map again. It looked like the Coast Road lay just over the ridge beyond those blackthorn trees. Once she was on the road it wouldn’t take her long to get back to the farm again.
Issie was about to ride Blaze towards the trees when she heard a crashing noise from over the ridge that made her freeze. Not again! Issie thought.
She began to gather up Blaze’s reins, looking around, trying to decide which way they should run. The noise was getting louder now. It sounded like thunder; Issie could feel the rumble shaking the ground beneath her.
With relief, she realised that this sound was nothing like the one coming from the trees earlier that morning. No, this was a sound she had heard many times before and it was unmistakeable. It was the sound of hoofbeats.
From behind the blackthorn trees the horses came into view. Issie watched in amazement as the herd rounded the edge of the lake at a gallop, bucking and swerving wildly as they ran. At the head of the herd was a thick-set buckskin with a bushy black mane and fiery eyes. The buckskin was followed by a stocky strawberry roan, a black and brown skewbald and a motley assortment of buckskins and bays. At the rear of the herd was a grey mare and a chestnut skewbald with a white face, both of them with foals running at their feet. The foals stuck close to their mother’s side. The grey mare’s foal was jet black. The skewbald’s foal was the spitting image of its mother with chestnut and white patches all over its body and a broad blaze down its face.
The horses pulled up on the other side of the lake and stared at Issie and Blaze. They were stocky and broad, Issie noticed, and not really horses at all. Most of them were ponies, not much bigger than thirteen hands high. Their manes and tails were ragged and sunbleached. Their coats were dusty and mud-caked. These were wild ponies, totally unbroken. Maybe they had never even seen a human before.
Blaze, who had been pacing nervously beneath Issie this whole time, suddenly let out a shrill whinny. To Issie’s surprise the mare’s call was immediately returned as a horse rose up before them over the brow of the hill.
This horse’s whinny was brutal and fierce. It sounded to Issie like a battle cry. There was something defiant and challenging about the call and Issie realised what it was. It was the cry of a stallion.
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