The Line of Victory.
The buzz runs through my veins, powering every muscle into motion. Turf flies from the ground as my hooves strike the ground in a constant shower of thuds. I flatten my ears and speed up slightly as the harsh whip cracks down on my rump. I hear the loudspeaker calling over the heavy drum of hoof beats, "And Moonachre Swirl is coming up behind Desert Blues, they're neck and neck now, so close to the finish!" I see the giant bay doing just as the commentator said, his neck dripping with sweat from the force he was exerting to try and overtake me. But I hold strong, pound on. The roar of the crowd in my flat down ears. A jump comes and I fly over, the wind lifting me. I am clear, I feel a sensation of being weightless, that I am no longer carrying the weight of the jockey on my back. I feel free and continue to run, still just over a pace in front of the others, but speeding up.
A blinding white flash dazzles me and here I am across the line. The line of victory.
