The wind screamed past Namawa's ears as her hooves struck the track in rapid succession.
"Too slow, too slow, too slow!" she laughed, neon-blue hair whipping behind her as she surged forward. "Try harder!"
"To be fair," Persian replied calmly from her left, voice barely strained despite the pace, "you did false-start again."
"I did not!" Namawa shot back. "I was just… pre-accelerating!"
"That's called cheating," Anonym said flatly from just behind them, her breathing even, her stride precise. "Mama said no pre-accelerating."
Namawa clicked her tongue. "You tell Mama everything."
"I don't," Anonym replied. "You're just loud."
Persian hummed thoughtfully as she adjusted her pace, longer legs eating up the ground with deceptive ease. She was still a head taller than the others, still older—and it showed in the way she ran, relaxed and controlled, like she could keep this speed for hours.
"Namawa," Persian added, "your left stride is getting sloppy."
"It is not!"
"You're compensating because you started too fast."
Namawa made an indignant noise and immediately tried to speed up again—only to wobble slightly.
"—See?" Persian said gently.
Anonym took that moment to slip past them both, her black hair streaming behind her like a shadow pulled free from the ground.
Namawa's eyes widened. "HEY!"
She lunged forward, digging deep, but Anonym didn't look back.
On the sidelines, Black Caviar stood with her arms folded, eyes sharp, voice cutting cleanly through the rush of wind.
"Namawa, control your breathing. You're burning out!"
"Persian, don't coddle her—push your pace!"
"Anonym, good line. Hold it."
Then came three very different responses:
A breathless "I'm fine!"
A calm "Understood."
A clipped "Yes."
A little farther back, Lunar stood beside Saiya at the edge of the track.
Saiya leaned forward, hands gripping the fence, eyes shining. "Namawa's gonna trip again," she whispered confidently.
"She hasn't yet," Lunar replied softly.
"She will," Saiya said, nodding to herself. "She always does on the third curve."
Lunar kept on watching instead of answering.
Her eyes tracked them quietly, picking up small details without meaning to. Persian adjusted her stride with an ease that suggested long habit, never breaking her calm even as the pace shifted. Anonym, by contrast, wasted no movement at all—every step precise, deliberate, her form clean and efficient in a way that left no room for hesitation. And Namawa… Namawa ran like her body was constantly trying to outrun her thoughts, energy spilling forward faster than she could contain it, messy but earnest.
They were amazing in their own ways.
Black Caviar glanced back briefly, her sharp gaze softening when it landed on Lunar.
"Do you feel like running?" she asked, voice even, unpressured—an invitation, not a command.
The question caught Lunar off guard.
Her fingers curled lightly against the fence as she searched for an answer. For just a moment, the world tilted, and the solid track beneath her feet seemed to blur into something else entirely—black glass instead of dirt, silence instead of wind. An endless plane of obsidian stretched forward in her mind, empty and unresponsive, offering no rhythm to follow and no echo to answer her steps. And there was no familiar figure ahead of her, no steady presence to chase.
Her chest tightened, not sharply, but enough to make her pause.
"…I—" Lunar began, then stopped. The word can't hovered just out of reach, unspoken.
Beside her, Saiya shifted.
She looked up at Lunar, silver eyes bright with a careful kind of hope. "Can you run?" she asked softly. Then, after a beat, "Please?"
Lunar turned toward her, surprised.
"I've never seen you run before," Saiya continued, fingers tightening gently around Lunar's sleeve. "Not even once. You've been here a whole week."
Her voice wasn't demanding. Just honest.
Black Caviar's gaze flicked to her youngest, something protective passing through her expression—but she didn't interrupt.
Saiya…. couldn't run. Not really.
The girl's heart had never been strong enough for it. Long distances were out of the question, even short sprints monitored closely. Too much strain, and she'd be dizzy for hours. Sometimes longer. It was why she spent more time watching than doing.
But when it came to running, Saiya came alive in a way that surprised people.
Lunar had learned that quickly.
She remembered evenings curled on the couch, the television glowing softly as races played. Saiya would sit forward, eyes locked to the screen, following details Lunar didn't even think to notice— quietly calling out shifts in pace before they happened.
"She's saving it," Saiya had said once, pointing lightly at the screen.
A moment later, "Now. Now she'll move."
Then, with a small nod, "Outside lane. That's smarter."
Every time, Lunar had blinked in surprise when Saiya turned out to be right.
Saiya noticed things. She felt them, as if running lived somewhere deep inside her even if her body couldn't carry it. As if her heart, fragile as it was, still beat in time with the track.
"I just want to see," Saiya said now, almost shy. "Just once."
Lunar swallowed.
The obsidian plane still lingered at the edge of her thoughts—but so did the dirt track beneath her feet. The wind. The sound of life. The presence of people who weren't fading away.
She looked at Black Caviar again.
The mare didn't push. She only nodded once, slowly. "If not today, that's fine," she said. "But if you try… I'll be right here."
Lunar drew a careful breath. "…Just a little," she said quietly.
Saiya's face lit up. "Really?"
Lunar nodded, and Saiya didn't wait.
She stepped in and wrapped her arms around Lunar's middle, careful but wholehearted, her cheek pressing lightly against Lunar's own. The hug wasn't tight enough to hurt, but it was firm with feelings—pure relief and gratitude bundled into one warm gesture.
"Thank you," Saiya murmured, voice small but bright. "Really."
Lunar stiffened for half a second out of instinct—then slowly relaxed, one hand lifting to rest awkwardly against Saiya's back. She didn't quite know how to return the embrace, but she is willing to learn if it makes the girl happier.
Behind them, Black Caviar watched the exchange with a softened expression. She said nothing, only gave a small nod of approval, as if committing the moment to memory before turning her attention back to the track.
"Eyes forward," she called calmly.
The race was reaching its final stretch.
Persian and Anonym were neck and neck now, hooves striking the ground in sharp, controlled rhythm. Persian's stride was still long and efficient, her breathing steady, expression unreadable even under pressure.
"You're overextending," Persian said coolly between breaths, eyes forward.
"I know," Anonym replied just as evenly. "That's why I'm ending it."
She shifted—only slightly, barely noticeable to anyone not watching closely. Her stride shortened, her weight adjusted, and then she surged forward with sudden precision.
Persian reacted at once, pushing to match the change, but it was a fraction too late. Anonym slipped ahead along the inside line, blue eyes sharp, posture flawless as she drove through the final stretch with a clean, decisive burst.
Black Caviar's voice cut through the air. "Finish!"
Anonym crossed first.
Persian slowed a step later, exhaling as she straightened, then gave a sideways glance and a faint, resigned huff. "Figures."
Anonym came to a controlled stop, turning back with the smallest lift of her chin—not a smile, but unmistakable satisfaction.
From the sidelines, Saiya had been watching the whole thing with rapt focus, grip still lightly hooked into Lunar's sleeve.
"…Did you see that?" she whispered, eyes shining. "The timing. She tricked big sis Persian and committed fully when she wasn't expecting it."
Lunar nodded again, gaze still on the track. Namawa was still running—but only just.
Her earlier burst of energy had burned too fast. Her neon-blue hair clung messily to her face, breaths coming in sharp, uneven pants as her stride shortened. She pushed anyway, teeth clenched, stubborn to the end.
"Wait—wait for me—!" Namawa protested between gasps, wobbling slightly before slowing to a jog. "You two are—are so unfair…!"
Persian glanced back, already easing her pace, and shook her head with a tired smirk. "You went out too fast again."
"Worth it," Namawa wheezed, hands braced on her knees as she finally stopped. "I was winning for, like… five seconds."
Anonym, already cooled and composed, turned fully now. "Three," she corrected.
Namawa looked personally betrayed. "Why are you like this?"
Black Caviar let the moment breathe, then stepped forward, her presence drawing them in without her needing to raise her voice.
"That was a good run," she said, pride clear but measured. Her gaze settled first on Anonym. "Excellent finish. You read the race well and trusted your timing."
Anonym straightened slightly. "Thank you, Mama."
Her eyes shifted next to Persian. "Your control is improving. You didn't panic when you were challenged. A little too calm, but still noteworthy."
Persian inclined her head. "I'll take that."
Finally, Black Caviar looked to Namawa, who was still catching her breath. "And you," she added gently, "Everyone loves enthusiasm. Next time, pace it."
Namawa grinned weakly. "Next time I'll win."
Lunar and Saiya watched from the side as Black Caviar's attention briefly flicked back toward them again—inviting, silently saying you're part of this too.
"Come," she said. Saiya didn't need to be told twice. She gave Lunar's sleeve a light tug, and together they crossed the short stretch of track, the warmth of the ground still lingering beneath their feet.
Black Caviar rested a hand briefly on Lunar's shoulder. "We'll take a short break," she said to the others, then added, calm and decisive, "For now, Lunar will run." The words landed softly.
Namawa's head snapped up. "She will?!" Her fatigue vanished in an instant, eyes sparkling. "Then I'll run with her! Come on, it'll be fun—"
"This isn't a race," Black Caviar continued. "And it isn't about speed. Lunar will run alone. You'll watch."
Namawa opened her mouth to argue, then paused when she caught the look on Black Caviar's face—not strict, but protective. Thoughtful. She clicked her tongue and folded her arms. "Fine. But I'm cheering really loudly."
Persian hummed quietly. "That makes sense," she said, gaze drifting to Lunar with something like understanding. "First runs shouldn't be pressured."
Anonym said nothing. Her blue eyes sharpened slightly. For just a moment, something slipped—her long black tail gave a small, involuntary flick behind her, quick and contained, as if betraying a spark of anticipation she hadn't meant to show.
Saiya squeezed Lunar's hand, small fingers warm against hers. "I'll watch really closely," she said earnestly. "Show me how you run!"
Lunar nodded, a little stiff, her heart thudding louder now that the idea had shape. Running. Really running.
The last time she had run, her mother had been there.
The thought surfaced quietly, but it carried weight. Every memory Lunar had of running was bound to her mother—silver hair catching the light as she moved just ahead, a familiar pace that never felt unreachable, a voice that taught her how to run without ever raising it. For Lunar, running had never been about speed. It had been about staying together.
Even when they raced, her mother had always glanced back. Always waiting.
Lunar's fingers curled at her side. Now there would be no one setting the rhythm for her. No steady presence just within reach. The track stretched ahead, wide and empty, and for the first time she was meant to cross it on her own.
The realization stirred something uneasy in her chest. Not fear exactly. Not grief, either. More like uncertainty—like stepping forward without knowing whether the ground would answer her steps the way it used to.
She remembered mornings in the fields, her mother laughing softly when Lunar tripped, telling her it was fine, that the ground would learn of her feet just as she would learn it. You don't have to rush, she'd said. The earth will wait for you.
Lunar swallowed, eyes fixed on the track.
Black Caviar's voice reached her then, calm and unintrusive. "There's no rush," she said, as if she knew. "Start when you're ready."
Lunar nodded once and took a step forward. Then another. The dirt shifted softly beneath her shoes as she walked to the edge of the track, each step carried weight.
She breathed in.
Then out.
Her mother wasn't here—but the lessons were. The sounds, the beliefs.
"Easy now, don't force your strides." her mother used to say. "Feel the ground before you ask it to carry you." And later, softer, "You don't run to chase anything little moon. You run for yourself."
She stopped at the mark, feet planted now, grounded by the warmth in her heart and the space given to her. The weight in her chest settled into something she could carry.
This time, when she would run, it would be alone.