I think I’ll always remember the day that Stallion came to us. They called him Macintosh, or Mac for short, because when they caught him, they saw him jump up high into the air just to reach a big, red Macintosh apple.

I didn’t like calling him Mac, for two reasons. Mac didn’t suit him. It just didn’t. I couldn’t explain it, but the horse seemed to give off a royal air to him. The name Mac was so… tame. The other reason was this: he didn’t belong to us. He didn’t belong to anybody. Stallion seemed the perfect name. It was generalizing, but could be used as a name never the less.

Like what Pocahontas says. You can’t own the earth. This horse was like the earth. He was the wind and the rain and the sky. He was the marvelous storm that shook even the oldest, most deeply rooted trees. He was the sun peeking out from under the clouds, and the double rainbows. He was the pot of gold under the mysterious swirling colors.

He was wild. He was free.

But not for long.