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Sound of Thunder (2)
The sound of a foal whinnying made the pure white stallion toss his head in joy. Finally his herd was expanding! Ever since the loss of two of the mares, Silverwing had been afraid that his herd would die off before the snows came. Now there were four more foals among them. He stomped his foot, knowing the twolegs would be coming to get some tonight. He lifted his head from his meal, his cool, unusually gray eyes scanning the horses near him. “Nightshade!” At the call, a younger stallion’s head shot up and the colt made his way towards his king. “Yes Silverwing?” “The twolegs are coming. They’ll be here soon. Is everyone ready?” Nightshade tossed his head in a nod. “All of the mares are aware, as are their foals. The only one who doesn’t know is Frostmane, and that’s because she was foaling.” “Yes, I heard the young one’s greeting. Specs on him or her?” “Young filly, sir.” “More specs than that, Nightshade. Give me the full rundown.” The younger horse nodded, fighting his embarrassment. “She’s a dappled gray, sir. She has gray eyes, like yours, and silver hooves. Her mane is black with a white tint, just like Frostmane’s. Her wings look like they’re going to be large, and she was born fully feathered.” Silverwing nodded. His herd was unlike any herd the twolegs had ever encountered before. They were winged horses, harbringers of death and misfortune to some, beautiful creatures of light to others. “And Frostmane?” “She foaled well, sire. She is a little tired, but other than that in perfect health. She’s named the little filly Snowfeather.” The head stallion nodded, stretching his own wings before addressing Nightshade again. “Nightshade, I’m afraid it’s time for your trials.” The younger stallion backed away in shock, his eyes wide. Every young colt knew that one day they’d have to endure their trials, the test of their strength and loyalty. Nightshade just thought there’d be more warning. He knew he’d have to fight Silverwing. If he won, Silverwing would have to step down and leave. If Silverwing won, Nightshade would be the one leaving. It was the way the herd had been run for generations, and it helped prevent inbreeding among them. Suddenly Silverwing took to the air, screaming his challenge call. Nightshade took a deep breath and gave his own call, shooting into the air after the white stallion. All of the mares stopped grazing and lifted their heads to watch the two stallions. They knew the outcome of the battle could change their lives. Nightshade’s black pelt was a direct contrast to Silverwing’s white one, as were his wings. Silverwing’s were tinted with black down, while Nightshade’s were a true jet black. The two horses circled each other before meeting in the air with loud, ringing defiant calls. All of Nightshade’s hesitation was gone and his hooves and teeth tore into Silverwing repeatedly. Silverwing screamed and fought back, tearing chunks of flesh off of the younger horse before rearing in the air and slicing through one wing with his hooves. Nightshade crashed to the ground, followed closely by a more graceful Silverwing. He struggled to his hooves, turning and attacking Silverwing again. He tore through both wings, then concentrated his sharp hooves on the older stallion’s face and throat. After a while of this direct attack, Silverwing gave in, turning and running as fast as he could. Nightshade stood, watching the old leader gallop away, then reared and screamed his triumph to the skies. His mares gathered around him, Silverwing already nothing more than a distant memory.
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