The air ran thick with the scent of horses. 

A beautiful, refreshing scent. We were at our destination. The village. 

Spirit turned to me happily and I gave him a huff of relief. 

Ranger pranced up beside me. "I can smell horses. Are we nearly there?" 

I nodded. 

"Yes, Ranger. We're nearly there." 

Days of travelling had led up to this. Atrao had given us the names of his contacts. A few racehorses had recently heard of a group of horses making a name for themselves through battle. Something about earning their freedom. 

We walked over to an opening in the trail, where down below us was a small village with a surround of pastures and a large dirt track around the treeline. We plodded across the track, Ranger reaching down to sniff it. 

It was painted with hoof prints, a history of unique horses. 

I lifted my nose and took a deep breath. Other than the assortment of treats the humans were making, I was overwhelmed with horse's. 

As we got closer to the village we passed a large, wooden sign. 

Damerel ; the city of horses

Our hooves hit the gravel and it ticked with the a soothing rhythm. Children ran around chasing each other and their parents bustled with chatter as they did their chores. Most of them turned and looked at us, wondering why there were horses wandering through the village. 

"Horses? Those aren't Thom's horses, he doesn't have any with coats like that. They must be wild." 

"Wild horses don't wander through populated towns, moron." A child responded. 

Spirit looked to me. 

"Atrao said we should look for large farm with two Belgians in the front paddock. Plow horses. They will tell us where to go." 

I nodded.

Ranger had stopped and reached his muzzle out to a young boy. 

Spirit gave an unhappy puff and Ranger shook his head quickly, trotting back over to us. 

A huge wooden fence was beside the edge of the town, almost a hundred horses lined the paddocks with beautiful colour. Many of them were simple bays, browns and chestnuts, but a few were grey. 

Like Atrao had said, two large Belgian work horses were waiting quietly to be hooked to a plow. 

I guess this is what we've been waiting for.