A/N: Hiiii guys! Thanks for clicking on this ;D Before we start, I'd just like to say a huge thank you to anyone who has read and reviewed my story! I know that 4 reviews might not be a lot for some other authors but me? I appreciate it hugely! Keep them coming guys! I love hearing your feedback you awesome people 3 If you review, I'll give you a shoutout on my Author's Note (:


As the night intensifies, so does the rate at which my tears fall down my cheeks. At first, it was a steady flow, but now the amount of liquid that is trickling down my pale face is almost as cascading as a waterfall. Stop it! I hiss to myself, before it gets so cold that your tears freeze on your cheeks!

I choose the appropriate moment to stop crying, because as I do, my dad peers around the door to the stable. He surveys me critically: I realise then that I must look a sorry sight. He does not normally see me curled up in a heap in the corner of the stable. Nor does he hear me cry.

Lucky thing I stopped before he could see me do such a thing. He's brought me up not to show much emotion in my face, which is what he does also. I show emotion through body language instead.

At least, I used to. I think my mother is softening me up.

Hastily, I unfurl my legs and rise to grab one of the grooming brushes. I know that he won't think I've been grooming for this long, but it's worth a try.

"Good day at work, dad?" I ask casually. He shakes his head, still deep in thought.

"Why were you curled up on the floor…?" He begins, yet I ignore him; though he simply repeats the question. "I'll say that again, Eleanor."

Uh-oh. He never calls me Eleanor; usually Ellie, or Nora. I'm in trouble.

"Why were you curled up on the floor?"

My father strides closer, but cautiously.

"I dropped my grooming brush!" I say, a little too defensively. All the while he raises an eyebrow.

"Do you really think I'd believe that?" he asks me, patronisingly, "You've got… Tear stains… On your cheeks." As he says that I wince, and it is then he knows that I've been lying to him.

"If you'd just give me a moment to explain-"

"You've got all the time in the world."

"Dad, I've been training all day. But when I got back, mum surprised me… Upset me, to say the least."

"I'm still waiting for the climax of the story," he mutters, fiddling with Dove's mane affectionately.

Before I break down, I blurt out, "She won't let me ride in the races!"

His face contorts into a look of utter despair. "We always said we'd do this together!" he moans, "It was me and you, in the races. We'd tell you that when you were young, and you really had your heart set on it, even when you were about three years old…"

"I know," I sob uncontrollably, not caring about his presence any longer, "I can't bear it. All the time I spent on the beach seems wasted now…"

My father wears a calculating look on his face, and I hope that he's working something out, perhaps a plan that will help me succeed in my mission to ride in the races. I can tell he wants me to, anyway.

"You really want this, don't you?"

I nod desperately.

"I can't bear to see you like this…" His lip quivers. And all the while, I keep a hopeful look in my eye.

"Get inside," he orders, and I have to obey, "I'll try and sort something out with your mother.