Slow-Poke Duckling's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

By midday the news was everywhere. The big race was tomorrow. A bright banner had been hung between two posts at the start of the course, the word STA RT shouting in yellow. Slow-Poke stood beneath it. The secret sat heavy in his chest. Tomorrow was the last chance to use it. He waddled past the barn to the practice stretch. The boot marks were still there in the dirt, two clean prints and then a smeared third, over and over down the lane. Freddy's flaw, written plain in the ground. Slow-Poke crouched and touched the smeared one. A pebble would do it. One small sound at the start. Freddy would stumble. Slow-Poke would win. Then Freddy came around the corner, honking softly to himself, counting. "One boot, two boot, one boot, two boot." He saw Slow-Poke and stopped. His face went bright. "Hi hi hi. You came. You came to see me practice. Tomorrow, big day, big day." He paused. His voice slowed. "I am glad it is you. I am glad." Then he was off again, boots flashing, the third step catching just the same. Slow-Poke watched the smeared print fill with Freddy's shadow. He picked up a pebble. He held it. He set it down. He walked home with empty wings and a louder grudge, because he had chosen, and choosing fair meant tomorrow he might lose in front of everyone. The weapon stayed in the dirt. The race was still coming.