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The story that I want to tell you cannot be found in a book. They say the history of the West was written from the saddle of a horse, but it's never been told from the heart of one, not till now. I was born here in this place that would come to be called the Old West, but the land was ageless to my kind. It had no beginning and end, no boundary between the earth and sky. Like the wind in the buffalo grass, we belonged here. We would always belong here. But I was captured by the legged. But now, let's not focus on that. They say the mustang is the spirit of the West. Whether that West won or lost in the end, you'll have to decide for yourself, but the story I want to tell you is accurate. I was there, and I remember. I remember the sun and the sky and the wind calling my name in a time when wild horses ran free. And so I grew from filly to mare as wild and reckless as thunder over the land racing with the eagle, soaring with the wind. Flying? There were times I believed I could.

But unlike my kin, I was captured and taken to the two-legged's stronghold in my land. I hadn't lost hope that once I would return home. But for now, all hope seemed dimmed. I just had to wait. and the wait was long. 

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