by Violet Inkpen, age 13

The campfire crackled as the last of the flames burned brightly. The hot coals flickered against the rock surrounding the pit. A tall, plump man sat on a fallen log, using a stick to stir the coals. Three children sat around him, eager for him to tell a story. Finally he sat back, a smile on his face.

“The legend of Shadow,” he began. Everyone was already in awe; Shadow, the phantom horse everyone always mentioned. No one ever told the three girls the story, but several times they heard adults joking about the mystic mare.

“It has been told many ways. Some say Shadow was born in a fire, in a cloud of smoke arose a horse shape. That shape took form and from there a horse was born, one who walked on air and freed horses from cruel human prisons.”

Nearby, a snort was heard from one of the horses that was on the trail riding camp-out. The girls leaned closer to their grandfather, eyes wide. Flames reflected in his eyes as he talked. “But that is not the real story,” he said, shaking his head. The girls felt somewhat disappointed.

“Others say it was a cold blizzard. The snow swirled into a horse and that horse took all the freezing, dying horses to a warm place, away from the humans that didn’t care enough to offer their horses shelter.” The girls leaned closer. The man smiled. “But that isn’t true either,” he added. They sighed in disappointment.

“Hurry up Grandpa! Get to the REAL story!” the youngest, a curly red head with freckles and green eyes, said, jumping in her seat.

The old man chuckled. “Alright. The truth.”

“‘Twas a cruel place where Shadow grew up.”

“Ghosts don’t ‘grow up,’” one of the girls protested.

“Shh!” the other two shushed her.

The man continued. “Shadow grew up in a place where the men were money hungry. Her owner bred horses for one reason; slaughter. It was legal there and a huge money maker too.” The girls gasped. “Shadow was tormented often, whipped into shape. She was a heavyset mare, white with huge patches of black, thick mane, a thick, strong neck and mane around her hooves. She was beautiful, but defiant. Well, she was never slaughtered.

She had a foal, a foal that looked much like herself – a colt. The men fed the colt more and more until it was very chubby, then he took it away to slaughter. The mare was so enraged that she broke free of her pasture and attacked the humans. She broke down fences, saving many horses from the men. Those horses became wild.

The men thought she had rabies or something so they grabbed a gun and shot at her. Most missed, but one lucky shooter shot down the beautiful mare. She lay in the ground, shivering as she died, her eyes searching sadly for her son. He called out to her as men forced him into the building to kill him. She took her last breath knowing her son took his too.”

Misty eyes waited anxiously for the story to go on. The man shifted more coals, looking down at the fire.

“It was a whole year later before the reports of a strange horse came alive. It was said that like a ghost in the night, a shadow slipped across the land, screaming fury and rescuing horses. Fences all around that held mistreated horses went down, but when men tried to track this ‘mad mustang’ no hoof prints were found. Finally, Shadow wandered to her old home, walking on the air, her eyes furious. With one loud bellow she alerted all her fellow horses and like a thief in the night stole them all away to wild pastures.

Sometimes Shadow will appear to people who treat their horses with respect. She’ll speak with the horses, look at you with thankful eyes. Sometimes people have heard a voice in their head saying ‘Take care of my brother, or sister as the case may be, and you shall be rewarded.”

Not many believed the stories until more and more cruel people suddenly saw their horses vanish. Sometimes Shadow would show herself to humans, rearing and screaming until they noticed her. She wanted them to know it was she who stole their horses. Then she’d vanish before they could try to touch her and see if she was real. Shadow is a horse who has one mission; save as many horses from the horror of cruel treatment as possible.

Well, fences were built stronger, barns shut tight, everything was secure. Shadow sometimes show up and paces back in forth in frustration, trying to free her sisters and brothers, as she calls all horses. Sometimes she manages to find a way, other times she doesn’t.”

The man looked at his grandchildren. “Is it true?” one asked shyly.

“I believe it is, Lilly. I once saw Shadow. I was rescuing a wild horse from a bear trap it had stumbled into and all of a sudden a horse dancing on the air came towards me, tossing it’s mane. I thought I heard something in my head whisper ‘thank you for saving my little sister. You will have the gift of respect from all horses for now on.’ I watched the mare touch noses with the mustang, then gallop away, going higher and higher until she vanished in the clouds.

The mustang stood up, and instead of running, it looked at me. I walked back to my own horse and it followed. I kept walking my horse and that mustang followed all the way to my ranch. I tried to make it go away so it could be free but that horse could not leave. And ever since then all horses seemed to… like me.” He looked at the girls’ shining eyes.

Suddenly their horses nickered a greeting, rearing in joy. They all turned around and saw a shining pinto mare slowly walking towards them, head bobbing in grace and glory. She was walking on air, getting lower and lower until her hooves touched the ground. Rearing, she whinnied loudly, winked at them and leaped into the air, galloping up into the night sky above their heads.

The girls were in awe. Shadow was real! The man looked just as shocked. Twice in his life he had seen Shadow, and that was more than most could say. Smiling he looked at the girls. “That’s the Legend of Shadow as it has been told for generations. And I believe it.”