what is in your heart ;

Michael Ross & Dark Charmer

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The cold snap's spell had finally been broken over the lands, and with it brought a new wave of warmth that to some, was quite lovely. To Michael, less so. His light sweatshirt had been replaced with a loose t-shirt, and his normally cheery but quiet mood was replaced with something much more morbid. With the slightest bit of relief, Michael's mount Dark Charmer was handling the heat much more positively. He walked next to Michael, his limber legs dancing with his easy excitement. It was the first bit of "normal" attitude that Michael had seen from the dark bay colt; then again, Prince was far from normal, which he found to be wonderful.

The pair were silently walking toward the dirt track, Michael's hands gently closed on the supple leather reins, lips forming a lilting whistle. It was interesting to watch Prince's reaction; he'd twitch his fine ears, and eye the male rider from the corner of his dark eyes, but seemingly appeared to ignore him. Knowing otherwise, Michael let a small smile form on his lips and halted his steps, slinging the reins over Prince's head. It took just a few skilled bounces on his feet before Michael bounded into the tiny exercising saddle, and with a deep breath on Michael's part, they were off.

"Logan said we needed to press the distance today... so a mile and a... quarter? Sound good, bud?"

It was sure; Michael was more vocal with horses than he was around people. His rustic voice wandered aloud, mostly to himself. The pair easily clattered onto the dirt race track, both taking an intelligent gaze around the property. Having become used to the way Michael warmed the colt up, Prince sprang into a bouncy trot, his fine head dropping and stretching into the contact. Per Logan's instructions, the workout was all about remaining consistent.during the entire run. For a two year old like Prince, it seemed to be a good practice.

Within minutes, Michael sat deeply into the light racing saddle and cued Prince for a canter. The colt obliged, simply tossing his head and throwing his haunches to the outside rail, but none the less, Michael was forgiving and set him forward anyhow. The bay colt's canter was an effortless sweep, one that Michael could simply sit to and doze off. Not that he wold, of course. His fingers clutched the reins loosely, allowing the green colt to canter to his own pace; despite the damp heat of the early spring morning, the self-created breeze from Prince's canter brought waves of cool air rushing into Michael. The male loved it. Being up on a horse. And though Michael wouldn't refuse an offer to ride any horse, he and Prince just clicked.

The pair had covered nearly two furlongs at a strong canter when Michael tipped forward in the saddle, easing his balance over the colt's withers. Prince, well-seasoned in his schools took the signs as a "go," and go he did. The canter transformed into a four-beated gallop, strands of the colt's inky black mane whipping back into Michael's face. His icy blue eyes strategically drew out the safest possible turn for the bay colt to take around the first curve in the track. Prince fell away from the rail a bit, something that would certainly hurt his chances in a race; Michael made a mental note to work on that in another workout. With green horses though, you had to have a little give and take.

"Come on, get off my leg."

Michael's voice was quiet, but had a soft growl to it, encouraging the horse to depend on his own strength to balance himself, not Michael's. Now straightening from the turn with seven furlongs left, Michael pressed his hands into the colt's warm neck, asking for a stronger, more affirmative step. Prince's increase in respiration confirmed his efforts, hooves flinging forward and swallowing up the moist dirt surface. Careful not to let the charging bay over-exert himself and come up empty in the final few strides (the downfall of oh so many horses) Michael straightened slightly in the saddle, using his lean chest to act as an anchor for the reins. Prince pulled on the contact for a few strides, as it were physically tough for him to shift his balance back onto his haunches, but soon settled into a smooth gallop.

"Four furlongs left, pal, save it.."

Michael could feel his arms burn slightly at the exertion of supporting Prince. The dark bay youngster was hot, and a single stroke down his neck revealed a rather unpleasant dampness. Michael allowed a small grimace marr his facial features, but still remained in tuned to the colt, whispering soft words of encouragement. Their pace was still quick, though a touch labored. Three furlongs left, and Prince's respiration had settled into a steady beat, though he could feel Michael's position shift into a more prowling one. Like a lion, he always found himself repeating to himself. The mental image always seemed to add a bit of pride and determination to Michael's mind, which in turn, left his mount with the same sort of spirits. In Prince's case, it did.

Having rounded the second and final turn, Michael noted the final two furlongs... but all in the same breath, he noticed that Prince had indeed latched onto that lion-esque personality, his rib cage expanding into Michael's tight legs. For as quiet as the colt was, he really came alive, and at moments like this? Michael was riding a champion. He was sure of it. The pair thundered down the stretch, Prince's hoofbeats pounding into the dirt surface with a terrible amount of force. Michael was breathless, merely knotting his hands into the colt's mane and sticking along for the ride, his heart bursting with pride for the young two year old. He was giving all his heart and then some.

Unfortunately, their headlong assault finished more quickly than Michael anticipated. They fled by their furlong pole, having finished their mile and a quarter workout. Michael's legs felt woozy from the sheer effort of their workout, but none the less, he stood in his stirrups, sweat-bathed tee-shirt sending a chill down his spine. Prince was soaking wet now, small flecks of creamy foam dotting his flanks - but his eyes were bright and full of sparkling life, as were Michael's icy blue ones. Together, panting from fatigue, the pair exited the track, seeking a long, relaxing walk to cool out.

A champion he was. Or would be, anyhow.