By Brandy Sauce out of Spanish Lass, Anglo-Arab, the blood of his famous progenitors pulsing through his veins.
He prances, pawing the air as if daring it to obstruct him.
Head lowered, mane tossing on arched neck, tail flaunted jauntily Arab-wise, like a plume, free flowing.
Thunderously he prances, twists and turns, pirouetting, disdaining the laws of gravity.
The clean earthy smell of the new-washed land intoxicating his senses, and pride of speed and movement inciting him to greater display.
A sudden halt – legs braced, head flung high, ears pricked, snorting.
The timeless echo of proud stallions of ages past.
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