Vielle was a big, burly, strongly-built horse, as tough in her daily life as she was in a race. She lacked all the feminine grace of her sex, just as she lacked the charms, and she was the tom-boy of the stable - admired, but not loved.

Her rough nature may have hidden her feminine traits from others, but her bullishness wasn’t quite enough to fool herself. Deep down she was as devoted to Geoff, her jockey, as were all the other fillies in her stable; and if she could only show her affection through rough displays of playfulness, then it made that affection no less strong. Geoff was aware of it, and respected the filly, even if she didn’t endear herself to him as a pet.

In sharp contrast, Simmons, in the box alongside Vielle, was as gentle as she was rough. A mere two-year-old who had never yet raced, he was the stable pet and much-loved by all. Vielle would not lower herself into taking Polo mints from the lips of her jockey, but she very much resented Simmons doing so. Geoff knew horses too well to attribute them with human emotions, but, as he watched Vielle glaring crossly at him from the back of her box, he would have sworn that she was jealous.

Horses are not the most intelligent of beasts, but Vielle had been gifted with more than the usual fair share of brains. Her powers, however, were given over to wiliness and cunning, for which jealousy is not the safest of inspirations. But bright though she may have been for her breed, she was still a simple animal, with simple powers of revenge. She may not have plotted for weeks, but revenge, when it came, was every bit as effective; Vielle drawing first blood out on the racecourse.

It was her first race of the season and, as she bowled along up towards the finish line, she had the race at her mercy. Geoff gave her the signal to quicken up and find that extra burst of speed that would leave her opponents for dead. But when he asked her to quicken, he got no response. The filly laid back her ears to let him know of her annoyance and ignored him totally. With sudden urgency he all-but begged her to speed up, but she steadfastly refused to quicken. As she continued to bowl along to the winning post, two of her opponents galloped away from her, to take the prize that should have been hers.

If a horse were capable of smirking, then Vielle would have done so, as she was led back in to her less-than-welcoming owner and trainer; both well aware that she should have been first, not third. Geoff jumped down, unable to explain the lack of response. For his silence he received a sharp rebuke from the disgruntled owner, which didn’t go unnoticed by Vielle. She couldn’t understand the words, but she understood the feelings. She heard the anger in her owner’s voice and she saw the discomfort in Geoff’s face. He looked at her bright eyes and pricked ears; and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was laughing at him.

At home, he did his best to win her over, but she was at her disagreeable worst. A second race came and went the way of the first; Vielle finishing second to an inferior horse. Both owner and trainer raised their voices in anger at the unfortunate jockey, Vielle taking it all in with obvious satisfaction. She understood the tones of the voices around her; but she had no way of knowing that Geoff had been forced to admit he could no longer ride the filly and had agreed to stand down in favour of another jockey.

The best prize money was available only to the best horses; the better the horse Geoff rode, the higher his percentage of prize money would be. He didn’t have enough top-class horses at his disposal to be able to afford the loss of Vielle. For two years she had helped to support his family. It would be a long time before a little pet like Simmons could become the bread-winner.

Vielle, unconcerned, lined up for her third race. She enjoyed the thrill of winning; the applause of the spectators; the fuss made of her in the winners’ enclosure. But this new trick of hers was much more enjoyable, it appealed to her wicked sense of fun. As she stalked around the parade ring, she was too busy looking forward to shunning her partner to notice that he was nowhere in sight. The bell rang, as a signal for the jockeys to mount up, and a stranger was hoisted onto her back. Vielle paid little attention. She could still have her fun, with or without Geoff.

The final furlong of the race fast approached and her jockey asked her to make a little more effort. With wicked delight she stubbornly stuck to her guns and ignored him. He raised his whip and fetched her a smack on the rump. The light racing whip could barely be felt, but the loud snap of the two pieces of leather slapping together against her skin came as a shock to the filly, every bit as effective as a sharp sting. But still she refused to give up her game. She laid back her ears and swished her tail defiantly. Again the whip struck her, filling her with wild indignation. This wasn't supposed to be happening. This wasn't part of the joke.

Resentment of the whip only slowed her pace and another horse was already ahead of her and on its way to victory as she passed the post. Suddenly all the fun had evaporated. She walked dejectedly back to the winners' enclosure, her unhappiness plain to all those who knew her. The jockey told her trainer that he didn't want to ride her in the Eclipse Stakes; but even if she could have understood, she wouldn't have been listening. She was too wrapped up in self-pity.

She was still in the same mood of dispondency as she plodded around the parade ring on the afternoon of the Eclipse Stakes. She was not the usual spirited Vielle. Even at her very best, she was way out of her depth; the horses walking around with her were the cream of Europe.

By chance, as she was led by the jockeys' entrance, the riders themselves began to file past. Her lad made her stand still, and she didn't even toss her head crossly or stamp her feet with impatience. She watched the brightly-dressed men pass by her without interest. Then she spotted Geoff, wearing her own familiar colours. Her head shot up, her ears pricked, a spark shone in her eyes. Pawing the ground with sudden excitement she let out a shrill whinny. All heads turned her way, including Geoff’s grinning face.

As Geoff walked across to join her owner and trainer, Vielle almost wrenched off her poor lad's arm in an attempt to follow him. She pulled and fought in an effort to chase after her jockey; tossing her head in defiance, her hooves crashing and ringing on the path. Unable to win the battle, she began calling out repeatedly and attracted not only the attention of Geoff and her entourage, but the amusement of every onlooker.

At last the bell rang and there was no holding the filly. She dragged her lad across to Geoff and almost pushed him over with the force of her over-zealous affection. The crowd clapped heartily at the floor-show. They knew well enough that if a horse could show this much enthusiasm and devotion, then so too could she show how big her heart was out on the racecourse.

The trainer put Geoff up in the saddle, all smiles now, and the owner patted him on the back. Vielle went out onto the racecourse, her head held high, and this time she gave Geoff her all. But this is racing, a real world where there are no fairy-tale endings. One horse was too good for her, already stretching his neck over the finishing line as Vielle battled gamely for second place. She may have lost to a better horse on the day, but there were many better horses behind her, horses easily her superior on any other day but this.

As they were led in to a rousing welcome, Geoff knew that he wouldn't lose Vielle again.