• Red Horse, Blazing Comet


    She despised standing still for so long

    Firefly blew an impatient snort and pawed the dirt restlessly. How much longer did they have to wait? She swiveled her ears this way and that. The air was full of snorts and whinnies of the other horses, amid the constant thudding of hooves on the green turf. She smelled their excitement, sensed it in the musty, warm smell of sweat. The tension was unbearable.

    Firefly’s earth brown eyes darted over them, studying each contestant. Some chargers fidgeted like she did. Others, under the careful guidance of their rider, loped around in short circles in various places on the little grassy field. Others still, just stood quietly, content to wait under the will of their masters; only the swift swishing of their tails betrayed their awareness. Their concealed agitation only helped to worsen Firefly’s own restlessness. Even the riders sat astride their mounts in pained silence, conversing with each other only a little; the casual buzz of chit chat was stilled by the expectancy of what was to come, as well as the grinding roar of something huge and made of metal churning up dirt beyond the fence.

    When the grinding noise abruptly subsided, Firefly lifted her head curiously, but her the tall, wooden fence in front of her prevented her from looking ahead. She didn’t like that, unable to see what was happening in front of her, but even when she raised her head higher, her vision was limited through the narrow slats between the wooden railings. All she could hear in the distance was the distinct hum of the waiting crowd. Emitting a sharp breath through dilated nostrils, Firefly shook her head back and forth, jiggling the reins as well as her mane. The leather bridle on her head clinked and rattled in unison.

    No later after her antic, a familiar, high-pitched giggle sounded from overhead. Firefly didn’t spook, though. Instead, she flicked one ear backward just as something small and soft came to rest on her neck.

    “Easy, Firefly,” said the small voice.

    That gentle whisper was nothing short of musical. No tension weighed it down whatsoever. Tearing her eyes away from the gate which stood no more than eight strides to her left, Firefly peered over her shoulder to meet the gaze of the little redheaded girl perched in the saddle on her back.

    Becky.

    The little girl smiled placidly as she slipped her free hand under Firefly’s long, chestnut mane, combing it with her fingers. “You’re just rearin’ to go, aren’t cha, girl?” she cooed.

    Unable to speak in words, Firefly responded by pretending to sniff Becky’s lavender-colored boot, when she was actually allowing her favorite rider to scratch one of her ears. Unlike other children, Becky always had a way of soothing the edginess in Firefly. She hardly ever--if not never--yelled and every movement she made was careful and quiet; she stroked Firefly’s withers affectionately, as if she were a newborn foal instead of a fully grown three-year-old. The moment she felt that light pat, Firefly’s skin stopped twitching and she fidgeted less frequently; though, she still played with the bit periodically, pushing on it with her tongue, just to give herself something to do. Becky’s grip remained firm on the reins, but kept them loose enough so that Firefly had her head.

    Firefly couldn’t recall a time when she had ever seen the little girl upset. Even now, as they watched a brown-haired teenager and her spunky palomino charge through the gate, Firefly noted how easily Becky sat so easily in on her back, her weight well centered, not even yanking the reins. She was so different from most children, not loud and obnoxious, but calm and kind. Everything about her was soft. Even the spurs on her boots were quite dull. Firefly couldn’t be more proud to carry a rider like her.

    Suddenly, there was a hollow clunk from somewhere beyond the fence, not loud but distinctive enough to catch Firefly’s attention. She pricked her ears. The faint groans coming from the direction of the stands told her all she needed to hear. She thought she felt Becky’s weight stiffen and tilted her head. Did that retched day still haunt the girl? Did the disappointment over her stupid blunder still hover over her shoulders?

    But when Firefly turned her head completely, she found the girl only pushing a back wayward strand of hair behind her ear. If Becky remembered any of last month’s show at all, she certainly did a terrific job at hiding it.

    At that moment, the buzz of the crowd had quieted and the brunette and palomino came flying back out of the gate at top speed, the brunette looking all sorts of peeved. Firefly’s suspicions were confirmed. She wondered if Becky had been that disappointed last time.

    But--

    “Let them clear this up,” said Becky softly so that only Firefly could hear. “And then it’ll be our turn.” Firefly exhaled slowly, the edges of her nostrils quivering with anticipation.

    A few seconds of silence followed. Firefly’s head lifted and her ears pricked. She shouldn’t have long to wait now. She knew this from the slight stirring in the saddle and the new pressure on the reins. Firefly snorted and scuffed at the ground again.

    A strange echoing voice broke the silence abruptly, but Firefly hardly heard a word it said. All her concentration focused on Becky, who sat up suddenly straighter; the relaxed content was gone from her fingertips. Sure enough, there was a gentle but insistent pressure in her sides and Firefly took that as her signal to move. The chestnut filly turned down the fence lane and began walking toward the gate. She would’ve run, of course, but Becky held her in check, keeping her horse at a tense walk. Only her weight pressing forward gave away the girl’s excitement. She was so small, thought Firefly, yet so resolved.

    They were almost at the gate now. All she needed to do was turn and then they would be off. Firefly’s breathing quickened and she pressed against the bit more urgently. So when Becky tugged the reins on the right hand side, the filly was more than happy to oblige. And when those spurs dug in, Firefly did not hold back. She shot forward.

    Down the long, narrow lane they went, flying at a dead gallop. The air roared and rushed around her face, throwing her long forelock back between her ears, but louder than the airstreams were the encouraging yells coming from over her head. Becky’s words sounded jumbled and incoherent in the rushing wind, but just hearing them was enough to get Firefly’s adrenaline pumping. Within seconds, the arena opened up and, in a quick flash, Firefly spotted the red-and-white barrel sitting several strides ahead of her. The large cylindrical object sat there peacefully on its little mound of dirt, right in her path, daring her to charge it.

    But Firefly was not the least bit intimidated. She drove for it, urged on more by Becky’s shouts rather than the spurs. Stride for stride, they raced toward the barrel. If she did this right--

    She was just in front of it now. Now was the time to make her move.

    Just as they were only one stride away, the spurs nudged her on the right side. Firefly obeyed by veering to the left of the barrel. Even as she passed it, slowing up ever so slightly, Firefly sensed the weight on her back changing, sitting back. As Firefly turned, Becky turned with her, twisting in the saddle.

    The turn was tight, but clear. Firefly made sure to stay clear of the shining plastic when she felt Becky’s inside heel. Wheeling around in a tight arc, she circled the barrel to face the center of the corral. Her eyes flew ahead of her to her next target. Directly across the arena from her sat the second barrel on its own little dirt mound, identical to the first.

    “Yeah! Atta girl!” shouted Becky.

    Firefly was already bolting ahead with no need for any more motivation. It was all Becky could do just to ride with her, moving with her, leaning far forward almost in jockey position. Behind them, a vivid trail of hoof prints coiled around the first barrel; already its paint seemed to shine a little less brightly as the horse and rider left it behind.

    Like the first one, the second barrel looked like it could magically spring to life and leap out in front of her. But again, Firefly did not let the intimidation go to her head. Victory over the first barrel filled the filly with confidence and she galloped still faster. She reached her goal quickly and, at Becky’s indication, slowed just ever so slightly before she turned, her front end digging low as she whipped around. Thundering forward in a blaze of reddish-brown, she bore down on the third and final barrel.

    Racing toward her final objective with breathtaking strides, Firefly lowered her head and narrowed her eyes. Yes, it was there when it had happened last week, where one lousy slipup had thrown her completely off guard. The closer she got, the more and more aware she became of that pesky rut in the earth she knew was lurking just behind that barrel. A split second image of said barrel tilting toward her flashed across her mind, followed by a familiar redhead lying facedown on the ground--

    “Let ‘em fly, Firefly!”

    Again, Becky’s shout broke her thoughts just in time for Firefly to whisk around past the barrel. As she came around, she only had half a second glimpse of the slight groove in the dirt inches in front of her hooves. But in one defiant leap, she was over the rut and racing back across the arena, Becky whooping and laughing the whole way.

    “Yes! Haha! At a girl!” Firefly had never heard Becky so happy before and that thrilled her even more.

    Now their only goal left lay back at the other end of the field, dead ahead. The gate, the very gate she had entered through only seconds ago, stood wide open, waiting to swallow up the oncoming charger. Stretching her neck as far as she could reach, Firefly gathered as much will and stamina she hadn’t already and ran still faster. Becky was leaning so far forward by now that her face practically buried itself in the filly’s billowing mane.

    The howling of the wind suddenly rose to its maximum volume, screaming in both their ears. Neither of them seemed even aware of the flashing red numbers on the billboard suspended high above the arena or the thick mass of people watching intently on both sides. The whole world around them had suddenly blurred together in a haze of sound and color.

    And they were no longer a horse and rider. They were a red comet streaking down the dead center of the arena, flying through the air in full and awesome flight. The watchers in the stands? They were all the other nameless stars watching from afar, hanging suspended in one place while Firefly and Becky continued to fly on and on, past their jealous gazes, on into the swirling vortex of triumph and promise, leaving the world of mistakes and defeat in the dust. The only sound that could be heard came from the roaring air. They both relished it. The coolness of the wind was yet another incentive for them to fly as fast as they pleased.

    Then, abruptly, the wind died down, too soon for Firefly’s liking, and another voice called out.
    "Whoa, girl!”

    Firefly blinked. Instantly, a flash of white burst into view, morphing into a whole white fence standing in front of her. Instinct kicked in before she could fully register and, hardly having time to slow up, she careened hard to the left.

    “Whoa, Firefly! Easy.” Becky called out, giving the reins a first real pull.

    But Firefly did not want to stop. She wanted to run forever. Thrilled in her own speed and achievement, she tried to speed up, tried lunge back into a gallop again; she could have run on forever.

    It was Becky’s voice more than anything that really brought the feisty filly to a halt. Firefly snorted, but reluctantly scooted her butt under herself and planted all fours into the dirt with an obstinate shake of her tail.

    But as much as she was willing to stand still this time, Firefly would not do so quietly. She snorted and pawed and pranced with excitement. Only Becky’s firm clasp on the reins prevented her from bolting at all. Elated, brown eyes raced across the grassy field. Wait, grassy field? The ground inside the arena was all dirt. Where the heck were they? But recognition cleared her head when Firefly became aware of the dozens of other horses and riders milling about her, as well as the gate on the other side of the field, still swung open to let the next four-legged participant in.

    They were back in the starting pen, Firefly understood. Her race was done. So why was she still jumpy with ecstasy?

    A soft, warm hand caressed her gently on the neck. Firefly turned her head, her ears pointed forward keenly, asking with her eyes the question she’d been wondering ever since she’d conquered the last barrel.

    Becky’s beaming face was all the answer she needed.

    “Well done, Firefly.” The little girl smiled. “Well done.”
    The End