Desert Drama

So I decided I'd submit an extract from my diary during my Egyptian adventure to the Telegraph's travel writing competition (one of the few things worth getting it for), in celebration - here it is:

My horse Oscar was a magnificent Arabian with a coat of brushed steel who picked his way delicately over the sand as my guide Mohammed identified the rest of his little herd for me; "that Madonna and that Michael Jackson," he gestured proudly. The walk back from the lagoon was slow after all the excitement had passed and the beefy Saudi man and his two thick-necked sons trudged forlornly down the track we had come from. Mohammed had dismissed them for kicking at his horses and sending them hurtling down the path like drunken bowling balls. "People pay for ride and think they buy the horse!" he exclaimed; still distressed by the drama. "They my life - not gonna let man treat them bad," he sniffed, gazing at them fondly as they picked their way over the sand alongside us, the empty saddles still on their backs. "You want gallop?"

"Yes!"

I didn't even have to ask Oscar; relaxing my grip on the reins he streaked forwards, his glossy athletic legs stretching out to consume the distance. We flew along the sands; the setting sun cresting the mountains to my right made the lagoon catch fire and the desert melt into it. Oscar's satin muzzle reached for the horizon and his tail streamed behind him like a pennant as he bounded joyfully along the shore. The riderless horses were keen to be home and surged forward as a group, their hooves pounding a tribal drumbeat into the red dust of the earth. I could barely keep the ecstatic grin from my face as we thundered along the sands, beautiful Arabians flanking me on both sides, leaping across the golden dunes. A little bay mare on my left edged nearer until she was running alongside so close that the glossy black curtain of her mane billowed at my knee.

Suddenly her head shot out and she grabbed my little finger in her teeth and pulled my hand off the reins, I quickly scooped them up in my right but she didn't relinquish her grip; if anything she tightened it. Then, to my horror, she began to pull away from us, stretching my arm out over the widening gap of rushing sand. I came to the sickening realisation that if she didn't let go there were two outcomes; she was going to pull me off and under the flying hooves or she was going to rip my finger off. I could feel the tendons in my hand stretching and screaming under the strain. It seemed to go on for an eternity; stride, stride, leap, stride, stride, leap, over the enormous dunes we galloped, one hand on the reins, one in her determined teeth. My heart was pummelling my ribcage and my skull was full of the exquisite white noise of adrenaline like the hum of a hundred dragonflies. Insanely, despite being so close to either death or an impromptu amputation in the middle of the desert, I was completely high; this was adventure.

My custodian launched herself over the ochre ridge of a dune. I felt my finger rip. I closed my eyes and felt a jolt and then nothing but the desert air rushing over my liberated hand. I snatched it back, cradling my fist against my chest, ecstatic to still be charging one-handed and ten-fingered over the dusty waves.

"You Ok?" called Mohammed.

"I'm fine - just a play-bite!" I waved back happily, ignoring the sticky crimson picking a path to my wrist. I looked ahead to the rocky red giants slumbering on the horizon between Oscar's pricked ears and grinned at the thought of my next ride.

• egypt
• sinai
• Arab
• arabian
• horses