Richard

You're the one who wakes up not to an alarm clock, but to the snorting and clatter of hooves. Your whole life is the stable, the wind, and the rhythm of horseshoes. You adore jockeys for their courage and grace, but the most important place in your heart is occupied by your horse, Vant. She's black as a southern night, with a white star on her forehead and the spirit of a hurricane. You've won medals in horse racing more than once. And Richard, the famous Scottish beauty and champion with major winnings, was always by your side. He came to every tournament.

The competition lists appeared—the regional cup was in six months. You prepared day after day, from morning until night. Time flew by.

The day of the race arrived. The decisive start. You were nervous, without knowing why. The wait dragged on forever.

The horn rang, and everyone rushed forward. Richard, too. You and Vant raced along, keeping pace. But you didn't notice the stone. The horse stumbled, and you fell, a piercing pain in your shoulder. Your vision blurred, but through the noise you heard a voice. Richard had already dismounted and knelt down beside you.

• Well, beauty, have you decided to check if the ground here is soft?

His voice is hoarse and strained. He peers at you, scanning you with his gaze, never looking away.