Journey to Iceland

Prologue

        A little black pony was running along a beach. He was using a strange, high-stepping gait, not unlike the trot, but the footwork was different. He was using the tölt, the fifth gait of the Icelandic horse.
        The shaggy horse halted now, his ears pricked, looking inland, toward a neat little cottage not far away. The next moment, he whinnied and started tölting toward the house. For he had heard his master’s voice calling his name: “Fjörður! Fjörður, Komdu hingað!”
        The gelding, Fjörður, met his master at the gate. He nudged the man, neighing softly. In reply, he rubbed the black pony’s nose. “Fyrirgefðu, en við erum að fara til Ameríku,” he murmured.

        The paint mare stared after the departing van. Arabella couldn’t believe it. Her owners had left her. To go somewhere . . . Eye’s Land? No, Iceland. That was it.
        But you were happy here in Montana, with me! Arabella thought.
        And yet they had still left, leaving their brown-and-white mare behind. Arabella had hoped that they’d come back, but then they had taken everything: the furniture, the pictures, the dog, and even the cats, who hated travel. They had taken everything. Everything, that was, except Arabella.
        Which meant that they were never coming back.
        Arabella heard the neighbor in the feed-shed, rattling around with buckets and feed. Usually Arabella would be excited, but not today. She gazed over the stall door at the place her owners had disappeared, as if she could draw them back with the force of her eyes.
        But they were truly gone.

        Nevada. The state with over half the United States’ wild horse population. And the land which Chase had known forever.
        Chase was large for a mustang. The bay colt had a broad, well-muscled chest and a finely shaped head. He was fast, faster than his older half-sister, faster than any of the adult horses. Of course, he was nearly a stallion himself.
        Chase had everything he wanted in Nevada, but he also wanted to see the world. Even if it was just another state. His mother, who had learned French from her ancestors, was always saying, “Non. Non, Chase. It is too dangerous.”
        But I want to see the world! The colt thought. Once I’m a stallion, then I can leave, he consoled himself.