At first, Julian tries to ignore the whispers, both online and off. He throws himself into training, working with Thunder every morning and evening, rain or shine. He perfects the routine they'll perform at the festival, running through every maneuver until it feels almost automatic.
But something's changed.
Maybe it's the way Thunder seems jittery around strangers. Or how the barn fills with unfamiliar faces every afternoon: journalists, sponsors, even kids from the next county hoping for a selfie. Everyone wants a piece of their story. Everyone expects them to be perfect.
Julian feels it in his chest, a pressure that makes it hard to breathe. His mom tries to help, cancelling unnecessary visits, shielding him from the worst of the online comments. Still, it's impossible to escape the eyes watching, waiting, judging.
At dinner, his dad asks if he's nervous. Julian shrugs, trying to look casual. "I'm fine, Dad," he says, but his fork trembles in his hand.
Later, alone in his room, he scrolls through his messages, the words blurring together: "We believe in you. Don't let those haters win. Prove them wrong."
But nestled between the support are the doubts: "Bet the horse does all the work. Let's see what happens when the pressure's on. He's just milking the story for fame."
Julian turns off his phone, tossing it on the bed. Maybe I am. Maybe they're right.
Thunder picks up on Julian's mood. The stallion, usually calm during their private rides, grows restless when crowds gather. His ears flick constantly, tail swishing, eyes wide and wary.
During one practice, a group of spectators lines the fence, cameras flashing. Thunder starts to dance sideways, refusing to settle. Julian tries to soothe him, but his own nerves seep into his voice. "It's okay, boy. Come on, focus."
But Thunder prances away, snorting, and Julian feels the sting of embarrassment as a trainer watching from the sidelines shakes her head.
After practice, Julian wipes the sweat from his forehead, wheeling himself into the tack room. He tries to steady his breathing, but his mind races. Thunder's not ready. I'm not ready. What if we choke on the big day?