Cornelius darted through the marketplace with his burgundy sack strapped to his saddle, weaving past vendors while struggling to keep his upfront balance. “Can’t believe it!” he panted. “I wake up an hour early, and I’m still late!” His galloping slowly transitioning into trots, Cornelius turned his head towards the massive clock mounted above the town square. “Oh good. If I keep running, I’ll make it three minutes earlier then last time.” A small grin came upon his face and he continued to gallop to Bushel Street.
Cornelius was, not to say, an organized colt. He could barely manage to get up by mid-day. Though he always thought of himself as a refined pony with the ability to set his mind to anything he pleases, in reality, he was nothing more than a son of a poor farmer with his life gradually shifting to resign in his father’s shadow. On the other hand, becoming the apprentice of the most liberated mare in Ttrottingham showed that he had a chance to pave his own future. That is, if, he could show up without upsetting his superior.
