I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. Romans 12:1
Now God himself and our Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ, direct our way unto you. And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men, even as we do toward you: 1 Thessalonians 3:11,12
Monday, March 9, 2015
Written by Kimberly Elizabeth March 8th, 2015
(I tried and tried to upload a picture I drew to illustrate this story...)
Rocks and dust flew as the brown, Morgan stallion slid to a stop. Chest heaving and eyes wide the horse turned to nibble at the small bundle on his back. The rope securing the bundle was too tight, making it hard to breathe.
After standing a minute to rest, the stallion began again up the steep mountain path. Sweat foamed on his neck, shoulders and thighs. His hooves slid in the dust.
Frustrated at his lack of control over his exhausted legs, the Morgan stopped again. Allowing his head to hang he sucked long breaths through wide nostrils. He needed water and sleep. But he'd been given a job to do and he meant to finish it.
Deep, long howls echoed up from the valley. The stallion jumped. Swinging his head around he strained to hear. His sensitive ears flickered.
Sighing with disgust the horse looked up the rough trail. How much farther could he go? The bundle on his back wriggled and squalled.
Determined, the stallion's sore muscles bunched again and again as he struggled into a fast trot. He had to get away!
The howls echoed again. They were closer now he was sure. Fear for the small bundle on his back gripped his chest.
His lungs protested as he gathered speed. Pine branches whipped at him. Rocks strove to trip him. The rugged path, forever rising upward, seemed to be against him.
The horse's tongue was swollen; his throat parched. Oh, how he longed for water!
Suddenly he heard snarling and snapping behind him. He could smell them too. Expecting to feel sharp fangs sunk into his flesh at any minute, the Morgan flew up the mountain side. His legs pumped like pistons and his chest heaved with a dry rasp.
The bundle made no sound, but he knew it was still there. The rope burned him with every pound of his hooves.
The path suddenly dipped down ward. The stallion went over the other side without hesitation. It was so steep he slid on his haunches, knocking loose piles of dirt and rock.
A sharp stick struck his flank, cutting a deep gash. The horse squealed with pain and jerked sideways, sliding down the bank on his side. It was good the bundle was fastened well or it would have been scraped off.
Eight large timber wolves appeared at the top of the bank. They panted softly, but they were not tired. They were excited, but they were not in a hurry.
The Alpha wolf, with a thick, black coat and sharp yellow eyes crouched in the dry grass to study the sweating, frantic horse. Blood from a recent kill glistened on his muzzled.
The stallion, having finally reached level ground, staggered. His eyes were red, sweat soaked his coat, and blood flowed from the wound on his flank.
The Morgan could heard the wolves sliding down the rocky bank behind him. Drops of blood and sweat foam flew as the horse spun around wildly to face his attackers. It was all heart from hear, for he had no strength left.
Rearing up, the horse struck with his front hooves, crushing the skull of the nearest wolf. A second wolf dodged and sprang, sinking it fangs into the horses shoulder.
Shrieking with terror the stallion grabbed the wolf with his teeth and tore him away.
Suddenly all the wolves were upon him. Systematic and sure, the wolves nibbled at the stallion's legs, jumped at his flank and sprang at his throat.
The horse fought courageously. But he knew it was just a matter of time before they succeeded in pulling him down.
The sharp crack of a rifle shot split the air. One of the wolves stumbled and fell to the ground. Another shot echoed the first and the black Alpha jerked and stumble, but rose again and ran for the forest, trailing blood behind him. The others followed their leader, yipping with fear.
The Morgan's legs gave way and he fell to the ground. He struggled to rise again but he could not. He fought to keep his eyes open. Oh, how he wanted to sleep.
Footsteps approached. The horse flicked his ears to catch the voices.
"Who's horse do you think this is?" said a deep voice.
"It's a shame." said a second, "The wolves tore him to shreds. Looks like he was running for a good way, too."
"Hey, what's this?"
The stallion felt the rope around his chest loosen, and the bundle lifted away.
"It's a baby!" exclaimed the second man.
"Still alive, too." said the first man, his voice filled with awe, "Not a scratch on it!"
"No wonder the horse fought so hard." observed the second man, "He was protecting this baby!"
The horse felt a gentle hand pat his sweaty neck. "The poor guy. We'll have to put him down."
But they didn't have to. The horse sighed and allowed the everlasting sleep to wash over him. His job was finished.
The end. Hope you enjoyed!