“Have you an entry in this race, too?” she asked Alessan as the runners charged away from the start. “No. I got either spindly sprinters or massive carters from my crosses. But one of my holders has a strong contestant-blue with red hatching are the colors. Not that you can distinguish them.” The field had already begun to stretch out when suddenly an animal in the middle of the pack fell, tripping two others. Moreta could never watch a bad tangle without apprehension. She was holding her breath as she silently urged each animal to its feet. Two rose, one groggily shaking its head, the second running on down the field, riderless. The third made no effort to rise. Moreta picked up her skirts and began to run toward the fallen runner. “It shouldn’t’ve fallen.” Orlith! “Close-packed field. Tripped.” Alessan kept pace with her, caught up in her concern. “Not that close, and it wasn’t a trip fall.” She saved her breath for running even when she had seen that the two riders were examining the fallen beast and that handlers were running up from the starting line.
