His breath so short his lungs were threatening to burst, Pale Moon felt the sweat and froth trickling down his withers...over his barrel and fought the urge to slow his pace. He knew he could do no such thing, for the herd was now in a headlong race to the west and would, albeit with some reluctance, leave him behind for the good of them all.
He and the others thundered on over the hard prairie dirt, as the odd two-legged creatures with the bang sticks and the long, twirling snakes drew ever closer. While he could not imagine why others of his kind would choose to serve these strange creatures, the truth remained he had seen them, demons upon their backs, relentlessly pursuing the herd.
While he might never understand why his equine brethren had surrendered their honor and their freedom to such unworthy masters, he knew only he would run until his heart burst before he suffered a similar fate.
This story was written for the weekly Five Sentence Fiction flash fiction prompt word: wild.