Extract 4 - Przewalski Horses

...when we came over the brow of the hill and saw the takhi, it was the gold-plating on an already silver day.

About a hundred yards away on the upland meadow stood a small group of stocky, thick-necked horses, their colour, but for the black manes and tails, matching the pink-red granite tor nearby. Behind them the land fell away, and continued to fall in a series of hills and valleys all the way to the Tuul River; then rose again to a further ridge in the blue distance. Yet the horses were completely at ease on this tremendous stage, not remotely awed by their surroundings, as if they had spent all their lives here, instead of in dull European fields. As if this were the most natural place in the world for them to be; which, of course, it was.

And we were among the first of our generation, among only a few non-Mongolians for centuries - maybe millennia - to see takhi in the wild. No-one said a word. We were all conscious of immense privilege.

Too bad they didn't feel the same about us. After sizing us up with a brief withering look, the "boss" mare Svetlaya led them off at a sharp trot down the hill...

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