He's a great horse.
He's calmer.
Smarter.
Better trained.
Nicer.
He's better then Rose.
You'll love him.

Lies.

You're not a great horse. You could be a great horse. You are not one now.

You are calmer. I have to give you that. You don't get scared at the drop of a hat, you don't shiver when the wind blows.

But you are not smarter. Rose never ran, ears flat back, bucking for the sky, when a horse was within a five mile radius. You hate the safe things. How is that smart?

Better trained? Huh. You only listened for that first week. I'm sure, once, you could do everything, but not now. Three months, three months it took to train you to do something you learned when you were taught to be ridden. I couldn't free lunge you without you knocking your silly head against a rail because you insisted on bending against the circle. You refuse to let me stand on your right, you refuse to let me make you stop, go, turn.

When I remember them telling me that you're nicer I have to laugh. Because you're not. You're arrogant. Everyone tells you that you are pretty. Yes, you are. But it's all gone to your head. I can't stand next to you. I can't walk away from you. I can't lead you to the grass. You shove your head against mine, you buck, you rear.

And better than Rose? You couldn't be. Never. She had her issues, but not like you.

I regret you. I won't regret this: Goodbye.