lifting the veil

[S u N f r O s T ~]

TDI LIVE THIS LIE AND AMBER BLACK

He would be unmasked as the speed demon he was this year. Falsehood was five years old and blue blooded. He had rare blood and was a rare find. He was a gray stallion with the desire to win burning inside. He had been neglected for years. Not in a care way, but in a spotlight way. He had been just another contender, just another horse trying to make it to grade one. Not eye catching at all. People had watched the horse finish second in the Breeders Cup Mile twice now and then turned away, ignoring any of his accomplishments. Amber had not let them affect her training with the gray stallion. They were three wins from grade one and she wanted to be where she wanted to be by March. The winner of the Breeders Cup Classic was not up to debate. It would be them, and she would force her way to the top if she had to. Their time had dawned.

Falsehood moved with confidence in his stride. He looked over the world as though he owned it. Arrogance shone from his every glance and every stride. Amber felt it like a sunbeam. It made her feel confident, too. A smirk danced across her lips as they strode over the dirt track. Falsehood was barely jogging, yet he lifted his hooves with precision and impulsion as a dressage horse would. He was the image of an experienced racehorse out to train. Amber guided him with a light touch as they warmed up. This was the home SOPS track. They owned this place. Where else was better to work than a place they knew like the back of their hands?

The sun gleamed brightly, highlighting gray muscles and masculine grace. Falsehood was beautiful. He had come into himself and looked like the picture of a champion. Grade two and rising. Future Breeders Cup Classic champion. Arrogant, as though he had already won the race. Amber grinned as they cantered, and then they galloped. It was like releasing steam was an enclosed container. Falsehood's legs stretched out and ate up the dirt track. He kicked up plenty of dirt into the faces of his imaginary competitors and just kept running. It took no direction from Amber for the stallion to rate his pace. He went reasonably, fast enough to satisfy him but slow enough to satisfy his rider. It was a delicate balance crafted from experience.

Not too long later they slowed and stopped. He was loose and powerful, with muscles nurtured from some rest and a gaze that beckoned all challengers to go ahead and challenge. He would be the champion he could be, and Amber couldn't wait to get there.