Thunder was drinking his water when Peter entered his stall. Thunder nuzzled him. Peter wasn't his jockey, his younger brother Tucker was. But Peter was his owner, and usually cared for him, rarely anyone else. Peter pat Thunder's large shoulder while taking off a brush and brushing his onyx-black coat. He stroked each side about twenty times, before getting out the hoof pick and lightly removing any dirt and straw from his feathery hooves. Tucker entered the stall. He said something to Peter and nodded. Thunder tossed his head, and Peter left. Tucker brushed him a little more, then refilled his oats. Thunder nickered a thanks and ate.
The oats were half-gone by the time Tucker returned with a black saddle with stirrups and bridle. He cooed Thunder while applying them. Thunder knew they were about to train, so he took some sips of water and Tucker led him out of the stall. He walked down the hall, silver horseshoes click-clacking against the hard wood floor.
Eventually they arrived at the Show-Jumping practice arena. Seven different hurdles were set up, all at different heights. Thunder entered the arena. He wasn't Thunder. He was Prehistory.
Prehistory dashed towards the hurdle, Tucker light on his back, steering him and motioning for him to jump. He leapt the hurdle, easily clearing it. He made the next hurdle, and cleaing the one as well. After a while, he made it towards the last-and hardest- hurdle. He dashed towards it. Tucker motioned for him to jump, and they leapt into the air. Prehistory didn't know wheather he cleared it. His feathered hooves touched the ground. He made it.