Runner races part 9: And winner is!

Writers: AL, Paula
Date Posted: 6th June 2008

Characters: Corowal, Aivorn, Corofel, Corolia
Description: The final winner of the Races is declared after a very tight race and Corowal gives the prizes.
Location: Emerald Falls Hold
Date: month 9, day 7 of Turn 4

Corofel

The race continued after the break. Corowal returned to his seat in the stands. He felt he had been running around whole day. He hadn't had a change to talk with his brother longer than a passing greeting. The Lord holder spotted the difference between the mornings starts and the afternoon starts. After the accident, the jockeys were more careful, keeping tighter control over their mounts. They didn't make as good times as during the morning races.

~*~
"Okay, this is the final start, now will the winner decided!" Corowal told his children when the runners took their places at the start. "Who are rooting for?" Corofel asked.
"For Emerald Champion, of course," Corowal replied and cheered with the rest of the spectators.

~*~

The jockey eased his runner into the line, the beast snorting and stamping his foot in impatience. Tension was up, but it was a good kind of tension. It was an anticipation, a thrill that ran up and down his spine, his runner quivering beneath him, ready, willing, wanting to sprint forward as soon as the mark was made.

The Starter moved up within site of him and all the other riders. He leaned forward, though he made sure not to give Shooting Star any indication that it was time to start. Not yet. The jockey held out his crop, leaving it inches from the runner's hide. Even a single brush would send the runner flying in a frenzy across the starting line. A handkerchief, bright red in high was held high above the starter's head, then dropped. As son as it hit the ground, his crop whisked across his runner's hindquarters, and they were off!

Hooves pounded into the ground, marking a deep bohm bohm bohm in rhythm.
Wind whipped past his eyes, the end of the leather strap to his cap tickling his neck. The world became a blur save for the track that stretched then curved in front of him and for the flash of brown, black, white, tan, and various other hues of those colours clustered around him.
The jockey remained in the middle. He had to buy his time, wait it out.
Too soon and Shooting Star would run out of steam before he was able to make it to the finish line.

He allowed the runner a little more head, the mahogany creature easing forward past an ebony runner. Once passed, the jockey eased him over to the right, getting around another runner, but making sure not to let Star get too bold or too eager. Not yet. No, not yet.

The jockey's heart pounded in time with the hooves that ate at the earth.
Dimly, the sound of the crowd cheering mingled with the sound of his breathing and of the sharp intakes of the animal beneath him. Powerful strides pressed them forward, and there were only three more runners to worry about.

They came around the curves without stumble, without fault, edging up to wind up parallel with a palomino, then slowly, steadily moving past.
Another curve came, then another, pounding forward, he was even with the second, then they were both even with the lead. The end was in sight, there was the marker. The three leads had entered into the head of the stretch, and this was where the jockey flicked his crop once more, giving the runner his head and urging him onward with a deep, gutter "hyah!".
Shooting Star fairly launched forward, his powerful strides lengthening, his breath coming faster, his withers and neck, a snort in defiance clashing against the wind. The roar from the crowd rose to an unintelligible rumble as the three runners came neck in neck, each one straining, grasping for the prize that lay at the finish line. They crossed over, blinded for a moment with dizziness, then slowing down to a canter, then a trot, then a walk. Who had one? It had been close, so very close. It was doubtful that there was a dead tie-such a thing was rare, but that would be up to the judges to decide. The jockey leaned over the runner's shoulders and patted the neck that was damp with sweat.

"Good boy." Came the whisper, ears flicking back as the creature's rider spoke to him and caressed him. "Good boy."

~*~
And then it was over. The race had been so even between Shooting Star and Emerald Champion that Corowal couldn't say which one had crossed the finish line first. He had to wait for Aivorn to declare the winner.

"The winner is Emerald Champion, with a head's length!" Aivorn declared with a loud voice. He was beaming with happiness and grinning like an idiot. His head felt almost dizzy.

"Be ready for the prize ceremony, Dawtrey, and congratulations. That was sharding fine race," he congratulated the journeyman.

~*~
The Gather square had been set ready for the prize ceremony. Corowal approached the winner with his daughter Corolia. She was going to hand the jockey the traditional laurel wreath. Emerald Champion was covered with a blanket on Emerald Hold's colours.
"Congratulations, young man. You bring your hold a honour," The Lord Holder congratulated Dawtrey and shook his hand. He gestured Corolia to give the wreath. He had to bend over deep so the little girl could put it around his neck. She performed perfectly, drilled to the job by Felyna.
Then Corowal handed him the main prize: bag full of marks. He held a little speech that no one listened. "Now, let's have a feast," Corowal declared.

Last updated on the June 7th 2008

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Runner races part 9: And winner is!