Don't You Dare

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.”

Anne glared at me, shoulders taut, hissing through her teeth. 

I looked down at my riding boots, dusty from walking the course early that morning. The sun beat down mercilessly, making horses and spectators sweat alike. Ladies in long skirts and broad brimmed hats handed the riders flowers to tuck in their mount’s mane for good luck, blushing all the while at the handsome young men that flashed their teeth in a smile. The lady in front of me had no such flowers, and I had no such smile to give her, but I did have the truth.

“Will you sacrifice your family to make yourself feel worthy of a title?” I asked.

Anne’s already flushed face turned beet red as her rage grew. She closed the already short distance between us, hand-me-down boots stomping through the short, dead grass. 

“I will take no charity, especially from you,” she growled. “I will make my own name and I will win that prize myself, without your help.” She spat that last word like it was a bitter blackberry picked too early. “And if you hand me this win, I will never forgive you as long as I live.”

As if realizing how close she was, she stepped back quickly, anger subsiding. She looked me up and down, at the carefully hidden stitches in the lining of my jacket where it had been torn and patched back together dozens of times. 

“You need it as much as I do. Don’t give it up just because you pity me.” With that, she turned and made her way to her pony tied to a tree on the outskirts of the festivities.

God, she was stubborn as a mule. 

I walked back to where my father was holding our pride and joy, an aging stallion who had carried my father to victory numerous times before he had fallen in a race, rendering him unable to ride. We had done everything we could to give the old stallion, Pierrot, the best care possible, but nothing could stop the gray beginning to creep along his muzzle. His racing days were nearly over, and along with it, our only source of income. Unless I won, then I would have enough money to buy another, younger horse and the generations long cycle would continue, the men of the family riding the delicate balance to keep the family alive.

The call was given for riders up, and my father slowly, painfully bent over to offer his cupped hands to lift me into the saddle. I placed my boot into his grasp, but still used all my strength to clamber into the saddle without it. Pierrot’s mane had been woven into braids by my little sisters, dandelions interspersed amongst that plaits. It looked a little ridiculous compared to the roses and carnations that the other horses sported, but the bay looked just fine in yellow anyways.

I found Anne just as she was getting into the saddle herself, climbing up without any father or trainer to help her. She didn’t need help, and there was no way she would have accepted it anyways. Her delicate palomino pranced beneath her, excited for what she knew was to come. The pony was several hands shorter than most of the other horses present at the race, but never once had I seen her unable to leap over the jump in front of her. A single bluebell was tied into the mare’s white forelock.

I smiled. Even the stubborn mule was superstitious.

When Anne saw me approaching, I could almost see the harsh words forming on her lips. She didn’t say anything though, and only steered her mare besides me and Pierrot as we walked into the lineup. 

The air was electric as the horses and riders lined up before the chalk border that had been painted on the dusty earth. Fine young horses pranced, tossing their flower laden manes. Their riders let them, creating a show of the energy beneath that they could barely contain. I smiled to myself as I looked down at Pierrot as he stood completely still save for his ears that he had pinned forward, looking out onto the course. Let them tire themselves out. We were saving everything for the race.

“On your marks!” called the announcer with a great big megaphone. Pierrot lifted his head.

“Get set!” His muscles tensed as he shifted his weight to his hind legs. I leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of his mane.

“Go!” The horses took off like a clap of lightning, thunder beneath their hooves.

The less experienced riders charged ahead, horses flying over the first set of jumps. The more seasoned ones held back, conserving their strength for further in the race when they would need it most. Behind even them, was Pierrot and the little palomino. 

She pulled hard against the reins in Anne’s fists, but Anne didn’t budge as she expertly guided her over the first jump, a low stone wall covered in moss. The mare and Pierrot took it effortlessly. I felt the ache of pride in my chest as I glanced over to Anne, but my attention was quickly pulled back to the water filled ditch ahead of us.

The first of the horses was just reaching it, digging their hooves into the soft ground to make the jump. I had walked the course earlier, testing the footing at every turn and obstacle. The young riders had not.

One of the horses slipped in the mud, colliding with the red stallion beside him and dragging them both into the ditch. Shouts rang out as the galloping riders behind them tried to stop or redirect their charging mounts. Anne’s eyes widened in fear as she beheld the wreck unfolding in front of us.

“Follow me!” I shouted, and veered off to the side, slipping into the woods and veering between trees. It was close enough to the trail that it was still on course, but we wouldn’t have to contend with the torn ground where the other riders had gone. I spared another second to glance behind me. The little mare had no trouble weaving between the oaks and expertly running across the uneven footing. Uneven, but solid.

I looked ahead in time to make the jump over the ditch. Pierrot took it as if it were a hop over a puddle. The calamity behind us grew dim as we galloped away from the fray, rejoining those who had made it through. 

The pack of horses stayed together as we made our way through the course, most of the weak and inexperienced riders having been thinned out if not by the ditch, but by allowing their mounts to tire so quickly. I recognized a few of the faces from previous races, and I knew that they wouldn’t be giving up without a fight. 

The final jump was just ahead, a dense hedge. Tree branches had grown above the pathway, creating a tricky obstacle that couldn’t be overjumped, or else the rider would be dragged off by the limbs overhead. I focused, checking Pierrot’s speed, making sure that he wouldn’t get too excited with the end of the race so close. I leaned low over his neck, his mane tickling my nose as he soared over the hedge. There was a shout and then cursing behind us as a few more riders fell from their mounts, caught by the branches. I turned around quickly, searching for the golden mare and her rider.

They were right on our heels.

Anne’s copper hair had pulled loose of its braid, and it now whipped across her face as she stared forward, brow knotted with concentration. Her little mare was breathing hard, but her eyes were bright and she did not falter from her position behind Pierrot. 

We weren’t alone, though. Three other horses were just behind her, rider’s teeth gritted as they contemplated how to overcome the riders ahead of them.

The finish line was nearly in sight. The only obstacle left was a long, steep hill leading up to the banner that meant victory. The crowd began to shout as they saw the horses below, barreling towards the bottom of the hill. 

I lifted the reins, preparing to slow Pierrot, just a bit, but a hiss in my ear stopped me.

“Don’t you dare.”

She was right beside me, furious as I had ever seen her. 

“Don’t you dare,” she said again, and made her move.

Anne nearly let go of the reins and the palomino mare surged forward, charging up the hill. I couldn’t help but laugh as I leaned down to whisper to Pierrot, giving him the go ahead.

The stallion was old. Nothing could stop the graying in his mane, and nothing could stop the ticking of time that counted down his days as a racer, but he wasn’t done. Not yet.

Pierrot dug his hooves into the ground and with a tremendous push he closed the short distance that Anne had created between us. 

All of the fury was gone from Anne’s face and it had instead been replaced by pure joy. Her eyes sparkled and her frown turned into a feral grin at the two horses racing neck and neck. I couldn’t watch long, though, because Pierrot just kept gaining speed. 

The stallion soared up the hill, every muscle straining as he pushed past the palomino and began widening the distance between them. Half a length. One length. Two lengths. Nothing could stop us as we roared towards the finish line. 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of black and white dart out of the woods and onto the course. I realized too late what it was, and barking had already begun to fill the air as the sheepdog charged towards Pierrot. The creature on his turf.

Pierrot, in all of his age and wisdom, was hardly afraid of anything. Even so, the dogs that had chased him when he was young had forever left scars upon not only his legs but his mind as well.

The stallion slammed on the brakes and reared, preparing to defend himself from the incoming dog. It was all I could do to not fly out of the saddle and over his head. The whites of his eyes flashed as he stretched high up into the air, forelegs lashing out blindly. On even ground we would have been ok, but the steep hill was not angled in our favor. I realized this as we began tipping backwards, and with a sinking feeling, knew that there was nothing I could do as the proud stallion hit the ground. 

He managed to not land on top of me, but the hard impact still rattled my skull. I tasted blood and realized that I had bitten my tongue. Nothing felt broken, though, and Pierrot was already hauling himself to his feet, hurriedly looking for where the dog had gone.

The race was lost, though.

Anne stared at me, a worried look on her face, as her mare pounded up the hill. I saw her pick up on the reins and begin to veer towards the side of the trail where I had fallen.

Suddenly, I knew how she felt. Red hot anger flushed through my body as I watched her giving up the race and coming to my aid. I stumbled to my feet, looked her right in the eye, and whispered.

“Don’t you dare.”

Anne faltered. She glanced back up the hill, to the finish line so close. Down the hill, to the riders quickly closing in on the slowing palomino. She took a split second to look back at me one last time, flashing a grin as sure as a promise, and took off back up the hill.

I took a deep breath and shouted with everything I had in me.

“Give ‘em hell!”

And hell she gave.

The palomino became a streak of gold in the wind, forgetting her exhaustion as she saw the banner closing in. 20 yards. 10. The crowd growing louder and louder as the little mare put every ounce of strength into cresting that hill.

And then she was across it, Anne’s fist in the air, celebrating their victory. I smiled to myself, grabbing a hold of Pierrot’s reins and commencing the hike up the remainder of the hill. The ache was beginning to creep into my bones as the adrenaline wore off from the race, and I knew that any attempt to try and climb back on the stallion would be met in failure with my cramped muscles almost refusing to carry my own weight.

I smiled for Anne’s victory, but I also smiled because I knew something she didn’t. Even before the dog had come out of the woods, before we had fallen, Pierrot had begun to falter. The stallion had used up everything in the tank, but that spitfire palomino and her rider still had something left to give. There was nobody that could have beat them on that hill, nobody at all.

After the crowds had dissipated and riders, trainers, and owners had taken their horses back to their stables, I remained. I brushed down every inch of Pierrot, unbraiding his mane and combing out his tail. Even as the sun set and the stars began to come out, I didn’t stop until our ritual was complete and he was sparkling clean once more. 

I heard her approaching before I saw her. She was leading the little mare on a loose rein, a massive bouquet of red roses clasped under one arm and a bulging velvet purse under the other.

“Congratulations,” I told her, watching her walk towards me in the dim lighting. She only smiled and nodded before reaching into the purse. I grabbed her wrist before she could pull it out.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, staring her down. “Or I will never forgive you as long as I live.”

Anne glared at me, recognizing her own words on my lips, but she nodded. I let go of her wrist and she withdrew her hand from the purse, empty. 

Silence surrounded us until she finally set the purse on the ground and tugged a single rose from the bouquet. She strode towards me but didn’t stop, instead directing her attention to Pierrot who was watching her with a curious gaze. She tucked the bloom into his bridle, just beside his ear. Pierrot, seeming to appreciate the gift, stuck his nose into her shoulder, wiggling his lip playfully. A single breathy laugh escaped Anne before she gently pushed him away.

“He at least deserves a prize,” she said, looking back at me one more time before returning to her mare. She grabbed the purse and climbed back into the saddle before riding away in the growing moonlight.

I couldn’t have agreed more.