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Sometimes he followed deer and bear trails and sometimes he made his own way. When he was hungry, he tore off long pieces of dry grass and slowly chewed them. He longed for fresh grass or the sweet hay that he was fed at the farm. But even more than that, he longed for water.
    He passed by two small swamps that looked like grassy islands in the middle of the forest.
He investigated each one hopefully, stepping cautiously through bulrushes and reeds. His hooves made big holes in the soft, spongy ground, but the water had dried up weeks ago.
    Just after midnight, Lucky came to an old fence made out of wooden rails. Many of the rails were broken. In places, the fence had collapsed into the ground. He stepped through one of these openings and kept going. A few minutes later, he stood at the edge of a field. On the other side, a silver roof glinted in the moonlight.
    Lucky knew that he was near people again. And people meant water. He nickered and his hooves quickened as he made his way across the field. He stepped over another broken piece of fence and stopped at the edge of a weed-choked yard.
    In the middle of the yard was a white trailer. On one end of the trailer sagged a wooden lean- to with a piece of blue tarp for a roof. There were no curtains at the trailer windows, which looked black and empty.
    The yard was littered with pieces of old machinery and other junk – a rusty tractor, a car with broken windows, a washing machine, a fridge with a smashed door. Nettles grew right up through the middle of a pile of worn-out tires.
    Lucky waited for a few minutes, his ears pricked. Nothing. A gust of wind tore at the edge of the blue tarp, which flapped and fluttered with a rattling sound. He jumped back, his muscles bunched, ready to run.
    He sensed that this was a bad place to be, but his thirst drove him forward across the yard. He poked around the front of the trailer for a few minutes. A plastic bag containing tin cans, potato peelings, and a piece of rotten steak had been torn open. Its contents were strewn everywhere. He nosed the garbage, but found nothing of interest. He ventured around the back. More nettles grew here, and there was a small tumbledown shelter with two stalls.
    One of the stall doors was open. He advanced cautiously, his nostrils searching for the scent of water. He stuck his head through the doorway.
It was too dark inside to see anything, but a musty smell of moldy hay greeted him.
    No water.
    He took a few steps farther and banged his hoof against a feed bucket. It tipped over with a clatter. Startled, he backed out of the shelter.
    Clouds scudded across the sky, blocking out the moon. Lucky couldn’t see anything now. He didn’t like being by himself. He whinnied loudly, again and again, desperate for someone to come. But no window opened at the trailer. No one peered out the door to see what was causing the commotion. The only sound was the flapping blue tarp.
    Lucky picked his way through a patch of tall weeds that grew beside the shelter. He had made up his mind to return to the forest.
    Suddenly, something razor-sharp bit into his front legs.
    Frightened, he tried to plunge forward, but something pulled him back. It was as if a hundred sharp teeth were hanging onto him, ripping his skin. He tried leaping sideways but the pain was worse, like nothing he had ever felt before. He kicked out, frantic to escape. Whatever this terrifying thing was, it tightened around his front legs, binding his feet together.
    And then Lucky couldn’t move at all.

Chapter Ten
    Rain!
    It woke Tory in the morning, rattling like pebbles at the window in Deanna’s bedroom. She slipped out of her sleeping bag and hurried downstairs.
    Cathy was sitting on a sofa in the living room, curled up in a blanket with a mug of cocoa.
    â€œIt’s raining!” said Tory.
    â€œI know,” said Cathy. “I’ve been up for hours, listening to it. I just had the radio on. We can go home