The Filly loved the open air—there was a pasture bare of everything, where the horses could get a long run—good solid ground, and safe enough if you kept the Filly's head up and never let her eat anything that grew in the fields. Sometimes the azi that worked the horses when Florian was busy used her and the Mare's daughter to exercise the Mare instead of using the walker; but when the Filly was out with her or Florian on her back she really put on her manners, ears up, everything in her just waiting for the chance to run, which was what the Filly loved best.
It made uncle Denys nervous as hell when he got reports about her riding all-out.
Today she had Florian by her on Filly Two, both horses fretting at the bits and wanting to go. "Race you," she said, and aimed the Filly at the end of the field, to the kind of stop that had once sent her most of the way off, hanging on the Filly's neck—she had sworn she would kill Andy and Florian if they told; and she was very glad no one had had a camera around.
All the way there with both horses running nearly neck and neck; and it would have taken somebody on the ground to see who was first. Florian could try to be diplomatic. But the fillies had different ideas.
"Easier back," Florian said. The horses were breathing hard, and dancing around and feeling good. But he worried when they ran like that.
"Hell," she said. For a moment she was free as the wind and nothing could touch her.
But racing was not why they were out here, or down in AG, or why Catlin had special orders up in the House.
Not why Catlin was walking out of the barn now—a distant bit of black; with company.
"Come on," she said to Florian, and she let the Filly pick her pace, which was still a good clip, and with ears up and then back again as the Filly saw people down there too, and tried to figure it out in her own worried way.