magnificence ~

[S u N f r O s T ~]

He is magnificence, tall as the sky
He is magnificence, the look in his eye
He is magnificence, the way he prances
He is magnificence, when he races he dances
He is Impressario, and he's there to beat them all

He shifted excitedly underneath me, eyes peeking over the rail and onto the dirt track. A wind had disturbed the hard packed dirt, and the small whirring motion was enough to get him excited. He stood alertly, like a champion, keeping track of his surroundings while at the same time appearing arrogant. He was a leader, born to be one, trained to be one - and therefore, he was one. He was Impressario, Breeder's Cup Juvenile winner and top Triple Crown contender. And he had a job to do in the Unicorn Horn Dirt.

He was facing his half sister, Euphoria, and not only that. He was facing El Sol Del Mar, the amazing Horse Of The Year who had won the Preakness, Belmont, and Breeder's Cup Classic. But Impressario himself had an impressive record; the winner of eleven, the second placer in eleven, and third in two. He had raced twenty four times, and always placed in the top three. He had won the Juvenile, had won three year end awards, and was widely regarded as the top colt. But he had much to prove in the race. He had to beat Euphoria and El Sol Del Mar - and they both had the edge on experience.

Ario snorted once and nearly stomped a hoof, but he never got to. I had already urged him onto the track at a nice, upbeat trot. The three year old seemed to sense that something big was going to happen. He pooled his energy into his trot, making it energetic and bouncy, stretching his rippling muscles. His black coat gleamed to perfection, and his ears were pricked as he worked. I posted to his smooth stride, reveling in his ground eating action. He was primed and ready to go. Never again would he have such youthful energy, not after he hit four and a half years. This was my year to make him shine.

We hit the backstretch at the steady trot. I tapped his side once with my heel and we were cantering at a good beat. The fence rails seemed to be flipping by faster than could be possible at his gait, but Ario was not a normal horse. He could stretch his long, black legs to eat up the ground. He was like a dust storm, always ahead and wreaking havoc to get there. His muscles were much looser now, and as such his gait was much smoother. I hardly had to work to keep my posture in the saddle right. He made it easy.

We were nearing the last turn into the backstretch. I saw it upon myself to prepare him for a nice, long gallop. He would know what to do. He practically trained himself.
The turn was coming closer now. I tensed my legs ever so slightly, but Ario felt it. He stepped up the pace, excitement clear, and his breathing instantly became deeper. I grinned. He was ready for any situation, at any time. I just hoped that he knew what he was going up against in the Dirt.

We finally reached the turn. I hoisted myself upward into a deep crouch, loosening the reins and letting him run. Impressario instantly stretched out his legs, took the inside rail, and gunned it. His legs moved faster as the promise of a good run overtook him. He was careful not to move too fast, though. His experience knew better than to run too fast in the beginning - he would burn out otherwise, he knew.

The feel of his gallop was amazing. It was both filled with bumpy waves and smooth, clear seas. It was like he would hit one stride with a bump, and then instantly smooth it out. I thought he was stretching his legs a bit too far or something, but I had never known. People on the sidelines didn't know either; the little change in feel was just for the rider to experience. It made him even more special, but it didn't help my love for him. It didn't matter to me how good he performed - well, actually it did - but it wouldn't have had any effect on how much I loved him. He was so much like his sire, Merry Bay King, and his dam, Bank On Silver.

Both talented racehorses, as could be felt now when he suddenly lowered his head and let a burst of speed come from his legs. We had tore past the finish wire a while ago; now we were cresting the turn. He was eating up the ground easily, only too used to the distance. I wondered at how he did it. To any watching, he would have been a black blur. His times were most likely impressive as well. It was just in his blood.

Adrenaline rushed through the colt as we entered the backstretch. He was very excited today. I wondered what had happened to make him so excited. Was it my own feelings of anticipation and nervousness? Was he trying to prove to me that I had nothing to fear of his performance? Well, I couldn't help but be worried; the top fillies were entered in this race, after all. And some other tough competitors as well. I was just happy his other half sister, Once Upon A Dream who had won the Juvenile Fillies, wasn't entered as well. If that had been the case, well, we would be working out day and night.

The speed once more was turned up a notch. It was now a steady beat, like a heartbeat. His movements were smooth and easily made, and he didn't appear to be tired yet. As a front runner his sprint stamina was outstanding. There would have been no other way for him to be as successful as he was with his preferred leg type.
The sun beamed its rays happily as Ario ran. It was like even nature welcomed the black colt. He, too, welcomed it. He stretched out slightly, even tilting his head to let the sun trickle onto his head. He was a black flame, blazing with the promise of victory. He had promised me to give it his all, and if he didn't win it he would keep trying until he had beaten his new rivals. That was his way; it was what had happened with Anarchi, after all.

We were now nearing the final turn, and he was preparing himself for it with everything he had. His legs lifted up and out with an increased speed and an increased stride. People in the crowd always gasped at this point; they thought this was all he had. Well, Impressario was good at deceiving. He could easily trick his opponents and the crowd into believing he was done for. It was all part of his plan to make the audience follow him and him alone. The only colt who had knowingly challenged him for that, really, was Anarchi. Anarchi was just as smart and just as good, which made Ario work all the harder.

The final turn was here! Ario immediately pushed into gear two. He flattened himself to the track and swerved from side to side, keeping the horses behind him at bay. Being on the outside on the turn was his only weak point with this strategy, but he had refined it enough to make the weak point something hard to exploit. He continued to swerve until he reached the stretch; now he reached his first gear.

He ran harder, the first drops of sweat dripping down his neck. He ran as if a pack of cheetahs ran after him, their mouths quivering for his blood. He ran like the wind, ran like a champion - but he was one. There was no other description for the feeling of raw desire, or the sudden runner's high that took us both as we blew under the wire.

Like I said, there was no description for the magnificent black colt.