Free Angel and the Flying Stallions by Stacy Gregg

pastures. The rocky pathway cut its way between bare sunburnt cliff faces, with an entrance marked by grey boulders on either side.
    Alfie slid off Victorioso’s back and undid the ropeson the cobra so that the mares were no longer linked to one another.
    “We can drive them through from here in single file,” Alfie explained. “The gorge is not wide enough to travel as a cobra. You take the lead and the mares will follow you. I will bring up the rear.”
    Issie rode into the gorge and Margarita went behind her with the other mares all following her lead and Alfie at the back making sure the mares did not change their minds and turn around. Not that turning around was easy within the narrow confines of the gorge. The path was not much wider than two horses and a sheer rock face rose high on either side of the path.
    The horses were working up a sweat and Issie could see white foam on the reins where they had rubbed against Storm’s neck. The stallion loved being at the front and he held his head high, his muscles quivering with the excitement of going somewhere new, as they rounded the bend of the gorge and the track began to widen again. The open plains spread out ahead of them.
    “We are almost through,” Issie called back to Alfie. “What happens when we reach the pasture?”
    “You can let the mares go,” Alfie replied. “They will graze here for the rest of the day and we will return at night to bring them home.”
    Issie pulled Storm to one side and let the mares trot past her out on to the flat plains of the upper pastures. Here El Caballo’s own grazing lands abutted Vega’s vast estate. The grassy land was good for horses, so it was no great surprise that two of the most powerful and influential horse farms in Spain should be right next to each other like this, side by side.
    In the distance, Issie could make out the roofline of Vega’s hacienda, its turrets poking up above the orange grove and the stone walls of the estate.
    Alfie had pulled Victorioso up alongside Storm and was busily unstrapping a cowhide-covered canteen from the front of his saddle. He unscrewed the lid and took a deep gulp of water, then passed it to Issie.
    But Issie didn’t take it from him. She was distracted, staring out across the pasture, as if she were looking for something.
    “I can hear horses,” she said.
    Alfie frowned. “Well that’s hardly surprising is it? We are riding horses, and we’ve got nine mares with us!”
    “No!” Issie hissed, “Listen! I mean I can hear horses coming towards us. They’re moving fast.”
    As she said this, the sound of hoofbeats became quite clear on the morning air. There were horses coming in their direction, currently hidden out of sight behind the hills.
    The hoofbeats grew louder, and then, over the brow of the hill, the most stunning sight came into view. Three horses galloping wild, their heads held high and their manes flying in the wind.
    “The stallions!” Issie gasped as she recognised them. “Those are the horses that I saw outside the El Caballo gates that night!”
    At the front of the herd ran the grey stallion with the two-tone mane. In the daylight the strange dove-soft colour of his coat was even more remarkable.
    “Francoise was right! It’s a Sorraia!” said Alfie, transfixed by the beauty of the grey horse.
    Beside the Sorraia, galloping and matching him stride for stride, was the dun stallion. Now that Issie could get a good look at him she recognised he was a typical Lusitano, similar in conformation to Alfie’s horse Pepe, with a Roman nose, a wide chest and short legs. At therear was the biggest of the three stallions. He was jet black, just like Victorioso, and also solidly built, with the arched neck and haughty presence of a classical Andalusian.
    Issie was puzzled. “What about Laeticia?” she asked Alfie. “I thought they had taken Vega’s mare? She should be with them.”
    Alfie urgently gathered his reins. “They must have a hiding place