Once upon a time, nestled in a small village surrounded by rolling green hills, lived a young boy named Thunder. Thunder loved nothing more than horses. He spent his days at the local stables, mucking stalls, grooming ponies, and dreaming of the day he'd ride in the Grand Derby. He devoured books about famous racehorses, their thunderous hooves, and their glorious victories. One sweltering summer afternoon, while helping the stable owner, old Mr. Abernathy, Thunder noticed a beautiful, intricately carved wooden horseshoe hanging above the stable door. It shimmered with an unusual, almost ethereal glow. "What's that, Mr. Abernathy?" Thunder asked, his eyes wide. Mr. Abernathy, a man of few words, chuckled. "That, my boy, is a bit of old magic. They say it grants the purest wish of a horse lover." Thunder, being a practical boy, scoffed, but a tiny spark of hope ignited within him. Later that night, as a summer storm raged outside, Thunder crept back to the stables. He reached for the horseshoe, and as his fingers brushed against the smooth wood, a bolt of lightning illuminated the stable, and a strange tingling sensation ran through him. He awoke the next morning feeling different. Lighter, yet stronger. When he tried to stand, his legs felt long and slender. He looked down and saw sleek, powerful equine legs. Panic, then wonder, filled him. He galloped clumsily to a trough of water, and there, instead of his familiar face, was the noble head of a horse, with intelligent, kind eyes. His mane was a rich chestnut, and a white blaze adorned his forehead. He was no longer Thunder, the boy, but Thundera, a magnificent filly. Mr. Abernathy, finding Thundera in the stable, seemed to understand immediately. He recognized the spark of Thunder's spirit in her eyes. He began to train her, gently guiding her through paces and jumps. Thundera, with Thunder's lifelong passion and understanding of horses, learned at an astonishing pace. She had an innate feel for the track, a powerful stride, and a competitive spirit that burned bright. Word of the miraculous filly spread like wildfire. Thundera entered her first race, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and exhilaration. As the gate burst open, she surged forward, her hooves drumming a powerful rhythm on the earth. She wasn't just running; she was flying, a blur of chestnut and white. The wind whipped past her ears, and the roar of the crowd was music to her, now equine, ears. She remembered every race she had ever read about, every strategy, every surge of power. Race after race, Thundera dominated. She became a legend, known for her incredible speed and her unwavering determination. She never forgot her past as Thunder, the boy who loved horses more than anything. In every victory, she carried the dream of that young boy, fulfilling his deepest, purest wish in a way he could have never imagined. She was a testament to the magic that lies in the hearts of those who truly love.

now yeah, her last race, maybe. But maybe she could have some use in training the new horses, you. But you were a boy, would you be able to know, become a horse and live on her legacy