not beaten again~

[S u N f r O s T ~]

The aura around this filly was something. It was menacing, threatening to find you and beat you at whatever you were best at. That was Deadly Desires. The agile black two year old moved as if she was a predator. Each step was made with cool calm, but just underneath churned her spirit - her spirit to win. That was the one thing that Desiree wanted now - a win. She had raced in her first race ever, the All Things Gorgeous Cup, and had come third. Not that I was upset with her first effort ever - it was quite a good one actually - but she was upset. I could feel flaming through her a determination to win her next race.

I urged her into a trot. She chose a fast pace that was hard to post to, so I sat instead - which was slightly easier, but not by much. The fire was starting to burn brighter within her. She wanted to run so badly, she wanted to leave the field in the dust so much, that it was a task to ride her. The only reason I wasn't down in the dust was because she respected me. Desiree trusted no one except me - and I had marked her down as my favorite prospect. Not that I didn't like the rest of them, of course, but she was my favorite because of her personality and her potential.

We were moving along the backstretch of the stable turf track when I asked very, very gently for the canter. She met my gentle request with an explosion of speed. Her canter was very nearly a gallop, but I was too experienced to let her run away with me. Her fire was eating alive the ground beneath her hooves. Her feet lightly touched the ground, but there was a fury evident as she flew. She would not lose again.

I let her go on the final turn. The gallop she burst into was monsterishly fast. She accelerated quickly into the basic speed she ran at - the speed that had her leading the field by a couple lengths. Last race I had tried to hold her in reserve, doubting her sprint stamina. Now I knew not to doubt it. The black filly could easily take care of herself. She knew what she was doing. Desiree was so intelligent for a two year old - it was like she was born a champion racehorse already.

I didn't even try to slow her as we went into the turn. Desiree had it all figured out. She hugged the inside rail and gripped the track with her hooves so she didn't slip. If the turf had been a bit more wet with dew I would have slowed her a fraction, but today it was nice and dry - perfect for her running style. My hands were still on her neck as she rounded the turn with perfect form and burst into a faster gallop on the backstretch. I wasn't asking her to go faster - she was running using her own mind and stamina; who else to trust but the horse who was running? She knew her limits.

The backstretch was flung behind her as she went faster. I now moved my hands lightly with her neck to avoid falling off. Her long mane blew into my face, but I trusted her sight, and I could feel if she took a bad step - and I would definitely know if we crashed into a rail.

We were in the middle of the backstretch when I crouched lower to take my weight into myself. I wanted her to carry as little weight as possible, seeing as she was a front runner through and through. In the All Things Gorgeous Cup we hadn't started to turn it on until it was too late, and we were beaten fighting. The kind of way I'd like to go, and I thought Desiree would think the same - but she was still mad at being beaten. Sprinting blood ran through her veins - speed, in other words. She would not be beaten again.

The last stretch was approaching. I readied myself by crouching ever lower and putting my weight into my heels. My eyes focused straight ahead between her ears in front of her sweat-flicked neck. I was readying for the turn, and when it came I helped her by turning the reins with her angled body. We were slanted over the ground, but I trusted her grip on the turf, and I was right to trust Desiree. She was very smart.

We exploded into the pinnacle of her speed as we entered the stretch. The speed was so great it was impossible to hear anything but the cool rush of her hooves and the screaming of wind in my ears. The mane in my face prevented me from seeing the wire when it came - but Desiree showed me the way. She plunged forward with greater strength as we passed the wire, as if expecting the pull of slowing and rebelling. The pull came, tight and fast and strong, and she obeyed with a quiet snort.

I pulled the future champion up and looked around the track, then re-examined her. She was panting slightly, and sweating, but had her head held up high and proud. She was dancing at the trot, because she knew what I already knew. We would not be beaten again.