I WANT TO BE A UNICORN

[S u N f r O s T ~]

The black filly was huge, and her personality was just as large. At seventeen hands, the two year old had grown fast, and it was showing when she raced. She had won the majority of her races, and was becoming known around the two year old world as one to watch. Already a grade four, she was ahead of her peers. She was also entered in the Unicorn Horn Juvenile Turf, of which this workout would be focused on preparing her for.

Deadly Desires stepped onto the turf track, the aura of menace as usual permeating the air around her. I wasn't bothered by it anymore; it gave the Augusto granddaughter some personality. Her recent win in the Butterfly Stakes had cemented her status as track queen in her mind; to me, she was promising. The Breeder's Cup would be a good place to send her if she continued doing well.

Her long legs sliced through the turf as she trotted along, head high in the air to survey her surroundings. She looked menacing, but was really just alert, observing her surroundings and looking for threats. Her attention then switched to the track; her ears flattened when she saw nobody there. She liked to race against other horses, and prove her superiority. Not seeing any infuriated her. A loud snort roared out of her throat, but I checked the reins sharply. She would run just fine by herself.

Desiree huffed and then continued quietly, taking it upon herself to go into a faster pace. I checked her again, very quietly, and the filly fought back. We rounded the turn and entered the backstretch, and finally the powerful filly gave in to my more-powerful hands. Her stride relaxed, then tensed and became the powerful, cutting stride of a winner. As it should be. Desiree had won all of her races except for two, and held a record unrivaled. Of course, I've already mentioned that, but it was too good to be true.

Another truth was that she stood a fabulous chance in the Unicorn Horn. It was one of the best prep races for the Breeder's Cup, I knew. If she won, we may be heading to the Breeder's Cup! Her powerful muscles suddenly unleashed into a torrent of speed. I had been wondering, and now the filly flew untamed up the track. We were halfway through the backstretch, and we quickly ended up going around the final turn before I could slow her again.

A sigh came from my lips. She was being hard to handle today. I knew that the chance of a gallop would entice her to behave, so gradually eased out the reins as we passed under the wire. A noticeable electric current shocked through the black filly, and she immediately picked up the pace. There was definitely less resistance on the reins now. Slowly, gradually, I built the pace up to a quick breeze just as we reached the first turn of this new lap.

Desiree's gallop wasn't anything like you'd expect from a filly. It was strong, powerful. Each hoof, when raised in the air, was like a knife whirling towards its target - but when it finally touched down, the force was gone, and she was graceful. Her muscles bunched and released smoothly and in rhythm with the movement of her neck. My hands moved with it, having to reach up all the way on her neck in order to feel comfortable. Her strides were huge, helped only along by her enormous strides. She was very much unlike a filly in some ways, but her sassy personality could only belong to one of her gender.

We coasted along for a furlong at two at the breeze, and then I knew I wanted more. I asked for more, and the filly simply accelerated. She hadn't been going too fast at all, I realized - she had just been gliding along at a slow pace that looked big. Loafing. It was easy for her to get away with. I gritted my teeth, and firmly tapped my heels into her side. The filly certainly felt it, and accelerated accordingly into a proper pace. We were flying already - this was like sky diving. Pure adrenaline shooting through her, terror through me as we shot over the ground at unbelievable speed. There was a touch of awe to my terror, though; the filly was unbelievable.

I realized we were cutting through the final turn now, and as I prepared myself so did Desiree. We went crashing into the final furlong, and my hands released all of the rein, my feet nudging her forward into her fastest speed. Wind screamed abuse at the black equine hurtling through it as we passed, but I didn't care, and neither did Desiree. Nothing could stop us, nothing........

Except for the finish wire. We passed under, and the filly slowed of her own accord. I gasped as her rocking canter replaced her gallop suddenly, and then posted to her soon-coming trot. Sweat was only found in small patches on her body; she was in perfect shape, and in perfect fitness for the big race. Which I knew, more than well, that we could win.

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