The two-leggers talk about bloodlines. You shake your head, stamp your foot, waiting for someone to come to your stall, to groom and tack you up, to offer you a bit, and to toss a small two-legger up on your back. You always shiver when that happens, your skin twitches, like when a fly lands on it. But it isn’t a bite shiver, not quite. You just don’t know what it is.
The gate’s ahead of you and you slip inside. Crouching; waiting. Your two-legger barks something at the next two-legger, on the next horse. The gate opens – you leap.
X X X
The earth shudders beneath your hooves. Roars from the two-leggers echoes around you. One of them jostles you. You shove back, trying to keep your balance. Two hooves on the ground, then all above; you could easily be knocked down.
Bloodlines, oh, this is where you feel them. Your forelegs stretch far ahead of you and you can almost see something that isn’t there – the two additional legs of your far distant ancestor, the one your dam spoke of when you were a foal.
He is not here, though. It’s just you – and your stride, leaving all the others behind.
X X X