Newly shod horsehoes clink on the shadowed stones leading into the light

The dull roar of the crowd grows in volume as the jockey exits the sanctury within

It is all on the line

Waiting.

The gates lurch shut beind the glowig crimson hide of the mount beneath him

Strenth, power eminate from him

Time stands still.

The dirt track streches endlessly into the distant sunrise

The noise falls away

Silence

The only sound to break the barrier Turcotte conjures is Secretariat's beating heart

The immense might of the four legged beast beneath him

He bellows, unsure whether it was him or the creature

Waiting

Time stands still

Until the horn blares.