A Sea's Race

by Arya Stark

On Your Mark

You think you plan is brilliant. One hoof step short of genius, a stroke of pure excellency. You are absolutely, positively –

“Insane!” Locke hisses behind you as the two of you hurry down the road, hooves muffled against the grass below you. “’Yer bloody insane, ye ‘ear me?”

“I hear you,” you respond, but your pelt is prickling with excitement, your ears twitching back and forth as you gaze around at the other ponies.

“Of all the half-baked, ill thought, stupid, senseless, thoughtless –“

“Locke?” you interrupt.

“What?”

Glancing back at your emerald companion, you simply state; “Shut up,” and turn to carry on.

Besides, you think to yourself as you take a sharp left down the road, to Hayridge Road, Locke wouldn’t be tagging along if he truly thought it was a bad idea. After all, it was Locke who passively suggested they lose the school saddles and done in something a bit more mature, if they truly wanted to come off as ‘distant cousins’ of Seabiscuit. “And those cousins ‘ould only appear their best ‘t visit their infamous relative, now wouldn’t they?” So the two of you had donned themselves in Locke’s best less-than-formal dress clothes, since you yourself hardly owned such attire.

But despite Locke’s former planning, he appeared to be getting cold hooves, which you wouldn’t stand for. “It’s just for a glance,” you assure him, “Maybe a quick hello. Who knows, he might not even be awake, or conscious.”

“Provided we even get t’ go past the front desk,” Locke snorts, clearly attempting to ground you. But your thoughts are already in the clouds, imagining what you will say to Seabiscuit if he is awake, the questions you will ask. What brand of racing horse shoes worked the best for him? What was his theory when cutting hard lefts? What sort of exercises did he do? And most of all….what was it like to have a jockey?

As you lose yourself in thought of how you and Seabiscuit would become best of friends, you once again loose sense of your bearings, so when Locke stops abruptly ahead of you, causing you to bump into his flank, you snort in surprise, shaking your mane to snap back to reality. Peering around Locke (he was a good half-head taller than you) you look up to the sign atop the large swinging doors of the hospital.

‘Mercy Hooves Hospital’

The building didn’t appear to have any large significance over the others around it, though it did brag to have a wonderful garden in the back for the residence. Across the garden lays the elderly homes for ponies no longer able to take care of themselves, making the two facilities connected. Yellow brick leading to the building fell under your hooves as you start forward, absently noting how calm everything looked despite the fact that Seabiscuit – the Seabiscuit! - was inside, most likely suffering, waiting for a pony just like yourself to lighten his day.

“Come on, ‘Biscuit wannabe,” Locke grumbles, pushing you forward with his muzzle. That is when you discover your hooves have seemed to get heavy as stones yourself, and you realize your heart has begun to pound in nerves that didn’t seem to be there a second ago. “After you, cousin.”

Swallowing hard, you lift an azure hoof and step forward, closer to the hospital, closer to him, and then taking a deep breath, imagine the beeping countdown.
5….
4….
3…
2…
BANG!

With that, the racing gates open, and you plunge out of them into the racing field, towards the building, towards the hero that you know needs you, Locke following close behind.