The training grounds had been utterly transformed.
The open field where new recruits drilled their sword forms? Gone.
In its place stood a full horse racing track, complete with a neatly groomed dirt oval, white-painted fences, starting posts, and even little pennant flags snapping in the breeze.
It looked professional, like something that belonged in a human city's grand sporting arena, not a centuar village.
And in the stands or rather, on the grass surrounding the track at least forty centaurs had gathered.
Old and young, mothers and warriors, all clutching small slips of paper, all shouting at the top of their lungs.
"Go, Riley, GO!"
"You can do it, Sona! Don't let me down!"
"Hannah! Hannah! I put everything on you!"
In the center of the track, seven centaurs were lined up at the starting posts. Sigrid recognized Riley immediately—her red hair was unmistakable.
And standing on a raised platform at the finish line, holding a clapper in her hand, was—
"Mavis?!"
