Fatimah sat on the tack
trunk contemplating tomorrow. It would be her first race, with her first horse. She glanced
to the side as Cue popped his head over the stable door. A slight smile curled the corners
of her lips as he shook his head. He rolled his eye and looked at her, then with a resounding
snort, his head dissapeared again.
He could be such a chit.
She had listened carefully
to the trainer and had decided to run him tomorrow with a figure eight noseband and a shadow
roll. Hopefully it would help. His running was as inconsistant as his mood. He was fit, and
seemed to getting more energetic as the race neared. She wondered, abscently if he could
sense the race tomorrow.
The nervous flutters in her stomach were probably not going to
subside until the race was run. Getting to her feet, she dusted off her bottom and uttered a
short thank you to the powers that be, that there could be only one, first race with her
first horse.
)