Free The Black Stallion and the Lost City by Steve Farley

curiosity. The unknown woods, the strange path, the liberty to go where and when he pleased, all spoke to him of freedom. The sweet call to liberty was tempered only by one other thought—where was his friend, the boy who shared his life? He searched the air for some scent of him but could find none.
    The stallion gazed out into the forest green and waited. Soon the breeze told him someone was there, or had been there not long ago. It was his own kind, of that he was certain, though there was something off about the scent, something unhealthy, the smell of fear and blood. The Black picked up the other horse’s trail and before long found hoofprints and a mound of fresh manure. He kept going, wary but confident that whatever lay ahead, his speed, endurance and cunning would keep him safe.
    The scent in the wind led to a narrow tree-lined path running away from the river. Soon the Black began climbing higher through the dense forest. The breeze softened, and as it did, the scent of horse became fainter and then vanished completely.
    The stallion pawed the ground in frustration as it became clear he had lost the trail and was heading inthe wrong direction. He listened and looked about him at the silent woods. Then, with a quick step back, he turned around and returned the way he had come, trusting his senses to lead him where he needed to go.
    As the Black retraced his steps down the trail, he was again struck by something very strange. The tall, gnarled trees and piles of rocks that marked the path only minutes before seemed to have moved from one side of the trail to the other. His sense of direction seldom failed him, and the feeling of being disoriented now startled him. Other signs told him he had lost his way, signs he would have noticed had he passed along this path before. He sniffed the air, wary of this place where scents were so easily cleansed from the wind and landmarks seemed to shift and move around of their own accord.
    Suddenly the trail opened to a clearing, one that hadn’t been there on his way up the mountain path. His eyes remained sharp, his ears and nostrils alert, ready to catch the slightest noise or faintest scent. The sun shone brightly on a patch of inviting green grass. He waited until he was certain there was no sign of danger, then dropped his head to graze.
    The sweet, clean grass gave the stallion new energy. Soon he felt enough at ease to lie down. He rolled on the warm ground and kicked his legs in the air. Climbing to his feet, he again whiffed a light gust ofwind funneling through the trees. There was no sign of the mare, but once more the breeze carried with it the perfume of other horses.
    He stood quietly, watchful and ready. The only thing about him that moved was his mane, stirred by the wind. Once more he felt the excitement of his newfound freedom in this untraveled land. Long-sleeping memories of life in the wild spoke to him as he looked around, memories of his birthplace in the high mountains of the great desert. Now he was free again, free to follow whatever path he chose.
    After a minute, the Black struck out to chase the scent of horse, once again smelling the breeze. He found another trail and trotted easily through the woods, his hooves falling softly on the pine needles scattered over the ground. Winding his way through the trees, he lost the scent once more and was again unsure where to go. He stopped and waited to collect himself, listening for the slightest sound and puzzling over how to read the signs his senses told him were here. His powerful gaze searched through the woods. There was something out there, of that he was certain, but what?
    The breeze stirred again and brought new information. He veered off the path and zigzagged through clusters of pines until he reached a place where the branches hung low, forming a tunnel of trees. Thefamiliar scent of his kind became stronger here, and there were clear marks on the ground that others had passed this way not long