The first wild horse to appear on the ridge was a muscular chestnut stallion, reddish in the evening sun. Others soon followed. Young foals, mares. Slowly they made their way along the ridge, then began to descend into the meadow. I slowly moved into the meadow toward the band, with each careful step afraid of spooking. Within a few minutes I was close enough to hear them eating, hear their tails swishing away files. Their skin smelled of lathered sweat and old leather.