A row of glass bangles on her arm stood out cheerfully in a burst of color against the cloudy, grey sky, at odds with the deep sadness I could feel coming from her. She looked tired — defeated, somehow. Her long, glossy black hair, normally brushed neatly, was now loose and uncontrolled, messily framing her tear-stained face. She patted me softly and burst into tears. Her shoulders trembled as she sobbed into my neck, sniffing and hugging me. Putting my head close to hers, I nudged her gently with my nose. What is it? Why are you so sad? I heard the gate to the field open once more and looked up to see Bob walking stiffly toward us with an uncharacteristic look of distress on his face, his yellow baseball cap in his hands. He stopped as he reached us and raised a leathery hand to his head in an unconscious gesture, smoothing his straw colored hair. Looking down at his well-worn cowboy boots, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a red bandana and wiped his forehead with it before clearing his throat.
What do You think about Raja, Story Of A Racehorse?
