Orangemoon’s white daylight draws streaks across the blistered orange sands of the Dragon’s Throat spitting rays left and right – all over, casting long shadows that speak tales of midday. A gentle breeze sings into the frayed strands of Validno’s long, sun-bleached mane; it tickles the ends of his tail and rolls between the slope of his back. The Throat welcomes him with just delight. He welcomes it back with a small smile. The Moon called all unicorns from far and wide to test not only violent instinct, but thoughtful skill. Validino’s tall, buff frame should take to this activity well. His simple life in the Foothills game him a small lack in strength, but speed was still evident in his Spanish legs.

The shielding deserts gave way to the tides. They ripped and jerked their way up to the beach, angry from the swirling current, but triumphant and subtle once able to lay out, glittering against the white rays. The air was pungent and memorable. The soldier’s teal eyes soak up the familiar flamboyance. He sees a thin line of many others, waiting at the Moon’s appeal. He wonders how long they’ve been waiting for the beautiful goddess to fall from the skies and declare the race’s beginning. He silently takes his place in the line, glancing once at his brittle, square hooves before looking ahead into the chilly waters.

He wished for once that it was Tallsun as his legs were claimed by the hungry ocean. His pace was slow, smart, well versed to how races went. The conservation of energy was vital. If one was to tire amidst the gorging waves, he knew how quickly they’d swallow you up. The salty waters lapped at his dark cherry skin, licking along the warmer, dry areas of his coat. Quickly, he was stained by the churning sea. Stinging droplets found the holes of his nose as his legs worked, unsure, against the violently rolling ocean. He was moving, that’s for sure. His teal eyes wildly snapped back and forth, cutting over the waves in search for other unicorns who might be already taking the lead.

Validino catches sight of a few he knows, and they are struggling against the withered currents. Foam is forming around their neckline, not from sweat, but from the thrashing of their flimsy legs and the panic of their wide eyes against the toil. Dino feels the sudden urge to panic as they do, perhaps from hardly instinct, but he swallows hard and grunts against the surface breeze.

’Keep going.’