All four feet placed firmly on the ground, he waits for the next command. Hind cross. His hind leg snakes under his belly, settling on the other side. Now pause. The other hind returns to its correct place. Hind cross. The same maneuver is repeated; again and again, until he has turned ninety degrees.
The dance continues. Step by slender step. He follows the lead of his partner, the cues running clearly through his mind. He anticipates, but knows his timing. Every movement is perfect; placed with skill and precision. His silky tail brushes the ground as he moves and wheels about. Fast and yet slow. Swift in the movements. Slow in the delivery. Timing.
His partner is signaling the end of their dance, the cues are not mistaken. He bends his glorious body to match. Swaying with the rhythm. Left. He side-steps. Right. Back where he was. Right again. The motion is fluid. Left again. He glides into place. Back. He collects himself for the finale.
His rises up on his hinds, striking with his fores and nodding his head in approval. His mane and tail ripple gently in a slight breeze. He holds the position, waiting for the command to fall. The smell of pine and blooming flowers access his senses. Birds twitter. A river gurgles. The trees sway in the soft wind. He continues his pawing.
With a thud his feet strike the earth. He holds the standing position, awaiting his release. Awaiting those words of praise. Awaiting that touch of pleasure. But the wind is still. The birds grow silent. The sound of the river fades away. His mind is focused on what he cannot have. He's lost in his own dance.