush on either side of the path. "Some horses are like that ... this one is wide and open, it'll help you heal faster and focuses Shoshone's healer abilities."

A set of hoofsteps echoed off the canyon walls ahead belonging to neither Rosehoof nor IronHoof. A large black mustang mare stepped into view ahead from the left, where the trail Ironhoof and Rosehoof travelled on t'd onto another along the base of the cliff. The black mare stopped in her tracks, gazing in the direction of Rosehoof and (hidden from her a bit behind Rosehoof) Ironhoof.

Rosehoof slowed as they passed by, turning right.

"Great Healer," the black mare whickered as Ironhoof came into her view. "I would not believe it had I not seen it with my own eyes," she started after Ironhoof, trotting behind. "I must tend to you quickly. What is your name?" the mare asked.

"Ironhoof," the white filly answered as the trail finally brought the trio into a cavern. The filly grunted as Rosehoof slowed to a stop, indicating this is where they needed to be ... for a cave, it was indeed quite spacious, but Ironhoof still felt the walls closing in on her. Her hoofsteps fell uncertain, touching and then retouching the ground.

"Easy, Ironhoof, its okay," the black mare whickered a reassurance, then trotted around Ironhoof to face her. "A claustrophobe ... its okay ... do you trust me?" she asked, gazing into Ironhoof's eyes and allowing Ironhoof to gaze into her eyes.

Ironhoof's apprehension at the cave was obvious, but felt no cause to fear the black mare. "Yes," she replied.

The black mare shifted her gaze to Rosehoof and in a commanding tone whickered, "Get my relaxer leaves."

Without hesitation, Rosehoof bobbed her head and trotted back off down the trail, her hoofsteps echoing off the cave and canyon walls.

Ironhoof kept her gaze on the black mare, though still a bit strung up and shifty-hooved. "Relaxer leaves? Ain't they a hard find?"

The black mare's gaze returned to the white filly. "You know something of the healer arts, Ironhoof?" is asked in a soft, curious tone.

"I know a lil' bit 'bout herbs ... I knew a healer. I can't speak t'spirits, though. I know Relaxer is damned hard t'get ... had t'travel many days t'find the smallest bit," the white filly whickered, nervously swinging her head.

The black mare steps forward to gently press her muzzle to the white filly's for a breath-exchange which Ironhoof readily accepted.

"Rosehoof doesn't exaggerate ... if she says you took care of the Golden Ridge pack's alpha pair and their two beta pairs, the Green Canyon herd shall not spare any of what we have to give you whatever comfort we have and heal your wounds. I am Shoshone, Lead Mare of the Green Canyon herd whom you have done a service to ... I can hardly believe it! A filly ... I and our stallion, Bolt, have been fighting a losing fight with the Golden Ridge pack for a year since he took over ... our previous stallion was killed by the pack trying to defend our foals," the black mare explained as she inscribed a pattern into the floor and closed her eyes a few times in prayer to the Great Healer.

Rosehoof's hoofsteps echoed between the canyon walls as she headed back toward the cave, small branches carried in her muzzle, each branch bearing small leaves.

"Nibble the leaves," Shoshone whickered amid her prayers, seemingly without interruption - a master at her craft.

Ironhoof did as instructed, though feeling a bit guilty in doing so; Relaxer leaves were a very precious luxury. Within moments, the filly finds herself relaxed, the cave walls no longer seeming to close in on her - in fact, she felt almost nothing at all, no sting from the wounds and little sense of the world beyond her.

"Rest, filly-warrior," Shoshone diverted a prayer in Ironhoof's direction as the Relaxer herbs took their effect.

Ironhoof's eyes drew closed and all conscious awareness of anything around her fled. Her world blackened for what seemed a mere few moments, then dimly re-lit to the night as her eyes re-opened.

"Ironhoof? You awake?" Rosehoof's whinney echoed off the cavern wall from somewhere low near Ironhoof.

"Wh ... where am I?" Ironhoof whickered back, a bit groggy and disoriented from the after-effects of the relaxer leaves.

"You're okay, Ironhoof ... you are safe ... you are in the healer cave. There are healing herb leaf-bundles in front of you," the young mare whickered as she rose to her hooves, yawning. "Shoshone went to get some herbs only she knows how to find."

The darkness did little to help Ironhoof grasp her surroundings. She heard, however, a snort echo off a canyon wall ... one that came from behind her, not from the same direction as Rosehoof.

"Rosehoof?" Ironhoof whickered, trying to draw herself more awake.

"Yes, Ironhoof," the mare, having managed to get to her hooves, trotted over to Ironhoof to nudge her assuringly. "I'm here."

"Who ... who's that behind me?" Ironhoof tries to get a look, but it is too dark to see.

"That's Bolt," Rosehoof whickered with a smile ... though not a very visible smile in the nearly pitch-black cavern. "He's our stallion lead."

Ironhoof grunted a bit. "How long's he been here?" she asked in an irritated tone, turning around to face his direction ... able to see each other or not, she didn't feel comfortable with her tail end to the stallion.

"He's been with us two years. He took over right after..." RoseTrot whickered, her voice broke off into a disheartened cry, "... right after GorgeFlyer ... my sire ... was killed protecting me and the other foals from the wolves."

Ironhoof grunted and snorted as she regained more consciousness. "No, I meant ... how long's he been here with me in the cave?"

Rosehoof whickered, "Oh ... well ... when Shoshone told him about you and went off to get the herbs, he decided to stay here until she returned, to look after you. You're a real hero to the whole herd, Ironhoof ... none of the herd know how you took on six wolves ... well, I think I do, actually..." she trotted beside Ironhoof and nuzzled her from the side.

"Wasn't nothin'," Ironhoof whickered. "Juss' decided I wasn't gonna be food today."

In a whispered volume, the young mare replied, "I know ... I think I understand ... I think I understand you."

The stallion's snored grunts stirred. "Errf ... Rosehoof? She awake?" he rumbled.

"I'm awake," Ironhoof replied. "Whatcha want, Bolt?" she tried spotting his form in the darkness, but his voice called from a part of the cavern entrance out of the moonlight.

"I ... I beg your forgiveness for having fallen asleep," he whickered as he shook himself awake. "I guess you're smart enough to know I'm the stallion of this herd ... I'd like to think myself a strong stallion at that, though this is only the second herd I've led," he rumbled as he stepped into the moonlight near the entrance, enough for Ironhoof to make out his outline. "What you did last night was incredible. I saw the wolves for myself, saw your hooves' impressions in what remains of them, and I saw you this evening when Shoshone left ... but putting a filly together with that scene is something that boggles my mind. Very few stallions I know could have taken on even four of the wolves ... and you took on six!" The stallion's amazed rumble echoed throughout the cavern.

Ironhoof smirked sheepishly and repeated her earlier reply to Rosehoof, "Juss decided t'not be food."

"Rosehoof told me you didn't think you'd be interested in joining our herd," he whickered, "but I don't think it fair if you don't get to know us. We could really use you ... I could really use you. Shoshone is strong, a great lead for us ... but she's getting old. You ... you aren't even a full-grown mare yet, but you could take over lead today! And I'm prepared to make you my lead mare ... I know the herd would accept you, knowing what you did ... if you'll please stay with us, help protect our herd..."

Ironhoof grunted her disgust, reminded of Quantus. "No thanks!" she snorted back, in a tone more rude than she intended. "Errr ... I'm sorry, but no ... I ain't t'be no one's lead ... I ain't t'be anythin' in yer herd. Believe me, its for the best that I ain't."

The stallion replied in a confused and shocked tone, his ears flicking in the darkness. "I don't think you heard me ... you can be the lead mare of the Green Valley herd ... lead mare! Why in Thunder's name would you not want to be in a herd? What about when you're old enough to have a foal, what then? Just gonna have one by yourself and not let the sire tend to his duties by you?"

Have a foal of her own? Ironhoof stamped a forehoof as she tried figuring that one out. There was a time ... a brief time ... just before Quantus' death, she felt desire to be with Flamehoof ... but she'd never even thought of having a foal. Have something grow within her? Make her weak for several moons? Ironhoof thought foals were okay ... but having one herself? The filly shuddered at the idea. Being beneath some strange stallion? 'Ughhhh ...' Ironhoof did feel close to Flamehoof and could see being under him ... but there was only one Flamehoof. She had no interest in any of the other colts nor in stallions leading the herds whose territories and ranges she'd crossed in her journey so far. This stallion was certainly no FlameHoof ... he wanted herself because she'd be an asset to the herd? She had obligations to the herd just because she's a good fighter?

'I am my own horse. I am not owned nor ruled by any being. No being owned or ruled by any other being truly lives. No being ruled by testicles truly lives. I am neither ruled nor shall I rule others. I am my own horse.'

Ironhoof found the summation of her feelings within herself and voiced them. "I don't want t'have foals."

Rosehoof turned her head to look at Ironhoof ... she didn't want to have foals? Ever? Certainly, Ironhoof still looked an older filly, not fully grown, but even when Rosehoof was a yearling, she felt urges to mate and have a foal ... every yearling and older she's known has had some urges.

The stallion, confused by Ironhoof's indifference, slowly clopped toward her. "I beg you ... please, Ironhoof. You have a strength that's rare to find even in a stallion ... you have what it takes to lead, to protect the Green Canyon herd," he pleaded.

Rosehoof snorted and stepped around Ironhoof to come between them, looking in Bolt's direction. "She said no, Bolt. She needs her rest ... she helped us, we shouldn't harrass her to doing something she doesn't want."

Bolt snorted at Rosehoof ... was she challenging his authority? Still, the mare was right - Bolt just can't fathom why Ironhoof wouldn't join the herd. Why wouldn't any mare, especially a filly, not take up the offer to become a herd's lead mare? Doesn't she realize what an honor she's earned? "Very well," he rumbled. "I hope you'll reconsider ... maybe when you're a little older ... we'll still be here ... and so long as I'm lead stallion, I won't forget what you've done for us, Ironhoof."

"I 'preciate that yer thankful fer my killin' the wolves," Ironhoof whickered in response, "'n though I was juss' protectin' myself, I'm glad it helped yer herd too. I juss' am my own horse," she whickered, "I'm not owned or ruled b'anyone ... an' no being owned or ruled b'nother being truly lives. I just ... don't feel like no normal mare. I ain't ruled by others, nor do I rule others ... I'm my own horse!"

Bolt shook his head in thought. 'If this filly is that messed up in the head, maybe its for the best. Rosehoof is right, of course - this filly deserves whatever she wishes of the herd, even if it ignores the natural way of horses. Maybe some of Shoshone's herbs are affecting her ... maybe her injuries.' "You may stay as long as you like or need with us, Ironhoof," he whickered. "And if there is anything you need, even outside of Shoshone's expertise ... ask it and we shall serve."

The white filly, barely visible in the dark cave, scratched her left forehoof along the ground in ponderance. "Honestly, Bolt, I ... right now, I'd juss' like t'rest 'n heal a bit..."

"Of course, Ironhoof, I..."

"... in peace."

Bolt paused several moments, taking in Ironhoof's meaning. She was, he realized, avoiding trying to be rude about her wishes ... however rude they would ordinarily be, considering she'd earned his offering their any wish, Bolt reluctantly brought himself to the realization he is honor-bound to abide by the request he leave. Not without expressed words of concern, however: "You got six of their pack. There are at least three more ... though, from what I know of their members and recognizing the ones you took care of, they don't pose too much a threat ... certainly not to us ... but they may well seek revenge in your blood ... and however strong you were to take those six on, and however weak the remaining three, perhaps more, might be ... you are injured and your ability to defend yourself is weakened and it behooves our herd, and for myself me personally, to offer our best defenses for you until you heal. May I at least remain closeby ... just in case?"

Ironhoof whickered, "Honestly, if ya wanna accomodate m'wishes, I'd rather have yer mares look after me ... if ya have any t'spare in yer herd who ya think could handle whatever remains of 'em."

Bolt felt his blood boil ... he felt genuinely insulted at what seemed to be insinuated sexual motive on his part in his offer to protect Ironhoof. He frustratedly pondered this when a realization arrived he did desire the filly ... her strength, her fight, her spirit ... and the harder she resisted, the more did he want her. Still, even if true, the accusation was an insult. It did not, of course, occur to him that Ironhoof had no desire for stallions in general ... how could it? He'd never heard of such a thing. "I ... of course," he finally responded a bit submissively, and turned and clopped away out of the cavern.

Submission to a mare - or rather a filly, not even yet a mare? Hidden from any, Bolt licked his lips at the thought ... if only she'd have him. A few more hoofsteps and he was out of the cavern, continuing the thought. A few more, he stopped and shuddered ... what was he thinking? He wasn't that kind of stallion ... he took over this herd to be strong, to protect it from and see it through the Golden Ridge pack and other threats. Not wanting to violate Ironhoof's well-expressed wish, he clopped on down the trail and tried reasoning these thoughts out. It wasn't long before he noticed a wet and breezy sensation, the telltale sign of an aroused start of a drop at the thought of submitting himself to a filly ...