hold on hope ;

[az]

Michael Ross & Dark Charmer

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The lean male was fairly certain that there wasn't a sound more comforting than the rhythmic clap of shod hooves on a gravel road. The sound, to Michael Ross, was the very center point for relaxation and serenity. The case was no different today. Michael sat easily aboard a dark bay equine, the pair making a wordless trek to the finely tilled dirt track. Michael's steady hands kindly eased toward Prince's finely pricked ears, then back. It wasn't as though the mute colt needed any encouragement; his spindle-like legs stepped calmly toward the track, showing no sort of hesitation. Ironically, Dark Charmer and Michael had been at Fannon Hill Farms for a short time; both were the outcasts, both at the farm and in life in general. Match made in heaven, eh?

The dark bay Michael rode walked steadily, his mature temper surprising for a two year old. The only amount of general glee that was shown was when the pair strode onto the dirt track, the clattering hoof beats now sounding out as a muffled thud. Prince's stature shifted slightly, his neck and fine head lifting and arching a small degree. It likely wasn't noticeable, but Michael could feel it. The colt just came alive out on the track, and it was enough to make Michael's heart sore with pride. The male rider carefully calculated the workout they were about to endure in his mind, personally thankful that he wasn't being flanked by Logan or Riley.

"Quarter mile working gallop. Just you and me, Prince.. Up, man."

Michael's voice was soft and quiet, and he reinforced his words with the smallest squeeze of his legs. Prince pushed forward into a bright trot, his leggy strides eating up the sifted surface. Michael, in a more relaxed position than what would be seen at a racetrack, posted to his colt's steps with ease, offering varying cues to correct his speed or direction. Though the moderately sized colt was green and inexperienced, Michael felt comfortable enough to loosen the reins and allow the horse to stretch his neck. Once reaching the first curve in the track, Michael let his muscular legs grow firm around the colt's large ribcage, hands allowing an inch or two of give. A clear go signal.

And go they did. Prince charged ahead, breaking into a stretching canter. With eighth mile poles dotted along the inside rail of the dirt track, it was easy for Michael to see precisely where he'd plan his run. Always methodical in his ways, the lanky male counted off Prince's easy strides until they passed an eighth pole. Prince, tuned in well to Michael's cue, could feel the male lean forward into a strong three-point, and lengthened his own strides, hoof beats drilling into the dirt surface. The colt was breathing decently, neck barely wet to the touch. It was to be expected, with the humid spring days that were before them.

"Up. Get on,"

Michael cooed to his dark bay charger, hands gripping to inky black tendrils of the colt's mane. Prince's easy canter was pressed into a gallop, his respiration increasing. The speed of their assault was reserved, but the momentum still managed to catch Michael's breath and rip it from him. This was the life for Michael. It was as though he had a touch of paradise with every ride. With every horse he rode, he got to live. It was so wonderful.

Less wonderful was the fact that their easy gallop would be ending in around one-hundred strides. The quarter mile distance was eaten up with Prince's hammering leaps, Michael simply clinging to the horse's back and half-halting to shift the colt's balance. Michael was right, of course: the hundred strides had fled from him, and before he could realize what was happening, the pair had galloped strongly by their personal marker. It was a slow run, of course, but Michael was beyond pleased with his colt, who showed a bit of spark by tugging on the loose ring snaffle in his mouth.

"I know, champ. Next time we'll go harder."

Standing in the stirrups, Michael stiffened his upper body, using it to ease Prince's run. His hands gently closed off the bit of slack that were in the reins; Prince, although still relatively fresh, fell back into a rounded canter, his huffing breaths sounding so abrupt in the spring silence. Before too long, the pair fell into a silent walk around the property, both breathing in warm air.