[Folwren]

The horses stood in their allotted places. They fidgeted nervously, knowing from the tense eagerness in their riders’ legs that something was afoot - some pawed the ground eagerly or stamped with their back hoof, others tossed their heads, protesting at the restraining rein. Only Crabannan’s horse stood completely still. His ear swivelled briefly towards the other horses one moment and then went back to its lazy, backwards position.

Lithor raised the horn to his lips. At the first blast, all the horses became still. Their heads came up and their eyes were fixed on him. The second sounding, and the riders seemed to settle deeper into their saddles, heels came slightly closer to the horses’ sides, and hands about the reins clenched tighter.

The third blast blew and as one body, all the horses sprang forward into action. All of them, that is, except Crabbanan’s. Horse stood still, completely unconcerned as the others flew on ahead. Crabbanan cursed under his breath. He lifted his legs (and his elbows) and shoved them hard against Horse’s ribs, but the animal only rocked forward a little bit. Again and again, the unfortunate rider tried to get Horse to move, but his encouraging kicks did not seem to convince the horse of anything. Finally, after what seemed like minutes to Crabannan but what was probably only a few seconds, Horse lifted his head. His ears perked forward and his eyes swept the racing field. Then, with no form of warning, besides a sudden snort, he took off - and nearly left Crabannan behind.

The hooves of the contesting horses pounded the earth. The horses picked up on their riders’ will to win, and each animal put all its effort and strength into it, for such it is that a beast of that kind was made to serve. They all ran well, others better than the rest. Æthel with Léof atop her seemed to fly. Flíthaf came close behind them, Eodwine bent low over his neck. The others came after, Erbrand, Degas, Javan, and Aethelstan - the last two being so close together that it was difficult to tell who was coming first. Behind them, Horse was thundering up quickly, the ground passing under his feet as though he were wind itself.

They swept around the red flag, turning at dangerous speeds, and headed back up the last stretch. The viewers began cheering wildly, for Flíthaf and Æthel were neck and neck. Their nostril’s flared and their hooves sent up sparks. Then Léof bent forwards more ever so slightly, his hands relaxed on the reins to Æthel’s bit, and the little mare responded with a last spurt of speed.

She finished the race barely a head’s length ahead of the warhorse.

Léof and Eodwine exchanged brief glances as they reined their horses in and other racers began to pour in between them, finishing the race mere half seconds after them.

Horse came in third to last.