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about her nervousness that made Sam glad. They both knew battles like this had been acted out for centuries, but neither could accept this one as no big deal.
    The fight turned loud as the stallions changed tactics. Hooves skittered, then hammered on hide as they launched powerful kicks with their hind legs. Guttural neighs were wrenched from both horses.
    The blood bay mare trotted closer, but she didn’t get far. The lead mare drove her back with the others.
    Distracted by the skirmish between the lead mare and the blood bay, Moon’s head swung away from the Phantom.
    The silver stallion charged.
    Surprised, Moon broke into a reluctant run. From above, it looked to Sam like there was only one way out of the canyon. Scored with red scratches and gouges, Moon galloped toward it.
    When the tiger dun lead mare joined in the pursuit, the Phantom stopped, letting her take over.
    As he returned to his herd, the little roan filly raced out to greet him. The Phantom shook his head, and she sprinted back to her mother.
    The stallion trotted around his herd, circling again and again.
    â€œHe’s counting to make sure they’re all there,” Brynna joked, but her words were breathy, as if she was unsettled by what might have happened.
    A low, angry squeal made Sam look towardMoon. “It’s not over.” She gasped.
    Moon refused to be driven out by the dun mare. He wheeled at a run and came charging back.
    â€œWhy doesn’t he just quit?” Sam demanded.
    â€œHe’s braver than he is smart,” Brynna said.
    Around them, the wind picked up again. The aspens’ bare white branches clacked together like bones.
    The Phantom must have expected Moon’s stubbornness, because he ran toward him at full speed. Sam drew a shaky breath.
    The Phantom was terrifying and beautiful. His dished head, large eyes, and wind-drinking nostrils had always shown his Arabian ancestry, but now he looked primitive, like a throwback to some fierce desert warhorse.
    Sam could imagine him galloping over searing sands, facing flapping white robes and knife-edged swords. She longed for a camera. One flick of the shutter could capture his ivory power. She’d call the photo “Rage.”
    The Phantom rammed into Moon’s shoulder. Thousands of pounds of muscle and bone collided, and both horses staggered.
    â€œIf he goes down, it’s all over, isn’t it.” Brynna’s words weren’t really a question.
    Sam knew Brynna was right. If Moon fell and the Phantom attacked, the younger stallion could be killed.
    Instead, he staggered toward the mouth of the canyon, burst into a clumsy run, then hit his stride. Like spokes on a black wheel, Moon’s legs moved in a smooth pattern as they carried him away from his family. Then he disappeared.
    The Phantom didn’t celebrate. He strode back to his herd, shaking his mane and uttering small nickers to the mares.
    â€œâ€˜All in a day’s work, ladies,’” Brynna said, pretending to speak for him.
    Sam laughed. Brynna’s humor helped wipe away the melancholy of seeing the young horse lose. Of course, he had to, and given a choice, Sam would have wanted him to. The Phantom was the best protector for this herd, and he would always be her favorite.
    Still, she felt sorry for Moon. “I wish we could ride after him and make sure he’s all right,” Sam said.
    â€œWe could, if we knew where that trail led.” Brynna pointed to the exit from the canyon.
    â€œMaybe you could see it on the map. I’ve only been up here a few times, and it’s like a maze,” Sam said.
    Across the canyon, the Phantom returned to his perch. His battle won, his herd safe, he flowed up the switchbacks and through the clumps of brush to the place where he kept watch.
    â€œReady to head back?” Brynna asked.
    â€œSure,” Sam said. Although she would gladly sit and watch the Phantom all day, Ace shifted restlesslybeneath