Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron

The Leader's Son

Oneshot. Second Spirit story. I'm sorry! Usually I would be reading Harry Potter, but today I watched Spirit again, and it inspired me. So...

Disclaimer: I do not own Spirit.

Remember the one horse that helps capture Spirit, and when Spirit looks at her, the horse looks away? Well this is that horse.


I stared down at the mustang, lying, struggling against the ropes before me.

He was a handsome buckskin. He had a golden coat and free flowing mane and lashing tail.

He snapped, threatening anyone to come close enough to feel his teeth.

Then he opened his jaws, letting out a scream.

I pricked my ears. I knew who he was calling for. The mustang we had captured was the leader of a herd. And that was his desperate cry for his band.

Rocks clattered and I looked up. A female was making her way down, crying out softly to him. He turned swiftly, eyes widening in panic.

He laid his ears back.

At first, I thought that she might be his mate, but her cries were soft, the calls of a hurting mother. I scarcely remembered that, but in the depths of my memory I remembered that cry from a mother who had lost her colt.

He snarled, neighing, ears flat. Even in his capture, he was warning her, telling her to leave him and take the herd away. She retreated as her son ordered, letting out a soft heartbroken cry.

At once, he lifted his head, calling out in fury.

He turned his piercing eyes, and at once, I was looking at my old leader. He wasn't my leader of course, but their eyes matched perfectly. My leader had also been a golden buckskin, with black mane and tail.

I blinked.

Then looked up, toward the direction the palomino female had disappeared.

Of course.

His son!

I looked down at the son of my old leader.

In shame I turned away. It was a crime to slay another horse, but to capture a leader's son.

He snorted, neighing again.

We finally subdued him and began to pull him away. Even with all of us, it really took all of us to fight against him.

He was strong, even his muscles didn't have to show it. He pulled, fighting us for every step.

Spirit. The name was perfect.

And never again in my life did I even see another horse fight with as much fire in his heart as did the son of my old leader.