(Yippie skippie! No photos for me as of now, on my phone.)
The pinto patched stallion had been traveling a majority of the night, switching between a restful trot and a swift gallop often in an attempt to put a larger gap between himself and the awful human facility that was crammed to the brim with terrified horses which he had escaped. The long gash down the side of his neck stung as his long, tangled mane whipped against it as he traveled, but he had grown used to it by now. Extending into a gallop again, he made his way over a small hill and down the other side into a vally, where the welcoming sound of a running river hit the parched stallion. Slowing to a canter, Spitfire loped through the swaying tall grass to come to a brisk halt at the rocky river bank. With his fore ankles in the cool water, he wasted no time in ducking his head to gulp down long needed drinks of water. In his haste to get a drink, he failed to notice the other nearby mustangs, his mind clouded only by the thoughts of gulping down the life-saving liquid.
