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Submission for contest-

...and when he first opened his those eyes, blue as the hot heart of a forest fire; first beat his little black hooves into the dust and tossed his mane in the wind of my fathers; first streaked across our homeland, gazing heavenward with a look akin to desperation...we knew he was wilder, perhaps even than I, and it seemed cruel to fetter him to the world with something as petty and practical as a name. And so I never called him by one- though to the other foals he became known as Eagle.

This unearthly, unharnessed creature whom I claim to be my son grew swiftly in stature and beauty, drinking life itself from the clear creeks and ponds of the Cimarron.

My mother, Esperanza, foaled late in the spring my son was born- a solemn, quiet filly-foal, dubbed Memory- for she is that fleeting shadow that tiptoes along behind you, and disappears as you look around.

My blue-eyed son saw her alone in the field one day, and loved her- it is not something either he or I can explain. But I doubt it not that he loves her as he loves freedom- the way I've seen him turn his head over his shoulder to look at her... he shall die as soon as either one is taken from him.

I see them running together, with him surging on and her following just a half-step behind, with no sound but eight hooves pounding the long grass, and I cannot help but think... it is befitting, is it not? The Eagle and his Memory, his shadow, flying ever onward to eternity... together, they are my future.

Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron, copyright Dreamworks.

And if they sue me, I shall be greatly flattered.

Eagle and Memory, copyright me.

But copy me. Seriously, I'd be so happy.

Description
Submission for contest-

...and when he first opened his those eyes, blue as the hot heart of a forest fire; first beat his little black hooves into the dust and tossed his mane in the wind of my fathers; first streaked across our homeland, gazing heavenward with a look akin to desperation...we knew he was wilder, perhaps even than I, and it seemed cruel to fetter him to the world with something as petty and practical as a name. And so I never called him by one- though to the other foals he became known as Eagle.

This unearthly, unharnessed creature whom I claim to be my son grew swiftly in stature and beauty, drinking life itself from the clear creeks and ponds of the Cimarron.

My mother, Esperanza, foaled late in the spring my son was born- a solemn, quiet filly-foal, dubbed Memory- for she is that fleeting shadow that tiptoes along behind you, and disappears as you look around.

My blue-eyed son saw her alone in the field one day, and loved her- it is not something either he or I can explain. But I doubt it not that he loves her as he loves freedom- the way I've seen him turn his head over his shoulder to look at her... he shall die as soon as either one is taken from him.

I see them running together, with him surging on and her following just a half-step behind, with no sound but eight hooves pounding the long grass, and I cannot help but think... it is befitting, is it not? The Eagle and his Memory, his shadow, flying ever onward to eternity... together, they are my future.

Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron, copyright Dreamworks.

And if they sue me, I shall be greatly flattered.

Eagle and Memory, copyright me.

But copy me. Seriously, I'd be so happy.