“Well done, jock,” a fan said to Crowley.
The jockey nodded and pointed to his horse. “Not me, all him,” the gesture said.
And it was. Arcadius seized the day, winning with the biggest, best effort of his life. The humans lined up, the horse was led in to the winner’s circle. Catching his breath now, he stood for the brief ceremony — a sweaty, dirty, hot, victorious athlete. It was as if he knew he had won. Arcadius stared regally to the distance, ears at attention, and everyone else paused, soaking in the victory. The cameras buzzed. Crowley jumped down, unbuckled the elastic girths, removed the leather saddle, breastplate, black and red cloth with the white 3 on it. The jockey folded it all up on his arm, patted his horse on the back, one more reward for the effort.
Two minutes later, Arcadius was dead — steps from the finish line he had crossed with so much power, so much life. (via)
she was there. after
that incident with the deer, i just can't help but be suspicious.
