SOMEONE SPECIAL //

[S u N f r O s T ~]

Her chestnut coat gleamed bright as a new penny in the sunlight. Her ears, pricked alertly, only added to her beauty. She was a fine filly, very fine, even though her performance was lacking - again. The filly just couldn't beat the leaders of her division - Striking Motion, Royal Assault, and The True Nut. She was behind, becoming less known by the day. She needed the help of a filly who had never been forgotten.

The black mare stood silently in the shade of the trees. Her satin black coat glistened with sweat in the heat of late spring. Her ears, perked, angled in the direction of the chestnut three year old trotting down the track towards us. On To The Spotlight had immense talent and a good team with her rider - she just needed to get back into the spotlight. She needed a push, and the mare I rode was one of the best choices to give her that.

Let's go Missy I murmured, clicking my tongue. We trotted beside the chestnut filly, the black mare shortening her strides to let the younger horse keep up. I exchanged a nod with Krystal, but didn't speak. We already knew the plan.

The majestic black mare we were working with today suddenly appeared out of the shadows. Each move on of grace but quietly concealed power, Little Miss Innocent pulled up alongside us, trotting a bit slowly to let Onya keep us. I could feel the shiver pass through Onya. The chestnut filly never let any black horse beat her if she could help it, and since her competitor today was a mare that only added to the hostility. My hand stroked her neck soothingly as I ran through the plan again.

Start at wire, canter back to final turn, turn and push into gallop before wire, keep side by side until the last turn, and then race them. It sounded simple, but there was no way that Onya could win. We were hoping to get her competitiveness sparked up just in time for the race, in the hopes that it might give us a boost.

Onya's chestnut coat darkened with dry sweat as they warmed up together in the sun. She stuck to Missy's side, never allowing one inch to separate them. I was amused, really, but it was expected. The effect was coming; Onya was starting to get in the undefeatable zone we wanted her in.

Missy snorted quietly beneath me, and tried to increase her pace. Feeling the rush of sudden air as Missy opened up, Onya increased her speed too. I felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through me, and nearly started the race then - but we had to stick to the plan. We needed them to warm up first. At least Onya would be sharp for the Unicorn Horn Series, which was the whole point. We both knew that Onya had what it took to become a grade one - we just needed to work her harder and more often. She could definitely take it, being as conditioned as she was.

We were finally heading toward our target destination - the gallop. I squeezed my legs and let Missy open up into her racing pace, checking to make sure that the chestnut three year old we raced against was keeping up.

Onya instantly accelerated, feeling a tinge of surprise at the fast pace. She immediately picked it up, but wasn't used to running so fast so early. She would stop the pace soon, but I wanted her to get the experience and extra conditioning. She probably wouldn't have stopped anyway - she was already mad at Missy for showing such a clear advantage.

Her hooves pounded the turf ferociously, turning it into shreds. Missy was much quieter, much more accustomed to the faster pace. That was what Onya needed to develop - a stride like that. She needed to be better. And she would be. She was only three, and had plenty of time to build herself up and be a better racehorse. She was the next turf queen. She would take down her rivals, one by one. There was a challenging determination gleaming in her eye, a want for the win.

We swept around the first turn, Onya fighting my hold, begging to leave the black mare behind.

I kept a close watch on the chestnut three year old. Onya was begging to go, begging to lead and leave Missy behind. I could feel Missy's disdain, her arrogance. She could easily beat the filly, or at least she thought. The truth was, none of us really knew how fast Onya could go. She had never tapped into that depth of speed. Perhaps it would be hatred that brought it out? Perhaps her fierce determination, fiercer than the hunter?

I let Missy go, waiting to gauge the reaction from Onya.

Seeing the black mare sweep past on our inside sent the filly int a kingdom of rage. I felt the thunder suddenly roar through her veins, begging for release, and she easily pulled free of my hold on her. She flattened to the track, stride increasing, gliding her forward. Muscles flexed beneath my feet, pointing sharply downward to maintain my balance. I went with the speed and wind that was caused by her movement. It was like a fine craft slipping through the water, resisting the force of the waves in its quest for the end of its journey.

The wire. Four furlongs away. We needed to pick it up. It seemed like a race to me. I let Onya go, let her have free rein. The filly was a closer, and she instantly let her stride widen. She no longer seemed burdened by keeping up with Missy; she was easily keeping up. I was surprised and euphoric at this. She had the potential to be the next Missy.

We swept through the final furlong of the backstretch and entered the turn.

Missy's body expertly angled around the turn. She was starting to leave Onya behind as she increased the speed of her gallop. She floated over the turf, all being concentrated on this moment. She was destined to always cross the wire first. Even El Sol Del Mar, the Horse of the Year who had beaten sprinters and classic distance runners, couldn't beat Missy on the turf. Perhaps Onya could.....?

The black mare was leading by a length, and Onya was lagging. She seemed reluctant to really tap into her final reserve. I unwound the reins and made her go, go, go. The filly was lagging, but then something went through her, a fierce, fiery determination. There was a filly in front of her, one. Two, the filly was black. Impressario was black. She needed to be beaten.

A sudden surge swept through her. We caught up to Missy - and flew past. I felt the shot of adrenaline coursing through her. And then I tasted it - the cloud of fury. There was a black blur, and suddenly Missy bounded right past and set the gas on. She quickly put three lengths between us, and then Onya started to gun it.

We were in the stretch, a furlong to the wire. The filly's muscles strained, fighting for every inch. Slowly, slowly, the gap decreased, and when we were a solid two lengths behind Missy we flew under the wire. I gasped. On To The Spotlight had done splendidly. She was someone special.

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