She was the Golden King sitting astride a red-gold horse, Shantih would prance to the stable, mane and tail blown out into strands of light, her head carried high, honouring the Child. It would be the most terrific nativity play that Glenbost had ever seen.

It is Christmas, and Glenbost is putting on a nativity play. Jinny has been asked to be one of the three kings, riding Shantih. Glory, thinks Jinny. Glory for her and for Shantih, when the village sees the majesty that is her horse.

The run up to Christmas is not the only thing on everyone's minds. There is a poaching operation running on the moors, threatening the deer and the white stag. The deer are being rounded up and slaughtered, driven to their deaths by a helicopter swooping low over the moors. 'Only the red horse you ride can save,' Sara tells Jinny, but Jinny does not want to believe it.