Fourth Best
Fourth best
“Go!”
Daring Hooves, poised like a sprinter on the very rim of the starting block, reacted instantly. She launched herself from the block, her tiny wings pumping like pistons, and hurtled past the other foals.
She drew away from the pack immediately. Keeping pace with her were the usual challengers — the green filly with a streaked yellow mane, and the pale blue colt. Daring Hooves narrowed her golden eyes and pumped her wings harder. She was going to beat them, just like she always did. She knew she could do it.
Winning had never come easy to her. But Daring Hooves was a determined pony, and she knew how to work until she got what she wanted.
They took the bend bunched tightly together, each pair of little wings thrumming, each foal desperately straining to outdistance the others. In the stands, their parents howled.
Daring Hooves practiced every day. Her father, though he didn’t quite understand her obsession, had built Daring Hooves her own race track out of clouds behind their house, and she trained there every night after school. She was getting stronger all the time, she could just feel it, and one of these days, when she stood on that first place podium, she just knew that her cutie mark would come. A racing cutie mark — a medal, or a ribbon, or even a number ‘one’ — something that would show her nemeses once and for all that they could not hold a candle to her inferno.
The thought of that cutie mark gave fire to Daring Hooves’ faltering wings, and all at once, she soared past the colt and filly, who were still neck and neck. The red finishing line was coming up, and Daring Hooves gave her all to one final burst of speed and tore past the post .
“First place goes to Daring Hooves!”
Daring Hooves felt her heart swell as she stood up on that heady height, looking down on everypony she had bested, for all the world like Princess Celestia on her throne. No cutie mark today, but it would come. Soon, it would come. And for now, all she needed was this feeling.
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Daring Hooves grunted with effort, straining to catch up with Lightning Dust. The green filly had overtaken her on the first lap and she just couldn’t seem to catch up. Something had been off about the bend — it had been closer than normal — or had it been further away? — and Daring Hooves had wildly misjudged the distance and collided with a cloud.
She had scrambled out and thrown herself back into the race in time to stay ahead of the main pack, but she just couldn’t catch Lightning Dust.
The green blur that was Lightning was streaking across the finish line, and Daring Hooves panted in close behind her.
“First place is Lightning Dust! Second place is Daring Hooves!”
Her father cheered as loudly as ever, but as Daring Hooves looked down at him from the podium, his face swam in and out of focus. Everything seemed a little strange. The only thing that was clear was Lightning Dust’s mocking laughter, coming from above her, from the lofty perch that Daring Hooves had somehow believed would always be her own.
As she clambered down from the podium, she tripped on something — had the step really been so close? It had seemed much further. She landed heavily on the cloud at the race coach’s feet.
“Hey, are you alright, Daring Hooves?” he asked, kneeling to help her up. “Your eyes look a little funny.”
Daring Hooves blinked hard. The world swam in and out of sight. “I’m fine,” she said uncertainly, and then again. “I’m fine.” She was Daring Hooves. Daring Hooves was a determined pony, and she knew how to work until she got what she wanted. With a little more training, she’d be back on form.
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Daring Hooves pumped her wings as hard as she had ever done, but every time she thought she was close to overtaking the pale blue colt with the midnight-blue mane, he was somehow much further away than she had imagined. It was confusing, and it made her head hurt.
Alone on her own race track, the one her father had but for her with his own hooves, she did as well as ever. She knew the track, she knew the bends, she knew she could do it. But here, with the noise, and the sun beating down, and the other foals always hot on her heels, it was somehow different. And she had fallen behind again.
“Lightning Dust! Soarin! Daring Hooves!”
When she tripped climbing down from her podium, nearly at the bottom of the stack, Lightning Dust laughed in her face. “Look at your eyes, Daring Hooves! You look so weird now — more like — more like Derpy Hooves!”
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Derpy Hooves wove in and out of the slalom course, every wingbeat sure and steady. Her father maintained the cloud structure of her racecourse for her every night, so it was always the same. She could have done it blindfolded. Even if the clouds swam before her eyes, even if she saw double, she could still win this race.
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“And Daring Hooves in fourth! Good job, kid!”
“You mean Derpy Hooves, coach!”
Derpy Hooves hung her head a little lower, but she let the words wash over her. She was still dreaming of a cutie mark — a little golden medal, or a rush of wind. It would come to her, she was sure. She would work and work for it until she earned it. She was determined.
She gazed up past the podiums, past Lightening Dust at its apex and the bright-maned blue foal beside her, at the blue sky that looked the same no matter what sort of eyes you looked at it from. Somepony’s baby brother was blowing bubbles from the stands, and they drifted across her vision like little blurry rainbows. They were wobbly and unsure, but they were still flying. Still beautiful.
Derpy Hooves’ mismatched eyes drifted shut, and her blank flank flared into light.