Azarão, a proud Lusitano Stallion, pressed deep into the shadows of his stall. The battle between self-preservation and thousands of years of domestication raged behind his coal-black eyes. The scars of his torment were not visible to the untrained eye. His black satin coat reflected the remaining shards of light that filtered through bars that separated him from his tormentor. His muscular physique gave no clue of his mistreatment. Perhaps the cruelest of all was the daily attempt to unravel the last strand of his now fragile spirit. Heather Collins watched as the veterinarian drew the poison from the vile, a final act that would end the torment of this magnificent creature. She turned to gaze into the soul of this once loyal and willingly compliant performer.

Heather could see the shattered heart that had been betrayed by those the dark horse must trust for his survival. Reflections of herself stared back at her as if she understood his torment. Scorned by her peers, her passion had become her prison. Perhaps she should seek the same dart that would end the great stallion's suffering. She heard the faint sound of the dart sliding into the chamber and the snap of the bolt against it. A final act of defiance streaked across her mind. Heather turned to the man holding the rifle. "No.

".