by Isabella Ritchie

Created on: July 13, 2009

A girl sat atop her gray quarter horse, kicking him forward, her long golden brown locks streaming behind her was she sat on his bare back. The snow fell around them, her blue wool sweater, gloves, and jeans barely keeping the biting cold. Thanking her hoodie under the wool and the extra thick socks under boots, the girl narrowed her green eyes and clutched the lead-rope that attached to the halter her gelding wore.

Tears blinded her, as she cried for her lost mother and father, and the thought of having to live with her awful aunt. Shaking her head, Eliza leaned low over tireless Stormy's neck and wrapped her arms around his warm neck. Eliza's warm breath fogged up the air in front of her, blending with the thick snowflakes and blocking her vision.

Tears were just for losers, she decided and sat up, steering Stormy through the close trees. He lept a dead tree, but Eliza stayed centered on his back. She was determined to start a new life with Stormy, become a rodeo queen, earn money by riding bucking horses. Maybe they could become ranch hands.

Ever since her mother and father had recently died in a car accident, life had been awful. Change had come, ranch hands on Goosehill Farm had moved, horses had been sold, and Eliza had been told her aunt would come get her the next Monday. That was today. It was probably only four a.m. now, but Eliza was not slowing Stormy down. No, Eliza wanted to be at least fifty miles away in one of the mountainous forests of Wyoming when her awful guardian arrived. So she and Stormy had set out right after midnight with no saddle. Eliza had taken the largest two feedbags she could find in the barn, strung them together with two long pieces of wide leather on top, and one down by Stormy's girth area. The bags were full of food, matches, extra sweaters and jeans, an extra halter, a hoof pick, a brush, a Swiss army knife, and a first aid kit. Another feed bag was strung behind the first pair across from the largest hay bag Eliza could find.

After thinking it over quickly, Eliza had decided to make Stormy stay warm by putting his blanket on and wrapping his legs in navy polo wraps.

Then they had set off. Now, three hours later, they were still galloping, but Eliza, feeling bad for Stormy, slowed him to a canter, then a lope. He was obviously tired, but Stormy kept going, as though he dislike Eliza's aunt as much as she did.

A noise interrupted her concentration, a twig snapping under-foot, but Eliza ignored it. Suddenly Eliza

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