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He circled the round pen again, his right eye rested steadily on the man standing in its center. His neck ached slightly because the man had tied the rein onto the saddle which made it arch to the right.
Although he didn’t like it. He tolerated it. There was a sense of mutual respect between him and the man whose arm seemed to magically extend, as it whipped through the air, even though the man never moved from the center of the circle, his long arm gently flicked at his heels, or along his rump, and drove him on.
Soon he hear the signal. The man never spoke, when he heard “whoa” he knew this meant stop, and he willingly obeyed.
His nostrils flared. His sides heaved in and out, while his breathing was heavy. The tension in his neck was now more noticeable, but nonetheless, his eyes remained locked on the man, as he waited for the next signal.
The man then stepped towards his right shoulder as he slowly approached him to loosen the rein which bound his head and neck in place: a welcomed relief.
The man then moved towards his rear, and as if an invisible pressure suddenly surged between them, he gladly moved forward, and began to trot in the opposite direction around, and around he went. Both horse and man, never losing sight of each other.