S P R I N T S T A R

[S u N f r O s T ~]

Fifteen hands high of livewire horse pranced all over the turf track, joy at the thought of a blowout shining out of his lively eyes. His ears were pointing straight up with juvenile excitement, and his tail moved every which way like a constant swarm of flies was attacking his hindquarters. A handful as always, Pegasus Wings was an energizer bunny, but also more. He was the stable's star sprinter currently, and he never, ever gave up, even if he kept on getting second after second. Asus's legs danced sleekly, him looking like a Greyhound puppy headed off to the first race even though the Azalea Cup Colts was his seventh start.

Running at seven furlongs on the turf, I was confident of our chances for victory in one of the hugest two year old races on the calendar. None of the other colts was as specialized a sprinter as Asus, and none of them possessed the electrifying speed or overwhelming energy of my lovable mount. I felt like hugging the colt right here and now, but that was inadvisable because of the high stepping action. He could not be confined to the infuriatingly slow walk any longer. I simply opened up the reins and let him accelerate, knowing he needed no encouragement. Asus plunged head over heels into the trot, happily stretching out his legs. He still danced sideways and around, though, which half made me grit my teeth with annoyance. His behavior was so immature, but it just made me love him even more.

Let's go now Asus I commanded in a firm voice, and held the reins tight. Asus, sensing my brick wall resolve, chose not to fool around anymore, and finally settled down as much as he could. Besides a side step and slight pressure on the reins, we were going as slow as we would ever go right now, and were as controlled as possible. After about a furlong of trotting I let him canter. Further joy and the beginnings of exhilaration flooded through the colt as he raced into the faster pace. His energy was still on a very dangerous level, despite the fact that we had had a mile blowout yesterday. Asus didn't get tired easily. He ran the legs off of his opponents and usually came out close to the top. Maybe he lost by a nose or something to those quick closers, but he was a top contender in each and every race despite his past performances.

It was his personality that did it. He was always so eager to please, and if that meant that he had to win for that extra treat then he would do it. He also enjoyed burning off his endless energy, and the way to do that was through constant sprinting. He didn't have the patience or control for distance running, and closing from behind or even sitting mid pack was too slow for him. He strove for that lead and to win wire to wire. That was his style, and it was also what was required in order to keep him from going insane. Asus had insane energy levels, as we all knew far too well.

A five furlong blowout would help temper him down for the day. I grinned to myself as I realized our position on the track - middle of the backstretch. Perfect. I dropped into a crouch suddenly, easing out the reins completely. I'd let him go at top speed if he wanted to. It was fun and advantageous to both of us. Feeling the looseness, Asus's smooth pace tripled in quickness, and the lengths of his strides shortened. He entered his famous gallop, one where his small legs moved in endless tandem at an amazingly quick pace.

The wind whistling a merry tune in our ears drowned out the earth. We were flying like the dive of a peregrine falcon, letting the wind simply carry us along until we floated over the track. You ever wonder why horses drop down to slower speeds ever so slowly after a race instead of stopping dead? This was why. The wind took possession of you, and you became acquainted with it. To break this bond created while your horse ran required a lot of willpower, especially where Asus was concerned. My colt was best friends with the wind, and the wind loved Asus because the colt ran just as fast as the breeze. His shadow blurred across the track, never showing his true form. What time of day was it? Was I even alive? You lost all knowledge of the world when you were upon his back, and he sprinted with the sureness of a true hearted champion.

The turn could not keep us for long. The silver rail skidded to a dead halt, giving up trying to keep with us. The turf track, firmed up by the hooves of horses, kept Asus running onward. Pegasus Wings himself was pushing for more, ignoring his rivals and just making those small, sleek black legs flash with stunning speed. He may just be barely a horse, but he was a sprintstar, a cheetah running faster than the fastest. There was no ebbing flow to the waves of speed; like a tsunami, he continued to gain power and speed as the distance flashed by. In no time at all, we were somehow past the wire, and I was struggling with the runaway Asus, struggling to slow the godly horse down.

Sprintstar, sprintstar I accused the colt teasingly, but he took no notice. He was dancing around on his feet, ready to go again.