Triple Crown

Pendleton was relatively certain that something was wrong. Mere months ago, he had been rather comfortably munching on some cactus leaves, enjoying a nice sunny day, when suddenly he was in a strange, damp place with a small manling on his back. Then little creature had the gall to hit him with a stick. Infuriated, he took off running, trying to shake this little burr.

As he flew around a corner, he noticed the other creatures running beside him, each with their own tiny manling. They seemed to be somewhat related to the camelkin, though they were certainly distant cousins. He spared them little further thought as he sped past them, still bothered by the stick smacking his side. After almost two minutes of trying to dislodge the irritant, Pendleton found himself crossing a white line and the manling suddenly stopped hitting him. He pulled to a dignified stop, glad to be done with that strangeness.

Finally able to take a look around, Pendleton noticed the he was in a giant bowl, surrounded by hordes of the creatures that called themselves human. He spat nervously, startling someone who was approaching cautiously with a armload of sweet smelling flowers. All of the man creatures seemed nervous, disoriented. In a strangely accented version of one of the rarer manling tongues, Pendleton heard "Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears that Lyapunov wins...." There was a smattering of confused applause. Pendleton ate one of the flowers from the sheet being draped around him.

The next few weeks were a confusing mess of manling arguments, sharp pricks from pointy things, and running in circles while being called Lyapunov. Before the second circle, Pendleton's tiny manling came into his stall, slapped him on the side, and said "Congratulations, kid, you're a Thoroughbred." It was all very strange, but at least by the time he ran the second circle, the manlings were cheering in earnest as he crossed the finished line. The yellow flowers didn't taste nearly as good as the red ones had.

Pendleton, who by then thought of himself as Pendleton Lyapunov, had grown accustomed to life in the strange oasis by the time of the running in the third circle. He had convinced his manling that the stick was unnecessary, and the food he got here was better than anything he had in the desert. The manling had moved him to a nicer stall, and let him wander whenever he wanted. The small creature had even prevented several taller manfolk from stabbing him with more sharp things. He wasn't sure why these were different from the ones before, but he was grateful not to suffer the sting.

As before, the third running pitted him against other cousins of the camelkin. He recognized a few of them from previous circles, and spat welcomingly at their feet. This caused all sorts of jumping and whinnying. He doubted he would ever understand his distant relatives. All of this angst was forgotten by the time that the circling started, and once again, he easily outpaced the others, even though this was a greater distance than before. The audience erupted in cheers, his creature wore a wide grin, and the white flowers were delicious.

Pendleton was absolutely certain that something was wrong, but he had long forgotten what he thought would be right. All he knew was that he loved the constant oasis, the tasty food, and the cheers of the manlings.