It’s simply magical: just me and my wonderful Master, riding together as though there were no-one else in the world. The ground is firm with the cold and Oliver is trying to take the bit. Head tossing, his gait dancing between a walk and a trot, everything about him says Go...
“He needs to run,” says my Master, then eyes Charlie, also performing, jarring under me. “They both do. They’ll settle after they’ve burned off some energy.”
“Race you to the end of the field?”
He raises a finger. “Only to the fence. No jumping. That gate is too high...”
But his final words are lost to the wind as I kick heels at Charlie, and she moves from trot to canter to gallop in fewer hoofbeats than I can count.
Only for seconds do I have the lead. Oliver is larger and heavier, more powerful, than Charlie
