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Let me tell you of the wild mustangs: They do not want to be caged, they will never be broken, they trust only a few, and they love to run with the Wild West wind in their veins.

The mustangs were brought over to the New World by the Spanish conquistadors, or perhaps not. All horses are the same, all are wild. Some, like the Pegasus, gallop through the starlit sky, stirring up diamonds with their hooves and catching moonlight in their fearless eyes.

Unicorns are the same—they will never be tamed. But there are only a few unicorns left in this world; like lilies among they thorns they are hard to find. Mankind was greedy for their horns and killed them for it. The few survivors hide in the hills and mountains, rarely showing themselves to humans.

Other horses were foolhardy enough to come out of the sea to dwell on land. These were the sea ponies, and their breath always smelled like sweet grass and salty air like the ponies of Chincoteague. They befriended the fairies until they too vanished from the world of humans.

But out of all of these, the mustang was different. They banded with the native folk of the land. There were only a few of the pale-skins they trusted—the cowboys. But even among the cowboys there were few that were trustworthy.

Wild things chase the wind across expanses of land; count yourself lucky if a wild thing befriends you. It is a great honor.

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