Chapter 1
A Storm Brewing
(Please ignore all the typos. I had to type this all by hand because I don't have the original disk. Please comment and tell me if something isn't understandable though!)
One warm spring day in east Oregon, a young stallion who was called Blackhawk stood watching over his small herd. He was a handsome black Appaloosa, with a broad white blanket spread over his hips, a thin stripe running down his face, and two white stockings on his forelegs. He looked up at the sky, where a dark mass of clouds was forming. The knee-high prairie grass was bending gracefully with the wind and the air was becoming cooler each minute.
Yes, there was a storm coming and Blackhawk wanted his mares to be prepared. He let out a shrill call to the horses, warning them to find shelter quickly. In a matter of minutes, it was pouring rain, and when Blackhawk was finally satisfied that all of the horses were safe, he went to see his own beautiful brown mare who was in foal to him. She was called Misty and she was his very favorite. She wanted to give him a big, strong colt very badly, but he would be pleased with whatever she gave him, colt or filly.
He trotted up to the forest where his mares had taken refuge. The trees formed a natural shelter from the raging storm. He came up slowly to where his mare lay on the forest floor and nickered. She looked up and returned his greeting; she was always happy to see her mate. He nuzzled her and then examined her growing stomach.
The rain dripped steadily and made a soft drumming noise in the surrounding foliage. Water streamed down the powerful stallion's neck and legs. He shook his mane, showering his surroundings with water.
Misty looked up at him and smiled warmly. "The humans will come soon, won't they?" the young mare asked Blackhawk.
"Yes, they will," the black stallion answered calmly, " and so will your foal."
Misty snorted happily. "Our first one together," she reminded him.
"Yes, and from the size of it I'd guess there is a big, strong colt in there."
Misty only laughed. Blackhawk nuzzled her affectionately and then was off to see to other matters. He hoped the foal would be born soon.
"The foal will most likely be born tonight," thought the stallion to himself. "They always seem to be born at the most inconvenient times." He chuckled.
Unfortunately, he was right.
The next morning a thick mist hung over the valley. When Blackhawk awoke, he immediately noticed that his favorite mare was missing. He quickly stood up and started looking for her. He left the forest and looked around the herd, and outside of where they were grazing. The longer he looked, the more worried he became. She could have somehow been separated from the herd, or chased down by a predator!
But after some patient searching, he found her grazing a few hundred feet from the herd beside a small flowering tree. He trotted over to her and just before he got there, he saw a flash of what was a brown colt dash behind his mother.
He snorted in surprise, but then lowered his head and gave a small whicker, and the colt stuck out his tiny head. Then he stepped out from behind his mother.
He was lovely chocolate brown in color, with a large white blanket that nearly stretched to his withers with many round, dark spots, and one pure white stocking on his long hind leg. He had a beautiful double colored mane, and a small white star on his forehead. He was just perfect! The stallion was full of pride for his first son.
"I'll call him Storm," he said softly as he nuzzled the little brown foal.
"I know he will be a mighty son of Blackhawk," Misty answered. The colt gave a high-pitched neigh, and the stallion nickered, and then left Misty and his new son.
I was that colt. I grew fast and loved to play games with the other little colts and fillies. I would always beg my father to race me, even though I knew he was much faster than I was. I quickly became a small ball of energy, running, bucking and playing all day long.
The one problem I had was with boasting. My father was constantly reminding me to be humble and kind toward the other horses. But I loved to fight with other colts my age, even older ones, to show my power. Even though play fighting would teach us things that we would need to know as adults, my father and the other mares would always keep and eye on us to make sure that we wouldn't get too rough.
Being a colt, I was naturally curious. One day, as I was playing with tow other young foals in a green meadow, I heard a strange rattling noise.
I swung my ears back, and soon found that it was coming from a little off to the left in a bush . . .
