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Moon Dancing

By Anna Zogg

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A scream–long and agonizing–ripped the air. The hair on Megan Gillespie’s neck stood on end while the scent of spring rain filled her senses. She peered through the pickup’s windshield, seeing nothing beyond a mound of pinyon pine and withered grass. Shouts of men and the nervous snorting of horses battered her. What is happening? She flung open the door. As she sprinted up the dusty rise, she tripped on her long jeans skirt.
The scene below riveted her.
Like a pack of wolves, a group of men circled a black stallion. Head flailing, the horse fought uncountable ropes. He reared, hooves striking blindly. Foam flecked his neck, teeth bared and mouth opened in a silent shriek. The setting sun painted his soaked hide in blood-colored lather. Dust boiled upwards, the air choked with pinpricks of glittering gold.
The horse fought in vain. His cry, one of rage and impotence, shuddered through Megan.
Pain! She doubled over, as though punched the stomach. Can’t breathe. Her eyes burned from the agony.
The stallion again reared, legs lashing out.
“Hold him. I said, hold him!” A tall man yanked a lariat from the hands of one of the men.
The next moment, the stallion lunged forward. Men scattered. Rope tore through the gloves of one cowhand, the sound like a zip-line at high speed. He howled.
The stallion’s getting away! Megan’s heart leaped with hope. He’s getting–
Joy crumpled into terror. The horse charged directly at her.

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