Remba

The mare stopped her mad gallop, and slowed down, her mouth open, eyes wide and whites showing, and her unique coat smeared with sweat. Her sides heaved as she looked around the tall, waving grasses. Once sure that no one was chasing her, she relaxed a bit.

She had been running away from the circus trucks that had held her captive for three years. She had been captured from her African home, shipped across the Atlantic, and forced to perform. She hda heard tales from the other zebras of other circuses that were kind and fair, but not her's. She was treated cruelly and fed little, forced to run around an arena in harsh lights, with a noisy, frightening crowd. Finally, when they were loading up the trucks after a performance, she broke loose and began to run. They chased her for awhile, but then she lost them. And now here she was, in this prairie that reminded her of her African home.

Remba was a Plains Zebra, her wide black stripes against the white made for a startling contrast. She was still young, only 6 years old, her whole life ahead of her, if she could survive in this strange landscape. But she couldn't survive without a herd, because there would be predators about. There was always safety in numbers.

Her breathing steady again, she checked again for lions and such before lowering her striped head to the tall, waving grass.