Spitfire

Five

     "Sage! Hey, wait!"

     Sage spun on her heel, eyeing Lorne as he came running out of the pub to meet her. She brushed a hand against Pipers forelock as the pony came to nudge her for anything she may have pocketed from dinner. She had, and produced a biscuit that the pony happily munched on. "What is it?" She asked, turning to face him. 

     "I-well i just wanted to say that i trust you. to make the right choices on race day when you're backing Sophie." He said, stammering slightly as he saw the expression on her face. "Also, I've got one of Charlie's retired horses, and wanted to know if you'd care for a night race on the beach?"

     She blinked at that, then turned her face to the salt soaked wind that came in from the dark Atlantic. "Sure," she replied, already bridling Piper, "but lets make it quick. Theres a storm coming in." 

     Lorne cocked his head. "A storm? It was as clear as I'd ever seen it today."

     Sage gave him a wry grin that was only a flash of white in the setting sun. "Aye, that's the first tell. The second is the unfamiliar ache in my knee. And the third is the smell of it on the wind." Lorne just looked at her like she was crazy. Which was fine by her-likely, she probably was. "Oh hush," she said, chuckling slightly at the bewilderment on his face, "you'll learn eventually." 

     Lorne huffed a laugh and went to retrieve his horse, leaving Sage in her one thoughts as she tightened Pipers girth. He then returned with a seal bay thoroughbred with four white socks and a white stripe down his forehead, and all of the thoughts rushed out of her head. She'd know the horse from a mile away; the way he carried his head, the long limber legs, and the graceful stride even at-oh gods, it must've been twelve years at least. She had seen him at the track before he was retired to Charlie's private property. Hell-Charlie had even offered him to her free of charge. But she'd declined the offer for reasons she didn't even know herself; maybe she wasn't ready for the memories it would dredge up. Maybe she was afraid of ruining the very horse that had carried her father through his career-and to his death. She could never blame the horse for what happened in that final race, he was the last piece of her father that remained. And somehow, she trusted Charlie more than herself to keep him safe.

     "Never blame the horse Sage, don't ever." Those were the last words spoken to her by her father, and even if he hadn't, she never would. But she would consider blaming the jockey who impeded her fathers path, thereby putting him in bad traffic, resulting in multiple horses clipping heels and colliding, creating one of the worst racing accidents in the history of the local racetrack. She also wouldn't let go of the fact that his son was now one of her top competitors-and equally callous.

     "You're riding Soothsayer." She finally got out. The geldings ears then pricked, picking up her voice as he let out a tentative nicker. Piper replied for her. Sage had never believed it when people had told her that horses had poor memory, and that was only proven as Soothsayer came up to her, plunging his muzzle into her palms. Sage laughed, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as he scratched an itch against her entire body. "I missed you too, buddy."

     "Charlie told me, about the accident. He figured you would come around, so he's been keeping him in pretty good shape. Charlie said the hairline fracture healed up nicely, but the damage to his suspensory ligament took quite a good deal of tending to and was touch and go for a little bit. Overall, he's a lucky one to come out as sound as he is."

     Sage bit her lip sheepishly, "Could I perchance convince you to ride Piper so that I can take Soothsayer for a spin?"

     Lorne flashed her a cocky grin, "Why do you think I brought him in the first place?"

     Sage was so elated in that moment, she could have kissed him. But she didn't, handing him the reins to Piper and choosing to kiss Soothsayer right on the soft velvet of his nose instead. Sage swung her bag over her shoulder, giddy with excitement as she adjusted her stirrups, and used a nearby dilapidated fence to swing into the saddle. Soothsayer was an absolute gentlemen, standing quietly as she gathered her reins and nudged him into a walk, Lorne right behind them.

     The beach was cold and brisk in the fading light. Dusk cast everything in an orange glow, a cold ocean wind whipping up her hair as she asked Sayer for trot. He obliged, head up and ears pricked forward, snorting every so often. He seemed to be saying, 'okay! now what?' And Sage was struck by how she remembered her father talking about that horse at the dinner table. He used to tell her about all of his rides-their strengths, their weaknesses, what races they had it in them to win, their individual quirks and how they liked to be ridden. At seven years old, Sage could have recited all of this about any given racehorse in her fathers string. And what made Soothsayer so good at what he did, was his easy going nature in training, and his willingness to work. But what made him a competitor was his will to win; a heart of gold, her father used to say. 

     Sage asked for a canter, and she pushed her fingers up into his mane before giving way to a gallop with a whoop. A yell from Lorne told her he was close behind, and she cackled as he caught up to her, matching her stride for stride. Both horses stretched out, riders laughing, running for the hell of it. And in that moment, she was okay, riding her father's horse on the beach she loved, as the sun set behind her. She was a kid once more; full of promise and without a care in the world.

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Im really trying to crank these out, by all means critique this and lmk if it feels rushed