We left Fort Teton before dawn. The first sign that something was wrong was the sunrise.

I'm a horse--a Morgan horse, to be specific, like the rest of my comrades. My name is Sergeant Greyfell. I was the leader of this company, and my human, Sergeant Rigbee, was the leader of the humans. Four of us were sent out on this patrol to make sure no Indians raided the fort during the night. The humans said they had black magic. I don't know what's wrong with the color black, since that's the color of my coat, but I do love my humans. They said the strangest things.

We also had one horse with us who was not a Morgan: Ace of Hearts, a tall dapple-gray mare who belonged to the company's cartographer. She was a new addition to Fort Teton, from a faraway place by the water where humans lived in stables that stretched to the sky. Although she was bred to withstand the cold, she knew nothing about climbing, or swimming, or which mountain grasses tasted the best. She stepped high and daintily, and her human held on to the reins with both hands. Neither of them were suited to this land.

The sun rose blood-red in the sky, lighting up a valley filled with fog. My nostrils flared. The fog smelled strange, oppressive. Perhaps this was the black magic that Sergeant Rigbee spoke of? He pressed more tightly into the saddle, hoping I would not buck. Of course, I was too well-trained to fear this haze.

But the sun was not the only thing rising, as we soon found out.

From the other direction of the sun, another blood-red light appeared over the ridge. I finally understood: fire.

The flames spread quickly through the lodgepole pines, jumping downhill from one to another like a burning tide washing the mountainside clean. Sergeant Rigbee spurred me in the opposite direction. We were going to have to run.

Ace immediately bolted, the instincts taking over as she ran at full speed away from the fire. Her rider tried to stay on her back, but the full gallop was too much for him. He was flung against a tree trunk, blood leaking from a crack in his neck. I shuddered.

I looked to the other three Morgans, my company, whose ears flattened against their heads as their eyes rolled back and dilated. They were terrified, and I couldn't blame them, but we had to stay calm for our humans' sakes. "Don't panic," I nickered, even as I felt the primal instinct to run building inside me. "If we lose connection to our humans, we lose everything. Follow my lead, and for heavens' sake, breathe."

Seconds after I finished speaking, Monte bucked his rider and bolted. The human fell, his blue coat staining with dirt and mud. Just a few yards down, the horse tripped over a log in his panic and fell as well. He neighed, a terrified sound that was drowned out by the flames.

I looked back at him. We locked eyes. One of my company, my horses, was about to die a fiery death. I couldn't let that happen.

Sergeant Rigbee tried to spur me away, but I wheeled around too fast. His grip on the saddle slipped and he fell. I now faced a choice: my human, who I loved, or my horse soldier, who I was duty-bound to protect? I knew what Sergeant Rigbee would say: A true leader puts their followers before themselves.

I didn't get to choose. The flames came too fast, their heat singing the hair on my coat even from several dozen yards away. I couldn't stay. I couldn't pick anyone up and hope to escape. So I ran like a coward from the coming blaze, letting my training dissipate as the instincts of an ancient horse--the drive to run from danger as fast as possible--overtook me.

Some sergeant I was. I couldn't even lead my followers to safety.