Rumble_Fish
Staring Storm in the eye, I can tell he's serious in what he is about to tell me.
"They'll run you to the ground, son." His ears pin darkly, and his nostrils flared, "You know that. Don't you?"
Fluttering my nostrils cockily, I brush this off, "They won't."
"Really? Tell me, son... how can you be sure they won't run you until dead?"
Arching my neck, I point my ears towards him in full yet foolish confidence.
"...I'll win."
The stallion's head lowers, his eyes grimacing.
"Sometimes... that's not enough."
The Sport of Kings.
I don't know why it is called that, and I doubt I ever will. To my kind, it is a test of time, fear and pushing yourself far beyond your own limits. There's nothing complicated about it. Run until they tell you to stop. We run out of fear, so why do they cheer? We're the ones at risk, so why do they make us take them? As a humble equine, I'll never find out the answers. All I can do is enjoy every day. For, as soon as I enter that gate and they open onto the track, it could all end.