"Reckon you're right about that." Doc reaches one hand up to stroke over the gelding's neck, and then nods. "Suppose I should listen, then."

It isn't long before they reach a long, wide stretch of flat grass, the place they raced before. It seems bigger, now, but maybe that's just Milliways playing tricks. The ground is soft, from the rain and cold weather soaking into the earth, and when Doc chirrups sharply to command him to go, clods of mud and grass fly up from his hooves as he breaks from their pace and into a heated gallop.

He knows that Nova won't be far behind - especially if she's riding him.