I never remember how I was born. In fact, I don't remember anything about my parents at all. I know I have a sister, out in the world some. I think she was called Gemma, but I can't be sure.

I don't know my birthday. I don't really know exactly how old I am. I suppose I've always guessed. The only thing I've known the whole time I've existed is that I want some sort of freedom, some sort of passion. Deep down, I always knew what it was.

I was stood there, watching them move around the field. They moved so gracefully, it was hardly true. I didn't know what to expect. They were both Arabian horses. They had riders sat on them, they had no saddles, no bridles, nothing. They clung to the horses' manes as they cantered around. All I could do was watch in awe and wish I was more like them.

I spent my days on a yard, I am not sure whereabouts. I spent my nights sleeping at the yard, behind the desk in reception, dreaming for the horses. Sometimes I would get up, and sleep in one of the horses' stables and just look at them. I had never felt anything like this.

I was cared for by a kind woman in her thirties. She would watch over me, and entertain me with a young Shetland Pony that she said was my own. It was a mare, she was skewbald with big innocent brown eyes. She was named Meg and she was the first creature I truly loved.

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