Chapter 1: My Early Home begins with memories shaped in a peaceful pasture, surrounded by soft grass and the rhythmic hum of nature. At the heart of this place was a clean pond, bordered by rushes and lilies, where the water sparkled in the sun and offered cool relief on warmer days. One end of the field lay near a fir grove, where birds gathered and shade stretched generously, while the other opened toward our master’s house and a tilled field. In those early days, my world was small but complete—my mother, the grass underfoot, and the quiet rhythm of the farm. At night, I would nestle beside her in the shelter, warmed by her body and lulled by her breath. During the day, I stayed close, occasionally venturing out to nibble grass or splash my hooves in the shallow water.

As I grew, I was weaned and began grazing more often, allowing my mother to leave me during the day while she worked. I wasn’t alone in the field; six other colts shared it with me, all nearly my size though older and stronger. We became fast friends, chasing one another through the tall grass, challenging each other to games that tested our speed and strength. Sometimes these games became rough, a flurry of flying hooves and nipped ears, but it was the way young horses learned their place. Despite the occasional scuffle, we held no grudges—by sunset, we’d rest side by side, tired from play. Each of us had our own personality: some bold and boastful, others quiet and observant. Among them, I often found myself watching more than acting, curious about what made each of us different.

One summer afternoon, while we were particularly wild, my mother called me aside with a quiet nicker. Her tone was calm but firm, and as we stood under the shelter of the grove, she spoke words I’ve never forgotten. She reminded me that although the other colts were fun, I had a responsibility to be better. My lineage, she explained, was noble—my grandfather had raced at Newmarket, my father carried a proud name, and my grandmother had been praised for her good sense and even temper. My mother herself had never bitten or kicked out of spite, and she hoped I’d follow that same path. Strength, she said, meant nothing without self-control. A well-bred horse must have courage, yes, but also kindness, manners, and patience.

She told me that some colts grow up to be hard and mean, especially if they’re not guided well. But I was to remember who I was, no matter where life would take me. Her words weren’t boastful, but full of purpose. They planted something deep in me—a desire to live up to her trust and the pride she felt in our bloodline. Looking back, that moment wasn’t just a lesson in behavior; it was the start of understanding who I wanted to become. It shaped how I viewed the world, not just through instinct, but through the lens of principle. She believed that even animals, when treated well, could carry themselves with dignity—and I wanted to be worthy of that belief.

Though I didn’t fully grasp everything at the time, I sensed the weight of her words and the depth of her love. In the weeks that followed, I noticed how she never joined in when others grew unruly. Her calmness made others settle, her presence enough to ease tension. The humans seemed to recognize her grace too, treating her with a quiet respect. Watching her interact with both horses and handlers showed me the power of gentleness. And as I learned to carry myself with more care—mindful of my kicks, deliberate in my steps—I felt closer to the kind of horse she envisioned. Even my playmates noticed, adjusting slightly when I refused to join in the roughest games.

This first chapter of my life was a time of security, learning, and subtle shaping. I had no worries, no fears—just the comfort of knowing I was safe, valued, and taught with patience. The gentle rhythms of pasture life, the steady example of my mother, and the warmth of early days left a lasting impression. Though I could not have known what lay ahead, I was being prepared for it—quietly, steadily, with lessons that would guide me through every hardship and kindness to come.