The sun hadn't fully risen yet when Ty arrived at the training field, with Spartacus beside him, awake and restless. The wind cut like a knife against his skin, but he was used to it — to the loneliness of the morning, the silence of first light, the feeling that when the world was still asleep, it was the right time to begin.
Ty had the rope in his hand.
It wasn't the first time he'd touched one. But it was the first time he looked at it like a possible future.
Rodeo roping.
He'd researched the night before. He knew that, even with little experience, there were beginner categories. He knew the prizes ranged — from $500 up to over $2,000 in some local rodeos. It was a real chance to start gathering the money he needed. But more than that, it was a skill that belonged to the world he wanted to live in: the world of the ranch, cattle, and horses. Man and beast, side by side.
The system blinked subtly inside him:
Unlocked Skill: Fast Learner – Active.
Observation enhances performance. Hands-on practice required.
First objective: Catch stationary dummy. Then: Catch live steer at full gallop.
He took a deep breath. There was no one teaching him in that moment. Just him, Spartacus, and a wooden steer dummy on wheels, which he'd built himself from old cart parts and metal pipes.
"Let's see if we can do this," he said to the horse, who grumbled with a low whinny, as if to say "you first."
Ty carefully spun the lasso above his head. The rope was light but alive. It moved with the wind, slipped through his fingers if he wasn't careful. He spun it again. Threw. Missed badly.
The loop fell more than a meter away from the "steer." Spartacus looked at him sideways, expressionless. Almost mocking.
"Okay," Ty muttered. "First try. Cut me some slack."
Hours passed like that. Training. Throwing the rope. Mistakes. Adjustments. Fresh starts.
On the second day, he caught it for the first time.
The loop passed perfectly around the "legs" of the training dummy. And at that moment, Ty felt the same as the first time he rode Spartacus: possibility. The feeling that if he kept trying, he could really do this.
—
One morning Amy showed up and found him sweaty, dirty, hands full of calluses, spinning the rope in the air as if it were an extension of his own arm.
"You're becoming a real cowboy," she said, laughing.
Ty smiled sheepishly.
"I'm trying. If I want to compete in roping, I have to start from zero."
Amy came closer and held the rope for a moment.
"Think Spartacus will like it?"
Ty looked at the horse, who was watching intently.
"I don't know if he'll like it… but I think he trusts me. And that's already a lot."
Amy nodded.
"It's going to be beautiful to see you two in the middle of the arena."
—
Jack noticed the new training too. One late afternoon, he leaned against the fence and watched Ty for a few minutes, saying nothing.
Then he said:
"You're already doing more than a lot of grown men born on this land."
Ty stopped, surprised by the praise.
"I'm just starting."
"Exactly. And starting right."
Jack stepped forward, took the rope from his hands, and threw it firmly. It caught on the first try.
"Don't forget: the secret is timing. You don't fight the steer. You listen to it, feel its step. The rope has to come out at the right moment. Not before, not after."
Ty treasured that like gold.
—
As the weeks went by, Spartacus improved too.
Ty started training with real cattle, borrowed from a neighbor. First at a slow pace. Then faster. The horse had endurance, intelligence, and even with the leg still a bit sensitive, he pushed himself. He was a partner. A mirror.
And Ty was already roping with precision.
That's when he decided to sign up for his first roping contest: a local rodeo in Millford, a small town two hours away. The entry fee was $60. The prize for the beginner's category winner was $850.
It was a risk. But the kind of risk that builds a future.
He registered, marked the date in his notebook, and wrote in big letters:
"Day 12: Ty & Spartacus. First official competition."
—
The week of the competition, Ty slept poorly. Not out of nerves. But out of excitement. It was as if that rope was pulling him — forward, toward what he wanted to build, toward the ranch that didn't yet have a name.
Sometimes at night, he found himself looking at the sky, wondering if Marion would be proud.
And deep down, he felt she would.
Because it wasn't just about winning anymore.
It was about learning to build his own story, one knot at a time.