Matthew groaned and tried to turn over. There was a bright light shining right in his eyes, keeping him from getting the rest he so desperately craved. It was only when the man found that he was physically unable to turn over, that he remember the horrific events of the night before.
“…Cameo. Ben. Ben, where’s the horse?” he called out to the groom, his voice weak and crackling.
“Hush, hush now, Mr. O’Neil. You mustn’t talk so much just yet. You’re still in quite a state,” a nurse chirped as she fluffed the man’s pillows and went about checking his vitals.
Matthew struggled to sit up, noticing for the first time the white bandages that fully swathed both his arms. He also noticed a dull ache in almost every part of his body. The man felt as if he had been thrown, trampled, and drug across a lane of sharp gravel. He ignored the pain, more concerned about the welfare of the dun filly than about his own injuries.
“Where is the horse? The dun-and-white filly that was in the trailer?” his speech was ragged, fearful. Surely, if he was in such bad shape, she couldn’t have survived. The foal he had helped deliver, weaned, and trained – gone. The man choked on a sob. “Tell me what happened to the mare!” he grabbed for the nurse’s arm.
The nurse, troubled by his outburst, jerked her arm away and busily set about preparing a sedative. She drew a syringe full and shot it into the IV connected to Matthew’s hand. Soft, warm blackness enveloped his head almost immediately and the handler drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Almost fifty miles away, in the untouched wilderness that stretched across the border of two Western states, Cameo was just waking up. She shook herself all over and stretched her jaw out in a massive yawn. What a terrible dream! And her knees ached so badly. She must have lain down too long the night before.
With a sudden jolt, the filly realized she was not in her warm, straw-padded stall; she was standing in a heap of leaves under the sheltering boughs of a small copse of trees. She was alone.  She was in an unknown field. And she was very hungry.
Timidly, she left the shelter of the trees. The sun was beaming down in all its glory and there was a mild crispness to the air. The mare could see nothing for miles; she scented no danger; she heard nothing but the buzz of bees and the whisper of wind through tall grasses. The place she had run to in the dead of night after that terrible crash was, in the light of day, pleasant enough. She lowered her muzzle into the tall grass and began to graze. It wasn’t exactly the molasses sweet feed she was accustomed to, but it would fill her belly until Matthew or her groom came to fetch her. And then, ah glory! She would have a bath and a nice rubdown and her favorite rug. She would get peppermints and maybe a warm oatmeal cookie. Matthew would hug her neck and talk softly to her. And she would tell her stable-mates about her horrible adventure as they grazed on the soft green Bermuda that grew under the shade trees in the big pasture. As the mare grazed on the tough, wild grass, she comforted herself with these thoughts.
Unfortunately, these pleasant thoughts distracted the young horse from the reality around her. Absorbed as she was in her dreams of returning to her home paddock, she never sensed the pack creeping up on her until it was too late.
They came from downwind, slavering feral dogs of the large-breed variety. They might have been domesticated at one point, but after many generations roaming the plains and forests, they were as wild as their wolf cousins and just a vicious. The leader set upon Cameo with a mournful howl and the others followed. They nipped at her heels as the mare spun and tried to run away from the attack.
What was wrong with these dogs?! The dogs Cameo knew were silly, stupid creatures who trailed after the humans begging for scraps. They might tussle with each other in the yard, but no dog had ever attacked a horse.
Cameo squealed and jumped over the dogs nearest to her. She kicked out and caught one of the animals in the ribs. Again the young mare found herself running for her life. She tore across the peaceful plain and clouds of insects and pollen rose up in protesting clouds under the churning of her hooves. She galloped at a flat run with her neck stretched low and her mane and tail streaming behind her, waving and snapping as if they were banners of her fear.
The dogs sprinted after their prey, yipping orders to one another and closing ranks around the empty space left by their fallen comrade. The pack was fast and worked well together, but the wild dogs were no match for a horse running at its top speed.  Cameo’s endurance eventually won out and soon the dogs were falling back, one by one. The straggling dogs flopped tiredly and dejectedly into the tall grass, tongues lolling and sides heaving. Only one dog still pursued her now. Cameo chanced a look back at the animal then added on another burst of speed as she saw the dog was once again closing in on her heels.
Suddenly an unseen hand snatched at her halter and the horse’s head was jerked back and around by the force. Cameo squealed and spun around trying to see her captor. It was not a hand, but a tree branch that snagged hold of her halter. She fought against the branch but only succeeded in further tightening the hold that the hardy branch had on the leather straps. Panic set in as she realized the dog had seen that she was virtually immobilized and that it was now moving in for the kill. Cameo reared up, away from the dog as it lunged for her neck. She came back down with a crushing force but managed to entirely miss the dog beneath her. However, the violent motion rubbed her halter against the tree branch in such a way that the safety catch was engaged and the halter, upon being freed from the branch, now hung loosely on her face.
The mare did not question her good fortune. She spun away from the dog and once again launched into a mad gallop. The loose halter smacked unpleasantly on her face as she ran and she gave a few rough shakes of her head in an attempt to toss it off. The leather halter with its unfastened safety catch was flung away easily. It landed in the grass and the last dog pursuing her fell upon the leather with growling fury.
But even after the sound of the dog as it attacked her halter died away, Cameo kept running. Only when she was certain she was alone on the vast plain did she begin to slow.
Nostrils flared in fright and in an effort to draw more vital oxygen into her lungs, the filly slowed to a walk and craned her neck around to peer behind her. The dogs were long gone. She couldn’t even see the indentions they made in the grass where they lay. She rumbled a snort of relief, but still the wary mare kept moving. If there were vicious dogs roaming these plains, what other manner of horrible predators might be lurking just out of sight? Oh how she missed the comfort of solid stable walls and the strong presence of her humans. She could only hope that they found her soon.

That night, Cameo again sheltered in a small grove of trees. This grove was several miles to the south of where she had spent the previous night and far from the plain where she been chased by the wild dogs. Here, in the cool quiet and surrounded by strong trees, she felt safe at last. Unfortunately, that feeling did not last.
Less than an hour after sunset, the dun paint was awoken by the sound of human voices. Groggily, she blinked into the darkness, trying to discern the figures behind the glare of their flashlights.
“I don’t think we’re going to find her. It’s too dark,” a female voice complained.
Cameo pricked her ears towards the sound. It was the same voice of the woman who had tried to rope her at the scene of the crash. The young horse almost whinnied to let the people know where she was, but the next voice had her thinking better of it.
“Who gives a damn? It’s just a bloody horse, after all,” the voice was male and gruff, coarse with exhaustion. It was a voice the mare immediately distrusted. “Besides, we found that halter all chewed to bits a few miles back. Had her name on it, didn’t it? And with that pack of wild dogs runnin’ about, no doubt the beast is just a rotting carcass somewhere. And good riddance, I say.” He sounded smug now.
“That’s awful to say,” the woman sounded affronted. “But you’re probably right. Let’s get back to the truck, radio to call off the search. That mare is long gone by now.”
The grass sighed as the two people waded through it, away from the trees where Cameo was hidden. They were leaving! Without her. She took a hesitant step towards the people. But they were not people she knew and the man had a voice that made the skin at her whithers twitch. No, she would not go to them. She would only go to Matthew. Or perhaps to Ben, if he had a bucket of oats. Slowly, Cameo turned her back on the people and walked further into the close shelter of the trees.
“Did you hear that? A twig snap?” the female voice asked. The sound was muted by distance when it reached Cameo’s ears.
“No. Didn’t hear nothin’. Now let’s go. It’s gettin’ cold,” the man growled brusquely.
The two fell into silence again as they continued to walk back towards their truck. Cameo was deep into the woods when she heard the engine start, the sound of a diesel quieted to nothing but a whisper by the distance that stretched between the vehicle and the horse.

“Matthew. Matthew, it’s Clara. Wake up…I’ve something to tell you,” the female voice was quiet, sad.
“D’you find Cami?” Matthew sat up slowly, fighting the pain of movement and his drug-induced grogginess.
“Matt…I’m very sorry. We looked everywhere. There were teams from six counties on the lookout for her, mounted police, bloodhounds, and the whole lot. And this…this is all we found.”
The woman took the mangled leather halter from behind her back and presented it carefully to the man in the hospital bed. For a long moment Matthew stared at the halter as if he had never seen it before; then he clutched the tattered halter like it was life line. He traced his thumb gently over the engraved nameplate.
“But she could still be out there, couldn’t she?” he turned a bleak gaze up to Clara.
She shook her head, “I’m afraid it’s not very likely. We ran across a pack of wild dogs while we were tracking her. There was blood on their muzzles, Matt.”
Matthew hung his head over the halter, clutching it to him. The mare was gone. No, his mare was gone. His Cameo.
Silently, Clara backed out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the man to mourn in peace.

Another day dawned brightly. The air was cool, a light breeze telling that summer was coming to a close and fall was swiftly approaching. Cameo stood alone on a slight rise in the land, drinking in the morning as it crested over the endless sea of wild grass and scrub bush. The mare had been on her own for two full cycles of the moon. She had begun learning the ways of a wild horse slowly and painfully. It was a difficult adjustment for the pampered stable mare to make, but already she was beginning to cherish her freedom.
She looked different now; she felt different. The soft flesh under her often-brushed coat had turned to hard, strong muscle under a coat had been soaked by rain and dried by the sun. Her tail had grown long, as had her mane. But somehow her mane always retained its customary part right at the arch of her neck. No matter how she rolled or tossed her head, the part remained the way Matthew had smoothed it on the last day she had seen him.
Cameo still detested the flies that plagued her, but she learned to ward them off with cooling mud and a swish of her tail. Contending with stallions was another unexpected challenge. The young mare was forced to fight them tooth and hoof just for a little peace. Never had the stallions at the ranch acted so rudely! But even when the rare charming fellow would come along and try to coerce her into his band by means of kindness, Cameo resolutely refused. She did not want to be lorded over by a stallion and his lead mare; she did not want to throw a foal every summer; she did not want to live in a herd.
How she missed Matthew! He could have solved all of the troubles that bothered her. He could have sprayed her with a sharp-smelling mist to rid her of the flies; he could have whipped the stallions away from her; he could have called the farrier to fix her shoes as they became loose and fell off.
But these were minor annoyances when Cameo considered the vast wilderness that stretched before her. The wild plains picked up her soul and dared her to race across them. The slow rivers cooed to her and invited her to join them for a drink. The mountains squared their shoulders against the world and vowed to protect the lone mare. The wind told her secrets then teased her mane and danced away into the grasses, enticing her into a game. And with all this around her, Cameo could forget the flopping iron shoe, the stallions, the flies, and yes – she could even forget Matthew for a time.
The dun mare turned her muzzle up to the rising sun, lapping up the glory of another morning. The sun glinted on her eyes, the light glittering in the depths. Cameo rose up on her rear hooves, striking at the molten-gold sunrise with her front hooves, greeting the dawn, challenging it. Dropping back to the earth, the mare launched into a head long gallop, tearing across the plain and heading towards the sun. Her powerful stride hitched only briefly as she felt the last nail that held her shoe in place give way. The iron shoe arched across the sky, blinding in the sunlight for one short moment, before it was lost forever in the sea of grass.
Yes, she could be wild. She could be strong. She could survive. Without a human; without a stallion. Alone.