Prologue
Mark leaned against the white fence, drinking in the picturesque landscape before him. Emerald Dreams Stables was by far the most glorious at dusk, the stars splintering through the lavender sky, the endless jade pastures silvered in the growing moonlight. To his left stood the giant L shape of the racing barn, its indoor lanterns illuminating the round stable windows. The wood-planked stem ran for about ¾ of a kilometer away from him (West, he supposed) till it cornered sharply into the shorter part of the letter, a quarter of, that met the cobbled driveway. Perhaps a km across stood a straight barn of nearly equal length, the broodmare barn, stunted by the driveway's courtyard. The rest was devoted to lush paddocks and an arena, aka, the horses' playground. Bright, almost pearly fences divided the meadows into five sections; clustered by the racing barn were the mare, stallion, and weanling pastures. Next came the groundwork arena, for non-aerial drills, and then a small circular paddock known as the Solitary Pen among the other jockeys. It looked almost magical, but then of course- he smiled- it was.
"EDS was probably the most famous pegasus racing farm in the wizarding world," Dad had told him. "It produced champions year after year. If you were going to the races, you bet on an EDS horse for surefire money. Glory was their middle name, Victory their first. That was before the Dark Lord's time, though, before Tyq (the former manager) was convicted a Death Eater. After that, everything crashed. Funds dropped, grooms quit, and the jockey's were getting tired of running for the "coffee stain on the PRC's (Pegasus Racing Community) doily." (Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet). The only thing that saved EDS was Mr. James Noroh, an Australian wizard who took pity on the place. Ever since, things have gone up a bit. They aren't winning, but hey, you can't have everything, right?"
"No, Pop,' Mark murmured. "You can't." The renegade sigh of emotion flipped his oak colored hair out of his grey eyes. Memories…
"Mark!"
Startled, he turned to see a sweaty blonde boy leading a foaming abraxan mare. Both were covered in dirt and the mare's wings trailed the ground in weariness. The young man carried her saddle on one arm, his other hand occupied with the reins. He shook his head, giggling. Mark grinned.
"What?"
The blonde, still laughing to himself, made a "follow me" gesture and walked towards the racing barn. Intrigued, Mark followed.
♣
A/N: Okay, I know it sucksdodging flying vegetables aimed at head. It's more of kid's story than anything I've ever written, but it's fun to write, so…yeah. Reviews, suggestions por favor.
-Mustang