October Week One Workouts
The Devil's Hourglass& Flashpoint. Indian Darling& Fiery Touch.
Canjun Moon& GS Royal Crown. Feline Frenzy& Frozen Motion.
Canjun Moon& GS Royal Crown. Feline Frenzy& Frozen Motion.
point in time
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
The dark bay horses stood side by side as they stared out over the racetrack. Flashpoint was relaxed, muscles loose and ears cocked ever so slightly in the direction of the racetrack. In contrast, the daughter of Sand Storm stood tense, muscles rippling and eyes blazing with curiosity and a need to destroy. Brooks eyed the construction going on in the center field of the track. Of course it was Ripley's idea to have the inner track remodeled. She had a crazy scheme in her brain and now she was out to fully complete it.
The red-headed woman was not easy on the construction workers. Currently, she was shouting at the foreman... Something about them not being allowed to work on this project until the horses had been worked out. His face was beat red with embarrassment, but he kept his mouth shut. The rocket-like woman was not someone you wanted to contest with. Now, please, go take a break in the main office. We'll be an hour and a half. No doubt about it. I'll even switch the order so that we complete our dirt workouts in time for you to start making racket again! The man nodded after her, glaring at his workers when the elbowed each other jokingly. Ripley spun on her heels, stalked across the dirt track and somehow made the aggravated movement look graceful.
She leaped like a cat up from the ground and onto the back of her favorite two year old filly. Hourglass danced beneath her, bowing her neck, eyes red with fury. She was a charger for the angered Ripley, a prized mount ready to run straight into battle. For the next seven minutes, Ripley and Hourglass did not budge an inch. Flashpoint trotted back in forth in front of the still horse and trainer. Ripley's cat eyes were locked on the movement of the workers. She hardly blinked. It was unnerving to the foreman and he quickly scooted after his last worker.
Flashpoint was one of the most easygoing horses on Witch Creek property. He had not yet developed the mind of a champion, but was a very workmanlike performer in everything he did. His body was in top condition thanks to his vacation and his relaxing gallops around the property. Where his competition would be tired, Flashpoint would be ready to rock and roll next time out. He snorted as he moved, legs blurring beneath his small frame. Brooks patted his neck, turned the colt when he saw Ripley finally move Hourglass out onto the track. The burly filly eyed Flashpoint with furious eyes. Used to her irritable looks, however, Moose simply trotted up to her and looked in the opposite direction.
Ripley wasn't that a little excessive? Ripley shot him an aggravated look. Do you want someone to get hurt. A horse. A human. Neither of which we can afford to lose. Do you realize that we are now in October and are exactly two and three quarter months away from the Breeders Cup. They are the ones that have put the construction on the back burner until this time. I don't believe I was excessive enough.
Brooks shrugged. That was clearly to be determined. How long then? Ripley could see she was not getting anywhere with Brooks. A mile workout today. Stamina builder and lung opener. Right from the start Brookson Wells. Hourglass shifted then, legs going from the stock straight to loose and free. She vaulted off of her hind end off of Ripley's command and took off up the track. A moment later, Flashpoint, not waiting for Brooks, leaped after her. His stride was efficient and strong. He glided right up to Hourglass' inside, tucked in at the rail. His dark ears flew back into his mane, his legs whipped over the course. He was fresh and ready to get back to his well-loved career.
Hourglass let Flashpoint take up the lead. Her heavy frame pulled up and she put herself right off of his right hip. Her ears bobbed into and out of her mane as she ran along. She was gorgeous in movement and she raced in perfect control of herself. Ripley perched at her strong shoulders, green eyes focused on the turn. Hourglass moved out a path as Flashpoint easily navigated the section. He was a taller horse, but definitely lighter on his feet.
Brooks knew Flashpoint was gaining an advantage on the heftier filly to their outside. Moose could gain the advantage on anyone on a turn. Brooks did not have to move a muscle for the horse to swap leads or to knowingly tuck in as close as possible to the inside rail or the nearest horses. He knew to save ground. He used his brain. Intellect was very much treasured when it came to Flashpoint. Brooks simply sat aboard the machine son of Flash Limits. His half-sister Paranormal Hunter had struck down the top sprinter colt in the country in the Hawk Cup. Soon it would be Flashpoint's turn to show that he could be just as competitive on the maintrack. His dark body zipped up the backstretch, ears pinned from all of his concentration. Hourglass would have a tough time beating Flashpoint today. He was wound up to the quick.
Brooks wasn't the only one taking notice of Flashpoint's high energy level. Ripley had as well. The woman had immediately backed off Hourglass. The faster Flashpoint ran, the faster he burned himself out for the next race. This workout was not a duel. She noted that he instantly settled down when she'd removed Hourglass from the equation. The filly was absolutely thunderous. In her workouts, the bay was never taken off of the lead. In the races, she was as manipulative as putty, but not at home. Her head was thrown outward in absolute defiance. The star-marked filly was snatching at the bit, trying to drag Ripley from her anchoring position. Ripley jerked the reins back constantly, immediately checking the filly up. Hourglass snorted, tossing her head, but she had to relent. Flashpoint had drawn away to a four length on the burly filly. She took in a giant breath, rolled her eyes and prepared to settle in for the long haul.
Flashpoint was moving sweetly at this stage. Brooks could not be more impressed with the colt than he was now. He glanced under his arm, noted that Ripley had talked Hourglass into settling down. Flashpoint switched his leads at the start of the turn. Brooks grinned. If Ripley was going to run this colt down, she'd better start to get moving. Flashpoint was well in command and running well within his capabilities. He took off upon switching the leads and grinded right up against the silver rail. Brooks gritted his teeth, but did not remove the colt. Moose knew another inch would have over the rail. He ran straight and true.
Hourglass muscled her way up a length closer to Flashpoint. Her mouth was once again making a claim for the bit. She was carried wide as the dark horse ahead surged along the rail. Her momentum was not broken, but the wider turn gave her more work to do in the long run. Luckily, Hourglass could handle the long distances. Instead of a mile, she was probably running nine furlongs due to the added distance. Ripley bided her time in the saddle, hands close to the filly's warm neck. She did not want an argument with Hourglass. She wanted control. So did Hourglass, but Hourglass new Ripley was a better race tactician.
The moment Flashpoint hit the main stretch, Ripley released her charger. The bay filly roared off of the turn in the three path. Her ears were locked in her whipping black mane, her eyes glowing with utter fury. Her fury had an audience thanks to the workers who had straggled behind and were now leaning against the rail. Her small, but mighty body bore down on the unrelenting Flashpoint. She was terrifyingly beautiful in full flight. Brooks did not have to glance to his right to know that the dark bay filly was coming. He'd sworn Moose would have buried her, but not many horses managed to bury her.
Moose reacted to Hourglass' sudden appearance at his shoulder with a fierce kick. He did not put distance between himself and her. Hourglass had launched into another gear and she had a dead-lock on him. Her ears were pricked, her muscles warmed from the earlier work. Brooks swore under his breath two hundred yards from the wire. The Devil's Hourglass was an absolute and she couldn't even handle the dirt! Brooks booted Flashpoint forward, admired the horse's grit when he responded. He did not let Hourglass get her nose down ahead of him. His eyes were rimmed with white from the effort. She was Satan to Flashpoint. The dark horse kept fighting her off. She pushed him hard all the way to the wire. Moose let loose a dramatic sigh the second he crossed it, a whisker in front. One more stride and the bay filly would have had him.
Brooks patted his mount's neck, praised him for all he was worth. He would not be facing distance freaks next time out. He would be ready for war off of this one battle. Flashpoint pulled up, drawing in deep gulping breaths. His body was damp, but his eyes weren't tired. They reflected a furious horse. He had found the champion within. Brooks watched Hourglass cruise from a gallop to a canter to a fluent trot. He shook his head. Sometimes, though, being a champion in your heart was not good enough to beat those with unbelievable talent. Ripley stroked Hourglass' bowed neck as she pranced beside the strutting Flashpoint. She was a very good horse. Possibly a great one. Time would only tell what the future had in store for her.
The red-headed woman was not easy on the construction workers. Currently, she was shouting at the foreman... Something about them not being allowed to work on this project until the horses had been worked out. His face was beat red with embarrassment, but he kept his mouth shut. The rocket-like woman was not someone you wanted to contest with. Now, please, go take a break in the main office. We'll be an hour and a half. No doubt about it. I'll even switch the order so that we complete our dirt workouts in time for you to start making racket again! The man nodded after her, glaring at his workers when the elbowed each other jokingly. Ripley spun on her heels, stalked across the dirt track and somehow made the aggravated movement look graceful.
She leaped like a cat up from the ground and onto the back of her favorite two year old filly. Hourglass danced beneath her, bowing her neck, eyes red with fury. She was a charger for the angered Ripley, a prized mount ready to run straight into battle. For the next seven minutes, Ripley and Hourglass did not budge an inch. Flashpoint trotted back in forth in front of the still horse and trainer. Ripley's cat eyes were locked on the movement of the workers. She hardly blinked. It was unnerving to the foreman and he quickly scooted after his last worker.
Flashpoint was one of the most easygoing horses on Witch Creek property. He had not yet developed the mind of a champion, but was a very workmanlike performer in everything he did. His body was in top condition thanks to his vacation and his relaxing gallops around the property. Where his competition would be tired, Flashpoint would be ready to rock and roll next time out. He snorted as he moved, legs blurring beneath his small frame. Brooks patted his neck, turned the colt when he saw Ripley finally move Hourglass out onto the track. The burly filly eyed Flashpoint with furious eyes. Used to her irritable looks, however, Moose simply trotted up to her and looked in the opposite direction.
Ripley wasn't that a little excessive? Ripley shot him an aggravated look. Do you want someone to get hurt. A horse. A human. Neither of which we can afford to lose. Do you realize that we are now in October and are exactly two and three quarter months away from the Breeders Cup. They are the ones that have put the construction on the back burner until this time. I don't believe I was excessive enough.
Brooks shrugged. That was clearly to be determined. How long then? Ripley could see she was not getting anywhere with Brooks. A mile workout today. Stamina builder and lung opener. Right from the start Brookson Wells. Hourglass shifted then, legs going from the stock straight to loose and free. She vaulted off of her hind end off of Ripley's command and took off up the track. A moment later, Flashpoint, not waiting for Brooks, leaped after her. His stride was efficient and strong. He glided right up to Hourglass' inside, tucked in at the rail. His dark ears flew back into his mane, his legs whipped over the course. He was fresh and ready to get back to his well-loved career.
Hourglass let Flashpoint take up the lead. Her heavy frame pulled up and she put herself right off of his right hip. Her ears bobbed into and out of her mane as she ran along. She was gorgeous in movement and she raced in perfect control of herself. Ripley perched at her strong shoulders, green eyes focused on the turn. Hourglass moved out a path as Flashpoint easily navigated the section. He was a taller horse, but definitely lighter on his feet.
Brooks knew Flashpoint was gaining an advantage on the heftier filly to their outside. Moose could gain the advantage on anyone on a turn. Brooks did not have to move a muscle for the horse to swap leads or to knowingly tuck in as close as possible to the inside rail or the nearest horses. He knew to save ground. He used his brain. Intellect was very much treasured when it came to Flashpoint. Brooks simply sat aboard the machine son of Flash Limits. His half-sister Paranormal Hunter had struck down the top sprinter colt in the country in the Hawk Cup. Soon it would be Flashpoint's turn to show that he could be just as competitive on the maintrack. His dark body zipped up the backstretch, ears pinned from all of his concentration. Hourglass would have a tough time beating Flashpoint today. He was wound up to the quick.
Brooks wasn't the only one taking notice of Flashpoint's high energy level. Ripley had as well. The woman had immediately backed off Hourglass. The faster Flashpoint ran, the faster he burned himself out for the next race. This workout was not a duel. She noted that he instantly settled down when she'd removed Hourglass from the equation. The filly was absolutely thunderous. In her workouts, the bay was never taken off of the lead. In the races, she was as manipulative as putty, but not at home. Her head was thrown outward in absolute defiance. The star-marked filly was snatching at the bit, trying to drag Ripley from her anchoring position. Ripley jerked the reins back constantly, immediately checking the filly up. Hourglass snorted, tossing her head, but she had to relent. Flashpoint had drawn away to a four length on the burly filly. She took in a giant breath, rolled her eyes and prepared to settle in for the long haul.
Flashpoint was moving sweetly at this stage. Brooks could not be more impressed with the colt than he was now. He glanced under his arm, noted that Ripley had talked Hourglass into settling down. Flashpoint switched his leads at the start of the turn. Brooks grinned. If Ripley was going to run this colt down, she'd better start to get moving. Flashpoint was well in command and running well within his capabilities. He took off upon switching the leads and grinded right up against the silver rail. Brooks gritted his teeth, but did not remove the colt. Moose knew another inch would have over the rail. He ran straight and true.
Hourglass muscled her way up a length closer to Flashpoint. Her mouth was once again making a claim for the bit. She was carried wide as the dark horse ahead surged along the rail. Her momentum was not broken, but the wider turn gave her more work to do in the long run. Luckily, Hourglass could handle the long distances. Instead of a mile, she was probably running nine furlongs due to the added distance. Ripley bided her time in the saddle, hands close to the filly's warm neck. She did not want an argument with Hourglass. She wanted control. So did Hourglass, but Hourglass new Ripley was a better race tactician.
The moment Flashpoint hit the main stretch, Ripley released her charger. The bay filly roared off of the turn in the three path. Her ears were locked in her whipping black mane, her eyes glowing with utter fury. Her fury had an audience thanks to the workers who had straggled behind and were now leaning against the rail. Her small, but mighty body bore down on the unrelenting Flashpoint. She was terrifyingly beautiful in full flight. Brooks did not have to glance to his right to know that the dark bay filly was coming. He'd sworn Moose would have buried her, but not many horses managed to bury her.
Moose reacted to Hourglass' sudden appearance at his shoulder with a fierce kick. He did not put distance between himself and her. Hourglass had launched into another gear and she had a dead-lock on him. Her ears were pricked, her muscles warmed from the earlier work. Brooks swore under his breath two hundred yards from the wire. The Devil's Hourglass was an absolute and she couldn't even handle the dirt! Brooks booted Flashpoint forward, admired the horse's grit when he responded. He did not let Hourglass get her nose down ahead of him. His eyes were rimmed with white from the effort. She was Satan to Flashpoint. The dark horse kept fighting her off. She pushed him hard all the way to the wire. Moose let loose a dramatic sigh the second he crossed it, a whisker in front. One more stride and the bay filly would have had him.
Brooks patted his mount's neck, praised him for all he was worth. He would not be facing distance freaks next time out. He would be ready for war off of this one battle. Flashpoint pulled up, drawing in deep gulping breaths. His body was damp, but his eyes weren't tired. They reflected a furious horse. He had found the champion within. Brooks watched Hourglass cruise from a gallop to a canter to a fluent trot. He shook his head. Sometimes, though, being a champion in your heart was not good enough to beat those with unbelievable talent. Ripley stroked Hourglass' bowed neck as she pranced beside the strutting Flashpoint. She was a very good horse. Possibly a great one. Time would only tell what the future had in store for her.
hey there darling
Courtesy of C.H. Photography.
The clashing and clanging of tools had finally stopped for the first time since five o'clock. That could have only meant one thing in Laura's mind: Ripley had finally gotten annoyed enough to holler at them to stop. The red-head had thrown on her jeans, slammed her feet into her paddock boots and fled her rooms as fast as possible. Ripley would have had a fit if Laura had been late to this particular workout.
The girl was rubbing excess dust off of Indian Darling's body when Ripley finally walked into the barn. The head-trainer looked quite pleased with herself and Laura took it that Hourglass and Moose's workout had gone well. Hey boss lady. Ripley grinned, patted the horse tied across from Darla. Hey minion. Laura snickered back, ran her fingers down the plain brown face of her most exciting mount. Darla nickered a greeting at Ripley and the trainer could not hold off from kissing the filly's nose. How's Darla doing today?
Really good. She's such a good girl. I'm so excited to get her in a workout that actually means something for a change. She surprised us all in her last two races. I definitely think she has a chance even with E.T. in there. Ripley nodded, smirking at the nickname she had given last year's Horse of the Year Eternal Phantom. Apparently, it had caught on like wildfire at Witch Creek Stable. She runs like she did in the Valorrizare Derby, she will definitely be tough. But first we'll see how she does against last year's Risorgimento champ.
The light bay mare that towered between the cross-ties glared as Ripley, Laura and Indian Darling eyed her. Her classic frame was lean and fantastically muscled. Her body was dappled out, her white marks gleaming to snowy perfection. Fiery Touch was on the brink of running her best race yet. She'd roared to victory in the Ganymede Cup, but now it was time to take on the top dirt competition once again. She had to be tougher and today's workout would ultimately be tough for both Fie and Darla. Ripley stroked the tacked up mare. You look good enough to win. I know you're good enough to win. So, beautiful mare, why don't you win one for me and put your name in the books? Fie snorted, eyes softening at Ripley's gentle voice and touch. Ready? Ripley called to Laura. Laura simply led Indian Darling forward, past Fiery Touch and out of the barn. Ripley followed not too far behind.
Laura leaped onto Indian Darling's short back, booted feet immediately seeking the short stirrups. The red-head grinned when the bay filly began to prance, head high and tail waving over her rump. Indian Darling was loaded with energy, her muscles stood out beneath her dappled hide. With nostrils distended, the filly took off toward the track, legs sweeping powerfully down the dirt path. Laura merely stood in the saddle, happy to let Darla release some of her energy.
Fie followed in a stately manner, ears locked on Indian Darling's darker form. Fiery Touch was a high energy mare herself, but she didn't truly explode until she hit the racetrack. Her dark eyes traversed over the track, her head cocked this way and that, analyzing everything the way a human analyzes everything. Ripley swayed with the mare's stride, hips moving in time to whatever Fiery Touch threw down. Fie was a good mare with a history for throwing in big performances every so often. She would have to throw something down at Green Horse Fields this week.
Darla hit the racetrack and surged into a flying gallop. She did not want to wait. Neither did Laura for that fact. She worked with Darla because the Native Flame daughter was quirky and trouble if she didn't get her way. She would be following in Fiery Touch's hoofsteps this year. Fie had won the Risorgimento Derby in Year Twelve in what had been an absolute powerhouse of a performance. Unfortunately this year, Fie had not been able to make the qualifiers due to her grade at the same. She could not run eleven furlongs and the qualifiers had been eleven furlongs. However, Indian Darling had been able to qualify. She would be the filly representative for Witch Creek.
Fiery Touch bolted after her younger stablemate the minute the loamy soil touched her hooves. Her body was a classical framework of true racehorse quality. She soared over the dirt, looking as if she had just been born to run over it. Ripley stood quietly in the saddle, hair blowing back beneath her helmet. Fie cruised up to Indian Darling's outside, a fierce look spreading over her face. Indian Darling was not the only one who was looking good. Fie looked incredible, taller and more muscled, but at the same point in her cycle as she had been last year at this time.
Laura rubbed Darla's neck when she turned her savage head to glare at Fiery Touch. The darker filly was not a slouch anymore. She knew what it meant to be annoyed with another horse now. She was not the innately curious filly she had been. Now she was full-blooded racehorse. She kicked into high gear on the turn, body stretching out to full aerodynamic ability. She moved with the turn, eyes blazing with fury and focus. Fie raced at the filly's shoulder, doing her best to keep up and now bow out into the middle of the track.
Fie was a big, tough mare and she brought her A-game every race she ran in. Ripley leaned close to the heat that pulsated from Fie's pores. This was a mare who knew her style and knew where she was at during every part of the race. Fie had grown into a very talented racehorse. She'd turned into a star. Indian Darling was not too far behind her.
Together, mare and filly hurtled up the backstretch, black marked legs practically in tandem as they raced. Fie got her nose down in front Indian Darling, kept it there with her own stubborn ability. Indian Darling pinned her ears, slightly put out. Laura backed the Native Flame filly off. Indian Darling was not a need the lead horse and she did back off without too much fuss. Now at Fie's hip, Darla relaxed and gracefully galloped. Laura patted the filly's neck, very pleased.
Fie cruised along at her natural high-speed. The mare had grown more able to carry her speed on the lead for long-distances at a time. She had transformed from the mid-pack racehorse into something as malleable as putty. Ripley locked her hands into the whipping black mane as Fie dashed into the far turn. She snorted, dipped head, asking for more rein. Ripley gave it to her and the light bay surged away. Indian Darling was left free to either go inside or outside. Ripley immediately closed down the rail, tucking Fiery Touch in tight even though it meant slowing down her speed.
Darla flitted over Fie's heels and immediately took up the charge. She flew up Fie's right side, closing tight quarters around the lighter colored mare. Darla was not a dirty runner, but she knew now that intimidation did play a role. Fie was not one to be intimidated. She'd muscled her way to the rail position and she was not about to back down from it. Her eyes rimmed with red every time Darla flickered an inch closer. She would move out, pushing the lithe bay off and out into a different path. But at the rail Fie remained.
Indian Darling drew to the lead off of the turn, her momentum carrying her quicker than Fie's nearer position. Laura did not shake the reins for Darla was moving well within her capabilities. If Fie drew up to her, Darla would most certainly re-break. The bay filly's ears went to an upright position as she traveled easily into the homestretch. This was a filly who could potentially be dangerous in the later handicaps and well into next year.
Ripley noted the ease of Darla's movement, decided it was time to give her a test. She nudged Fiery Touch forward and the star and striped marked mare bolted up the inside. Darla instantly assumed fighter mode and moved with the Touch Up mare. The two horses surged over the course, locked in a battle of bones, flesh and muscle. Ripley and Laura were spread over the horses' backs for their sake. Neither offered any encouragement, neither implored for more effort. Indian Darling and Fiery Touch surged side-by-side, a picture of full-blooded racehorses. They were both going to be tough next out. They dipped their heads down at the time, a mirror image of light and dark. A dead-heat.
Darla drew away from Fie, filled with more energy than Laura thought she actually should have. The savage-headed filly tossed her whipping mane backward, teeth bared, eyes glinting with expressive anger and irritation. Oh yes, next time out Indian Darling would be a lot of trouble. Fie stared impassively after her younger stablemate, looking more coldly furious than Ripley had ever seen the mare before. Indian Darling would not be the only horse looking for revenge next time out.
The girl was rubbing excess dust off of Indian Darling's body when Ripley finally walked into the barn. The head-trainer looked quite pleased with herself and Laura took it that Hourglass and Moose's workout had gone well. Hey boss lady. Ripley grinned, patted the horse tied across from Darla. Hey minion. Laura snickered back, ran her fingers down the plain brown face of her most exciting mount. Darla nickered a greeting at Ripley and the trainer could not hold off from kissing the filly's nose. How's Darla doing today?
Really good. She's such a good girl. I'm so excited to get her in a workout that actually means something for a change. She surprised us all in her last two races. I definitely think she has a chance even with E.T. in there. Ripley nodded, smirking at the nickname she had given last year's Horse of the Year Eternal Phantom. Apparently, it had caught on like wildfire at Witch Creek Stable. She runs like she did in the Valorrizare Derby, she will definitely be tough. But first we'll see how she does against last year's Risorgimento champ.
The light bay mare that towered between the cross-ties glared as Ripley, Laura and Indian Darling eyed her. Her classic frame was lean and fantastically muscled. Her body was dappled out, her white marks gleaming to snowy perfection. Fiery Touch was on the brink of running her best race yet. She'd roared to victory in the Ganymede Cup, but now it was time to take on the top dirt competition once again. She had to be tougher and today's workout would ultimately be tough for both Fie and Darla. Ripley stroked the tacked up mare. You look good enough to win. I know you're good enough to win. So, beautiful mare, why don't you win one for me and put your name in the books? Fie snorted, eyes softening at Ripley's gentle voice and touch. Ready? Ripley called to Laura. Laura simply led Indian Darling forward, past Fiery Touch and out of the barn. Ripley followed not too far behind.
Laura leaped onto Indian Darling's short back, booted feet immediately seeking the short stirrups. The red-head grinned when the bay filly began to prance, head high and tail waving over her rump. Indian Darling was loaded with energy, her muscles stood out beneath her dappled hide. With nostrils distended, the filly took off toward the track, legs sweeping powerfully down the dirt path. Laura merely stood in the saddle, happy to let Darla release some of her energy.
Fie followed in a stately manner, ears locked on Indian Darling's darker form. Fiery Touch was a high energy mare herself, but she didn't truly explode until she hit the racetrack. Her dark eyes traversed over the track, her head cocked this way and that, analyzing everything the way a human analyzes everything. Ripley swayed with the mare's stride, hips moving in time to whatever Fiery Touch threw down. Fie was a good mare with a history for throwing in big performances every so often. She would have to throw something down at Green Horse Fields this week.
Darla hit the racetrack and surged into a flying gallop. She did not want to wait. Neither did Laura for that fact. She worked with Darla because the Native Flame daughter was quirky and trouble if she didn't get her way. She would be following in Fiery Touch's hoofsteps this year. Fie had won the Risorgimento Derby in Year Twelve in what had been an absolute powerhouse of a performance. Unfortunately this year, Fie had not been able to make the qualifiers due to her grade at the same. She could not run eleven furlongs and the qualifiers had been eleven furlongs. However, Indian Darling had been able to qualify. She would be the filly representative for Witch Creek.
Fiery Touch bolted after her younger stablemate the minute the loamy soil touched her hooves. Her body was a classical framework of true racehorse quality. She soared over the dirt, looking as if she had just been born to run over it. Ripley stood quietly in the saddle, hair blowing back beneath her helmet. Fie cruised up to Indian Darling's outside, a fierce look spreading over her face. Indian Darling was not the only one who was looking good. Fie looked incredible, taller and more muscled, but at the same point in her cycle as she had been last year at this time.
Laura rubbed Darla's neck when she turned her savage head to glare at Fiery Touch. The darker filly was not a slouch anymore. She knew what it meant to be annoyed with another horse now. She was not the innately curious filly she had been. Now she was full-blooded racehorse. She kicked into high gear on the turn, body stretching out to full aerodynamic ability. She moved with the turn, eyes blazing with fury and focus. Fie raced at the filly's shoulder, doing her best to keep up and now bow out into the middle of the track.
Fie was a big, tough mare and she brought her A-game every race she ran in. Ripley leaned close to the heat that pulsated from Fie's pores. This was a mare who knew her style and knew where she was at during every part of the race. Fie had grown into a very talented racehorse. She'd turned into a star. Indian Darling was not too far behind her.
Together, mare and filly hurtled up the backstretch, black marked legs practically in tandem as they raced. Fie got her nose down in front Indian Darling, kept it there with her own stubborn ability. Indian Darling pinned her ears, slightly put out. Laura backed the Native Flame filly off. Indian Darling was not a need the lead horse and she did back off without too much fuss. Now at Fie's hip, Darla relaxed and gracefully galloped. Laura patted the filly's neck, very pleased.
Fie cruised along at her natural high-speed. The mare had grown more able to carry her speed on the lead for long-distances at a time. She had transformed from the mid-pack racehorse into something as malleable as putty. Ripley locked her hands into the whipping black mane as Fie dashed into the far turn. She snorted, dipped head, asking for more rein. Ripley gave it to her and the light bay surged away. Indian Darling was left free to either go inside or outside. Ripley immediately closed down the rail, tucking Fiery Touch in tight even though it meant slowing down her speed.
Darla flitted over Fie's heels and immediately took up the charge. She flew up Fie's right side, closing tight quarters around the lighter colored mare. Darla was not a dirty runner, but she knew now that intimidation did play a role. Fie was not one to be intimidated. She'd muscled her way to the rail position and she was not about to back down from it. Her eyes rimmed with red every time Darla flickered an inch closer. She would move out, pushing the lithe bay off and out into a different path. But at the rail Fie remained.
Indian Darling drew to the lead off of the turn, her momentum carrying her quicker than Fie's nearer position. Laura did not shake the reins for Darla was moving well within her capabilities. If Fie drew up to her, Darla would most certainly re-break. The bay filly's ears went to an upright position as she traveled easily into the homestretch. This was a filly who could potentially be dangerous in the later handicaps and well into next year.
Ripley noted the ease of Darla's movement, decided it was time to give her a test. She nudged Fiery Touch forward and the star and striped marked mare bolted up the inside. Darla instantly assumed fighter mode and moved with the Touch Up mare. The two horses surged over the course, locked in a battle of bones, flesh and muscle. Ripley and Laura were spread over the horses' backs for their sake. Neither offered any encouragement, neither implored for more effort. Indian Darling and Fiery Touch surged side-by-side, a picture of full-blooded racehorses. They were both going to be tough next out. They dipped their heads down at the time, a mirror image of light and dark. A dead-heat.
Darla drew away from Fie, filled with more energy than Laura thought she actually should have. The savage-headed filly tossed her whipping mane backward, teeth bared, eyes glinting with expressive anger and irritation. Oh yes, next time out Indian Darling would be a lot of trouble. Fie stared impassively after her younger stablemate, looking more coldly furious than Ripley had ever seen the mare before. Indian Darling would not be the only horse looking for revenge next time out.
crown the canjun
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Maggiletti Reynolds and Lane Thompson were like two peas in a pod. They both lit up a room with their presence. Both of them had attitudes that had to deal with the press. And both of them still felt as if they had to go out and prove themselves on the world's biggest stage. Hadn't Maggiletti Reynolds just stolen the Dream Cup, Autumn Cup Grade One Turf and Queen Cup aboard a mare everyone had considered long overcooked. And hadn't she just piloted GS Royal Crown to victories in the Summer Cup Grade Two Dirt and Sword Dancer Stakes. Hadn't Lane just gotten Midnight Thriller to dead-heat with her on-fire twin Eternal Phantom in the These Old Bones Stakes? Heck, the other riders at Witch Creek and the other top stables were pansies. They rode perfect mounts with on-top-of-everything records. Laura might have been even tougher taking two long-considered dead-beats from grade five to grade two and beating Hall of Fame quality horses. Witch Creek jocks worked hard for their next meals, their next great horse. They fully represented the Witch Creek mission statement.
And then the other stables cried over a big loss. Witch Creek picked up, got on with it and came out running in the next start. Witch Creek had not been created on the start with success, end with success idea in mind. It had been start with failure and work your ass off to improve it to the greatest it could possibly be. Fire lit up Maggie's eyes as she spouted all of this off to her inner-self-conscious Lane Thompson. The woman simply nodded along, silently agreeing with most everything Maggie was saying. Both of them would be out to prove themselves again in their respective races. Maggie aboard GS Royal Crown in the Man O' War Stakes and Lane aboard Canjun Moon in the Short Stakes. Both of them were up against it, but they'd proven anything was possible. It was time to put some effort into it and make it possible.
Ripley leaned against the barn doors as her passionate riders led their horses by. She could not be more proud of the people she had hired. She would never find more loyal staff than the ones currently employed at WCS. She patted both women on the back and their horses as well. Alright ladies. Enough spouting off, though I appreciate it. Four furlong blowout after a mile gallop. Let's make these boys tough as nails!
GS Royal Crown pranced down the path, head bobbing in time to his movement. The dappled gray colt snorted enthusiastically, eyes glinting with eagerness. He was about to step into the ring with Canjun Moon, notorious for being an overenthusiastic workhorse. GS Royal Crown would have his hooves full and he was more than prepared for the task. Maggie patted the colt's, blue eyes filled with pride and excitement. The Man O' War was next out and the colt was going to be firing on all cylinders.
Frenchie snorted from beneath Lane. His towering figure was absolutely powerful on this morning. The late Autumn sun shot dapples into his dark bay hide. He tackled the dirt track the instant he hit the dirt. Lane clung to his neck as the big horse squealed, took off up the track at a gallop. Crow tossed his head, fighting Maggie for his head. He wanted to gun it and go. Maggie leaned close, easing the burden up on her wonderful horse. All hers, all the time. The dappled gray surged forward, legs sweeping over the track as he set off in pursuit of Canjun Moon.
The Dancing In The Moonlight stallion glided over the surface, settling right into Lane's hands the instant she asked him for a more controlled pace. His ears flicked over his head as he headed up the backstretch. Lane stood in the stirrups, keeping a good, solid contact on Frenchie's mouth. This was Canjun Moon's only shot to win the Short Stakes. He needed to be controlled. He needed to have the ability to settle down and rate. The field was tough and like most sprints, there was always a lot of speed in dirt sprint races.
Crow stalked meticulously from just off of Frenchie's barrel. His eyes were full of the speed that filled his soul. Maggie couldn't help, but admire the way Crow moved. He was like a super car, a corvette speeding down a lone highway, but not quite at top speed just yet. Top speed could blow the doors off of anything Crow faced. Crow was versatile, a master of turf and dirt. He was probably the next season's combination of Frozen Motion and Ashes to Ashes. Maggie leaned close, yanked her goggles down as dirt kicked up from Canjun Moon's front hooves and into her face. Crow did not bolt, he faced the assault of dirt clumps and stones. Tough as they came was what Crow was.
Lane niggled the reins, letting Canjun Moon step out into a faster gallop. The mile was almost up. They were back in the homestretch and cruising beneath the wire. It was time to go big or go home. Frenchie could go big if he so chose to. It was just a matter of getting home first. With the target being the middle of the backstretch, the Requiem son was sent like a rocket up the rail just beyond the wire. Lane settled in, pulling her own goggles down against the blurring speed. Frenchie flew over the ground, ears locked back into his whipping black mane. His eyes were fired up with a fierceness unmatched. He was in his element.
Unfortunately, Crow held many aces up his sleeve. The dappled gray son of Seabiscuit darted forward, neck stretched long, tail waving out behind his frame like a cape. Frenchie was dead-meat in Crow's eyes. The colt surged up to run head and head with the big bay stallion, his slimmer frame cornering beautifully. Frenchie bounced off of GS Royal Crown's shoulder, his gaze glinting with utter annoyance at being found trapped on the rail. The bay horse pushed out, fighting for his room. Crow relented slightly. Really it was only a few inches. Just enough for Frenchie to maintain his speed. The minute he showed signs of quickening Crow shut the door in his face.
Together the bay and gray horses barreled into the backstretch. Wind whipped at their manes, their riders hid behind their strong, sturdy necks. The autumn breeze was chilling to the riders, but it only continued to exhilarate the horses more. Frenchie bolted sideways, carrying Crow away from him and then proceeding onward. He needed the gray colt off of him. Lane reached back, smacked his rear with her gloved hand. Suddenly, the world had opened fire. Frenchie surged forward in a stunning burst of speed. Lane was lucky to have scrambled frontward in time. She wrapped her arms around the stallion's neck as he hurtled forward. His nostrils distended with his rapid fire run. Lane was giggling with shock and excitement. She pushed herself against gravity, up off of Frenchie's neck, looked to her right and saw Crow bearing down on her sprinter mount.
A half-furlong remained and Crow was well and truly full of himself. His body cruised up alongside Canjun Moon. His ears were bobbing and Lane knew Frenchie was in some sort of trouble if she didn't get him to the wire first. Desperate, she pushed her last resort button, tapped into Canjun Moon's final gear. He wasn't a short horse. GS Royal Crown simply could run longer distances and still maintain a high rate of speed throughout. The horses stormed across the imaginary backstretch wire, Canjun Moon a neck in front of GS Royal Crown. Lane smacked her hand against Frenchie's neck, so proud of his humongous effort. He was a good stallion trying to make a name for himself in his last year of racing. His chance would come and Lane would do her best to assist him.
Crow blew it open in the gallop out, storming away to a ten length lead. Maggie was pleased with her horse as well. Just a yard further and Crow would have caught Frenchie. He would have the needed distance in the Man O' War. He would have home court advantage. Maggie was excited to get her prized colt back where he belonged: firing gray bullets on the track at The Wire.
And then the other stables cried over a big loss. Witch Creek picked up, got on with it and came out running in the next start. Witch Creek had not been created on the start with success, end with success idea in mind. It had been start with failure and work your ass off to improve it to the greatest it could possibly be. Fire lit up Maggie's eyes as she spouted all of this off to her inner-self-conscious Lane Thompson. The woman simply nodded along, silently agreeing with most everything Maggie was saying. Both of them would be out to prove themselves again in their respective races. Maggie aboard GS Royal Crown in the Man O' War Stakes and Lane aboard Canjun Moon in the Short Stakes. Both of them were up against it, but they'd proven anything was possible. It was time to put some effort into it and make it possible.
Ripley leaned against the barn doors as her passionate riders led their horses by. She could not be more proud of the people she had hired. She would never find more loyal staff than the ones currently employed at WCS. She patted both women on the back and their horses as well. Alright ladies. Enough spouting off, though I appreciate it. Four furlong blowout after a mile gallop. Let's make these boys tough as nails!
GS Royal Crown pranced down the path, head bobbing in time to his movement. The dappled gray colt snorted enthusiastically, eyes glinting with eagerness. He was about to step into the ring with Canjun Moon, notorious for being an overenthusiastic workhorse. GS Royal Crown would have his hooves full and he was more than prepared for the task. Maggie patted the colt's, blue eyes filled with pride and excitement. The Man O' War was next out and the colt was going to be firing on all cylinders.
Frenchie snorted from beneath Lane. His towering figure was absolutely powerful on this morning. The late Autumn sun shot dapples into his dark bay hide. He tackled the dirt track the instant he hit the dirt. Lane clung to his neck as the big horse squealed, took off up the track at a gallop. Crow tossed his head, fighting Maggie for his head. He wanted to gun it and go. Maggie leaned close, easing the burden up on her wonderful horse. All hers, all the time. The dappled gray surged forward, legs sweeping over the track as he set off in pursuit of Canjun Moon.
The Dancing In The Moonlight stallion glided over the surface, settling right into Lane's hands the instant she asked him for a more controlled pace. His ears flicked over his head as he headed up the backstretch. Lane stood in the stirrups, keeping a good, solid contact on Frenchie's mouth. This was Canjun Moon's only shot to win the Short Stakes. He needed to be controlled. He needed to have the ability to settle down and rate. The field was tough and like most sprints, there was always a lot of speed in dirt sprint races.
Crow stalked meticulously from just off of Frenchie's barrel. His eyes were full of the speed that filled his soul. Maggie couldn't help, but admire the way Crow moved. He was like a super car, a corvette speeding down a lone highway, but not quite at top speed just yet. Top speed could blow the doors off of anything Crow faced. Crow was versatile, a master of turf and dirt. He was probably the next season's combination of Frozen Motion and Ashes to Ashes. Maggie leaned close, yanked her goggles down as dirt kicked up from Canjun Moon's front hooves and into her face. Crow did not bolt, he faced the assault of dirt clumps and stones. Tough as they came was what Crow was.
Lane niggled the reins, letting Canjun Moon step out into a faster gallop. The mile was almost up. They were back in the homestretch and cruising beneath the wire. It was time to go big or go home. Frenchie could go big if he so chose to. It was just a matter of getting home first. With the target being the middle of the backstretch, the Requiem son was sent like a rocket up the rail just beyond the wire. Lane settled in, pulling her own goggles down against the blurring speed. Frenchie flew over the ground, ears locked back into his whipping black mane. His eyes were fired up with a fierceness unmatched. He was in his element.
Unfortunately, Crow held many aces up his sleeve. The dappled gray son of Seabiscuit darted forward, neck stretched long, tail waving out behind his frame like a cape. Frenchie was dead-meat in Crow's eyes. The colt surged up to run head and head with the big bay stallion, his slimmer frame cornering beautifully. Frenchie bounced off of GS Royal Crown's shoulder, his gaze glinting with utter annoyance at being found trapped on the rail. The bay horse pushed out, fighting for his room. Crow relented slightly. Really it was only a few inches. Just enough for Frenchie to maintain his speed. The minute he showed signs of quickening Crow shut the door in his face.
Together the bay and gray horses barreled into the backstretch. Wind whipped at their manes, their riders hid behind their strong, sturdy necks. The autumn breeze was chilling to the riders, but it only continued to exhilarate the horses more. Frenchie bolted sideways, carrying Crow away from him and then proceeding onward. He needed the gray colt off of him. Lane reached back, smacked his rear with her gloved hand. Suddenly, the world had opened fire. Frenchie surged forward in a stunning burst of speed. Lane was lucky to have scrambled frontward in time. She wrapped her arms around the stallion's neck as he hurtled forward. His nostrils distended with his rapid fire run. Lane was giggling with shock and excitement. She pushed herself against gravity, up off of Frenchie's neck, looked to her right and saw Crow bearing down on her sprinter mount.
A half-furlong remained and Crow was well and truly full of himself. His body cruised up alongside Canjun Moon. His ears were bobbing and Lane knew Frenchie was in some sort of trouble if she didn't get him to the wire first. Desperate, she pushed her last resort button, tapped into Canjun Moon's final gear. He wasn't a short horse. GS Royal Crown simply could run longer distances and still maintain a high rate of speed throughout. The horses stormed across the imaginary backstretch wire, Canjun Moon a neck in front of GS Royal Crown. Lane smacked her hand against Frenchie's neck, so proud of his humongous effort. He was a good stallion trying to make a name for himself in his last year of racing. His chance would come and Lane would do her best to assist him.
Crow blew it open in the gallop out, storming away to a ten length lead. Maggie was pleased with her horse as well. Just a yard further and Crow would have caught Frenchie. He would have the needed distance in the Man O' War. He would have home court advantage. Maggie was excited to get her prized colt back where he belonged: firing gray bullets on the track at The Wire.
frenzied motion
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Now is the time we have to prove ourselves, Brookson Wells. It is the time. You need to quit this moping nonsense and liven up. Seriously. Your relationship with Ripley is in the trash. At least intimate wise. Business wise you two need to liven up. You're crushing the system with your attitude and making Ripley cold.
Brooks could not remember trying to tune a woman out so hard and not even succeeding a little. Laura DeComte just had a voice suited for effective nagging. It was perfectly clear to him what he had done wrong and that his attitude was quite poor these days. Hearing it through a megaphone didn't make any difference. He shot her a fierce glare, blue jean eyes glinting with annoyance. Laura, God help the man that decides to marry you. Laura's fox-like chin lifted an inch, meeting his remark with a prideful defense. Who says I'm going to get married? Brooks pushed a heavy sigh of relief into the air, Then a man has been saved.
Laura snarled and through the soft brush at Brooks. He snagged it mid-air and wiggled it at her. Not quite good enough little sister. When she made a move to grab the hoofpick, Brooks snagged Frozen Motion's reins and whirled the dappled gray stallion out of the barn. The horse snorted, head bobbing, nostrils flared as he caught onto the excitement. He was so on his toes this day that even his usual kind and well-behaved self was gone. He pranced on his toes, muscles coiling beneath his sleek gray hide. He was an absolute machine these days. He was looking for more in the Cox Plate. It was time to show the horse for what he was worth. To Brooks not even the weight of gold would measure the horse's value. He was priceless.
Fee was game to track Frozen Motion out of the racing barn. She bowed her neck, lifting off her front feet briefly in a burst of excitement. She whinnied, eyes rolling to show the whites. Laura nearly giggled at Feline Frenzy's high energy display. Fee was naturally high energy. She squealed and kicked and truly reflected all the good that was in the world. Laura leaped into the saddle, lifting the reins and clucking. Freeze was a quarter mile away thanks to Brooks' own swift feet. Fee bounded over the turf, whinnying enthusiastically after Freeze. Freeze simply ignored her.
Brooks glanced under his arm. Fee dashed up to Freeze's side in a matter of five seconds. Freeze snorted, ears flicking in a kind greeting. She's got something to prove doesn't she, Miss Laura? Laura shrugged, patted Feline Frenzy's plain Jane neck. Not in my book. She beat Axis Mundae and Sugar Jayde. That was our career high. She just needs to go out there and put out her best race. I know she can do it. She's truly a tough mare. If we ever matched her with Frozen Motion, we'd probably get a Super Iron Horse. Brooks grinned, stroked Frozen Motion's mane. The horse really was something special.
Well, since Ripley took off already to put in entries for this week, I guess I'm king of the hill. Laura rolled her eyes. Let's do a mile and a quarter gallop. Last quarter of a mile being at the three furlong field. We'll open them up. The one thing we have on the other competition in the Cox Plate is that they're all cutting back in distance. Freeze is in his wheelhouse and he's really getting a hold of the GHF turf this year. Laura hummed in agreement. Same with Fee. She's just digging in.
The bay and gray horses picked up a strong gallop side by side. Fee carried her head high and her gallop was swift and eager. Freeze simply stretched his body out and became a truly dominating presence at Feline Frenzy's side. Brooks felt his inner problems drift away with the classic gallop stride of Frozen Motion. The iron charger had become so much more than a racehorse to Brooks. He'd taken him through his dark times, just as he had Witch Creek's. He was a light when nothing in the world was going right. He was the world.
Fee danced along like a playful kitten, tongue wagging outside of her mouth. Laura patted the mare's neck, impressed with Fee's confident movement and happy demeanor. She was a good filly. Laura's dream would be realized if she could just get this one mare to grade one. It would be a record in a season for Witch Creek. She was only two wins away. Perhaps Ripley would even consider racing Fee in early January if she hadn't reached the grade one mark by the end of this year.
Frozen Motion sat off of Fee with every hill they galloped over. He wasn't in a hurry. Fee was setting a clear pace that did not require his challenge. Laura kept Fee locked at the cruising speed. She didn't need a horse wasting energy two weeks before a big race. The little mare did not fight any longer. She knew there was a target to the overall journey. It was the wire. The place she was meant to be first. Where it seemed to count most. The little mare that could had finally developed a taste for racing. To say it agreed with her was an understatement.
The gray horse drew up to within a head of Fee now. It was a choice of his own. Brooks simply sat, reins taunt between his fingers. Freeze snorted, ears twitching over head when Fee repelled his bid to move closer. Fee dashed onward, quick on her feet as she descended the steepest hill into the three furlong stretch. The last quarter mile had arrived.
Brooks would move aggressively at this point with Freeze in the Cox Plate. The stallion would relax until the final three furlongs of that race. He would attempt to blow it open and hope it was enough to hold off the likes of Firebird, Infinite Warcry, and Silent Fury. Now was as good as ever to practice. The moment the stallion hit the flat, Brooks shook the reins and sent him. In the swiftest rush of muscle and bone that Brooks had ever felt in his life, Freeze went from what had not been a standstill to a speed unnameable. The horse poured it on up the stretch, legs sweeping over the green course in a fury of movement.
Fee squealed in disdain, kicked off of her hind-end and surged after the stallion. Her little strides carried her swiftly and soon she was making dramatic cuts into Freeze's lead. She surged up his left side, ears pinned into her black mane. Freeze pinned his ears, laid it all on the line with a great burst of speed. Not to be outdone, Fee pushed into her fastest gear, streaking over the green grass and transforming into a predator fit to kill.
The bay and dappled gray flew over the course, an image of power and will. Fee did not let Freeze sneak away from her. Freeze did not let Fee run past him. Brooks and Laura remained quiet as the horses shot bullets at one another even across the wire. Freeze pulled himself up, well aware that the game was finished upon passing the wire. Fee cantered on by him, ears pricked as if she hadn't put any effort in at all. Laura hugged the little mare's neck, soaking in the moment while she could.
Brooks could not remember trying to tune a woman out so hard and not even succeeding a little. Laura DeComte just had a voice suited for effective nagging. It was perfectly clear to him what he had done wrong and that his attitude was quite poor these days. Hearing it through a megaphone didn't make any difference. He shot her a fierce glare, blue jean eyes glinting with annoyance. Laura, God help the man that decides to marry you. Laura's fox-like chin lifted an inch, meeting his remark with a prideful defense. Who says I'm going to get married? Brooks pushed a heavy sigh of relief into the air, Then a man has been saved.
Laura snarled and through the soft brush at Brooks. He snagged it mid-air and wiggled it at her. Not quite good enough little sister. When she made a move to grab the hoofpick, Brooks snagged Frozen Motion's reins and whirled the dappled gray stallion out of the barn. The horse snorted, head bobbing, nostrils flared as he caught onto the excitement. He was so on his toes this day that even his usual kind and well-behaved self was gone. He pranced on his toes, muscles coiling beneath his sleek gray hide. He was an absolute machine these days. He was looking for more in the Cox Plate. It was time to show the horse for what he was worth. To Brooks not even the weight of gold would measure the horse's value. He was priceless.
Fee was game to track Frozen Motion out of the racing barn. She bowed her neck, lifting off her front feet briefly in a burst of excitement. She whinnied, eyes rolling to show the whites. Laura nearly giggled at Feline Frenzy's high energy display. Fee was naturally high energy. She squealed and kicked and truly reflected all the good that was in the world. Laura leaped into the saddle, lifting the reins and clucking. Freeze was a quarter mile away thanks to Brooks' own swift feet. Fee bounded over the turf, whinnying enthusiastically after Freeze. Freeze simply ignored her.
Brooks glanced under his arm. Fee dashed up to Freeze's side in a matter of five seconds. Freeze snorted, ears flicking in a kind greeting. She's got something to prove doesn't she, Miss Laura? Laura shrugged, patted Feline Frenzy's plain Jane neck. Not in my book. She beat Axis Mundae and Sugar Jayde. That was our career high. She just needs to go out there and put out her best race. I know she can do it. She's truly a tough mare. If we ever matched her with Frozen Motion, we'd probably get a Super Iron Horse. Brooks grinned, stroked Frozen Motion's mane. The horse really was something special.
Well, since Ripley took off already to put in entries for this week, I guess I'm king of the hill. Laura rolled her eyes. Let's do a mile and a quarter gallop. Last quarter of a mile being at the three furlong field. We'll open them up. The one thing we have on the other competition in the Cox Plate is that they're all cutting back in distance. Freeze is in his wheelhouse and he's really getting a hold of the GHF turf this year. Laura hummed in agreement. Same with Fee. She's just digging in.
The bay and gray horses picked up a strong gallop side by side. Fee carried her head high and her gallop was swift and eager. Freeze simply stretched his body out and became a truly dominating presence at Feline Frenzy's side. Brooks felt his inner problems drift away with the classic gallop stride of Frozen Motion. The iron charger had become so much more than a racehorse to Brooks. He'd taken him through his dark times, just as he had Witch Creek's. He was a light when nothing in the world was going right. He was the world.
Fee danced along like a playful kitten, tongue wagging outside of her mouth. Laura patted the mare's neck, impressed with Fee's confident movement and happy demeanor. She was a good filly. Laura's dream would be realized if she could just get this one mare to grade one. It would be a record in a season for Witch Creek. She was only two wins away. Perhaps Ripley would even consider racing Fee in early January if she hadn't reached the grade one mark by the end of this year.
Frozen Motion sat off of Fee with every hill they galloped over. He wasn't in a hurry. Fee was setting a clear pace that did not require his challenge. Laura kept Fee locked at the cruising speed. She didn't need a horse wasting energy two weeks before a big race. The little mare did not fight any longer. She knew there was a target to the overall journey. It was the wire. The place she was meant to be first. Where it seemed to count most. The little mare that could had finally developed a taste for racing. To say it agreed with her was an understatement.
The gray horse drew up to within a head of Fee now. It was a choice of his own. Brooks simply sat, reins taunt between his fingers. Freeze snorted, ears twitching over head when Fee repelled his bid to move closer. Fee dashed onward, quick on her feet as she descended the steepest hill into the three furlong stretch. The last quarter mile had arrived.
Brooks would move aggressively at this point with Freeze in the Cox Plate. The stallion would relax until the final three furlongs of that race. He would attempt to blow it open and hope it was enough to hold off the likes of Firebird, Infinite Warcry, and Silent Fury. Now was as good as ever to practice. The moment the stallion hit the flat, Brooks shook the reins and sent him. In the swiftest rush of muscle and bone that Brooks had ever felt in his life, Freeze went from what had not been a standstill to a speed unnameable. The horse poured it on up the stretch, legs sweeping over the green course in a fury of movement.
Fee squealed in disdain, kicked off of her hind-end and surged after the stallion. Her little strides carried her swiftly and soon she was making dramatic cuts into Freeze's lead. She surged up his left side, ears pinned into her black mane. Freeze pinned his ears, laid it all on the line with a great burst of speed. Not to be outdone, Fee pushed into her fastest gear, streaking over the green grass and transforming into a predator fit to kill.
The bay and dappled gray flew over the course, an image of power and will. Fee did not let Freeze sneak away from her. Freeze did not let Fee run past him. Brooks and Laura remained quiet as the horses shot bullets at one another even across the wire. Freeze pulled himself up, well aware that the game was finished upon passing the wire. Fee cantered on by him, ears pricked as if she hadn't put any effort in at all. Laura hugged the little mare's neck, soaking in the moment while she could.