This is a fanfic of Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. I saw heaps of requests over the web for a number two, so I thought I might quench that thirst for a while and see what I could do.
This is basically based on a small rumor I heard, then I flew in with my own crazy wild imagination.
You've heard the tale from the heart of the west; from a mustang. But that wasn't the whole story. It never ended.
Thunder cracked overhead. The mist-hung mountains in the distance, the roar of hot, wild winds running across the open savannah. There was the roll of hooves galloping along the parched, dry, weazen ground, and the Cimarron herd, with their manes waving like the buffalo grass, bolted across the open, lead by a buckskin stallion.
His name was Spirit Who Could Not Be Broken. He ran with the wind, heard it calling his name, and stretched his legs even longer. He could taste home on the air.
The wild herd of mustangs crashed through the river, wings of water lashed up at their whithers. They greeted the cool, fresh water that attacked their foamy, sweating bodies.
Spirit dug his hooves into the carpet of turf and threw his head back, flaring his nostrils and neighing. The mares cantered around him, finding spots in the shade of the sparse trees. He reared up on his hind legs and swiped out, snorting to the sky. The mustangs of the Cimarron where here to stay.
Two yearlings walked together and greeted Spirit as they passed. He sniffed their faces, then stepped aside to let them join the herd. He remembered back, long before the westlands had gone so dry, to when those same young ponies were only foals, tripping along on their gangly legs. Then he stretched his memories even further, to his owl foalhood, before he was leader of the herd.
He trotted up to his mother, Esperanza, and nuzzled her neck. The palomino mare turned her head, her forelock drooping in her face. She blew through her lips and nibbled his own, darker, hair.
She was gaining age, and it was apparent, grey feathers, like mist of dawn lining her eyes and forehead. He stared at her with pleading brown eyes, then he remained by her side and began to graze where the grass was still lush.
He heard a soft neigh behind him, and he lifted his head and curled his ears to see Rain, his chosen mate, moving towards them. There was a shine in her sky blue eyes, and the paint horse mare stopped just ahead of him and rested her leg.
Spirit sniffed her, then tipped his head, as if asking her for more than her loving gaze told him. She snorted with amusement and tore at the long grass. He flattened his ears back and looked at Esperanza, who nudged him to take a longer look at Rain.
He turned back, and the piebald was staring at him, as if he was meant to notice something. Then he jerked back, eyes widening. Was it just the dark shade, or the glint of the sun, or was Rain looking a slighter bit round?
He didn't understand, then Esperanza whinned. He blinked alot, then leaned on his mate. He was going to be a father.