Adults Only Please
Flawed Princess & Dazzling Dame. Jabberwock& Fiery Touch. Frozen Motion& Whipped Cream. Feline Frenzy& The Rising.
Ashes to Ashes& Cold Mountain.
Ashes to Ashes& Cold Mountain.
born to be a princess
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Justin Santiago and Maggiletti Reynolds smiled at one another as they met on the way out to the track. Flawed Princess gleamed in the sunlight beneath Maggie like good old fashioned mahogany while Dazzling Dame pranced like a fierce knight's charger. Dame's near black coat faded to a soft brown around her muzzle, but the only way to take note of this light detail was to get close enough. Getting close to Dazzling Dame was a task if you were not familiar to her. The heavy mare tossed her head, eyes glowing with fire as she took in her challenger for today. Flawed Princess switched her tail over her rump, ears flicking, but not from unease. Dame did not scare her in the least. Amira was a noble soul, an old soul who did as she was told without a speck of disobedience. She was an old hat at the racing game with many years under her belt. This was her first at the highest of levels. Maggie patted her sleek neck, admiring the gentle slope of it as they turned to the turf track.
She'd been at the top of the game before, but never this consistently. Screaming Mimi and now Flawed Princess were making her seem the best turf miler jock around. She admitted to herself that it was probably more to do with her mounts than with her overall strength as a jockey. The horses she had, like most horses here at Witch Creek, had a natural burning fire within them that made all of the humans involved look very good. Amira's last race had been a week ago and she was still pumped up from the wind. She carried herself well despite being raced consistently since January and she looked as though the streak of hers would carry well into the rest of Year Thirteen. Maggie rubbed the mare's black mane, a smile touching her lips. I'm just getting lucky, aren't I Amira? You good ol' girls do all of the real work for me.
Justin smiled at this, but it disappeared as he focused on reigning in Dazzling Dame. The dark mare was two years younger than Flawed Princess and full of pep on this morning. She hadn't run in a while and it appeared that her gallops weren't taking a lot out of her. Races at the grade two level were particularly hard to fill and Dame was growing impatient with every race that cancelled on her. Justin eased the dragon-like filly, slowed his breathing, focused. She was a tough cookie, but nothing compared to Hokum and Prima Donna. She was also his baby girl and patience for her extended much farther than it did with the other two. Dame tossed her head, flashed her teeth in Amira's elegant direction and threatened to give the good ol' gal everything she was worth. Justin could not wait. He loved feeling the turbulence that Dame created. She was a super star even if her early season was slow to start. It had been slow to start last year as well. This year would be her and Amira's final year at the races. They had to go out with a bang. They deserved to.
The mares snorted at one another. Amira was finally catching some of Dame's more authoritative energy. Her skin shivered with impatience now and she glared at the defiant youngster. Maggie felt the tension swoop through Flawed Princess' brilliant muscles. Amira would always provide you with the knowledge that she would bring her A game while jogging in the parade or heading to a workout. She was a tough gal and she loved getting riled as much as any two year old race horse out there. She chomped at the bit and went so far as pinning her ears at Dame when they reached the path to start their workout. Dame threw a powerhouse buck and Justin clung to her withers, eyes alight with a return challenge. Justin patted her neck, glanced at Maggie for confirmation and then sent his 15.3 hand explosive running. Maggie waited a beat before releasing Flawed Princess.
The Hail to Prince mare set off like a rocket after her stablemate, longer legs stretching to come up to the darker horse's throat latch. Maggie kept her hands light and made sure to keep watch on Amira's ears. They flopped along like a rabbits at the moment, but when the big girl wanted to close they would pin back in her trimmed mane. For now, Flawed Princess was content to track Dazzling Dame and play the game of cat and mouse. Dame was not ready to give into the older mare, the queen. She was the princess forever gunning for the top step of royalty. She stretched out her stride, but did not pick up speed. Her effort was suddenly dropped down to zero. She would not put effort in if Flawed Princess did not either. The cat and mouse game was her game as well. She played it perfectly or almost perfectly, every race.
Maggie kept her tone light as she spoke to Flawed Princess who danced lightly up the hillside. Amira and Dame ran the same race, both preceders and both of them were very good at maintaining a high cruising speed. The pair would get a lot out of this workout compared to others where they could goof off and only expend energy in the final furlong. Maggie flicked her hands and sent Amira faster when they reached flat turf. Amira wanted to settle and give Dame a dose of her own medicine, but Maggie wanted strong and she wanted now. Flawed Princess bounded forward with a quick reaction to the sudden pressure. Her ears danced uneasily as she left Dazzling Dame behind. Amira loved to wait on other horses unlike Dazzling Dame who would blow by anyone and everyone she could.
Justin felt the immediate tension in the tightening of the reins. Dame's ears zoomed forward, tuning in on Flawed Princess' quickened pace. The hulking turf mare lowered herself, stalking the other, more out of instinct than out of direction. Justin perched silently like a leopard as Dame stalked the rival mare. Her eyes were rimmed with red and white. She wanted to beat the other horse, wanted to run her down like she hadn't been able to do recently. Dame lived for the racetrack, loved it just as much as any of the human counterparts. Her ferocity in the running of it was nearly unmatched at Witch Creek. The Jessie James gal swarmed suddenly as they cleared the final hill. She attacked Flawed Princess with a brilliant burst of speed and was able to carry it down the steeper hill with the agility that came from her size. Flawed Princess snorted in restrained fury. She could not move as fast as the smaller mare.
Dazzling Dame overtook Amira with two slick strides and poured on the speed as she touched flat ground. Justin remained silent in the stirrups, kept his weight even as his TNT mare rocketed to her exciting goal. Dame was all fire and she was powerful in flight. Flawed Princess was shell-shocked for a step, her eyes uncertain, but a chirp from Maggie had the ever-consistent gem of a mare bursting forward with her own terrifying kick. Amira flew after Dame with a sense of righteousness blooming in her noble gaze. Her long strides ate up the ground between herself and the near black mare, but Dame, sensing Amira's closing kick, put on another burst of speed. Maggie shouted in anger and spurred Amira on. The large mare took a long breath, gathered herself and set down for the final furlong.
Dame moved like a freight train beneath Justin. Her gaze was locked on her goal while her ears danced, listening for her competitor. Amira was coming and coming quick. Justin flicked his fingers on the reins and scooted forward, driving Dame home. She needed to be ready for her next race, whenever it came. Amira flew up in the last few strides, a length behind, then a half-length, then a neck. But the big closing mare could not match the fire that blossomed inside Dazzling Dame. The younger filly stormed beneath the wire and up the next hillside, hell-bent on beating her enemy. Flawed Princess did not slacken her pace, stuck to Dame like a blur, determined to make the gallop out miserable. Maggie patted Amira's neck, satisfied. Amira was not the best at the hillside turf course and the flat course was where she loved to run. She'd get the turf course she dreamed of in her next race. And there would be no Dazzling Dame's to ruin her coronation to Queen. Justin thought, maybe, Dame would have a coronation of her own if she could only have the chance.
She'd been at the top of the game before, but never this consistently. Screaming Mimi and now Flawed Princess were making her seem the best turf miler jock around. She admitted to herself that it was probably more to do with her mounts than with her overall strength as a jockey. The horses she had, like most horses here at Witch Creek, had a natural burning fire within them that made all of the humans involved look very good. Amira's last race had been a week ago and she was still pumped up from the wind. She carried herself well despite being raced consistently since January and she looked as though the streak of hers would carry well into the rest of Year Thirteen. Maggie rubbed the mare's black mane, a smile touching her lips. I'm just getting lucky, aren't I Amira? You good ol' girls do all of the real work for me.
Justin smiled at this, but it disappeared as he focused on reigning in Dazzling Dame. The dark mare was two years younger than Flawed Princess and full of pep on this morning. She hadn't run in a while and it appeared that her gallops weren't taking a lot out of her. Races at the grade two level were particularly hard to fill and Dame was growing impatient with every race that cancelled on her. Justin eased the dragon-like filly, slowed his breathing, focused. She was a tough cookie, but nothing compared to Hokum and Prima Donna. She was also his baby girl and patience for her extended much farther than it did with the other two. Dame tossed her head, flashed her teeth in Amira's elegant direction and threatened to give the good ol' gal everything she was worth. Justin could not wait. He loved feeling the turbulence that Dame created. She was a super star even if her early season was slow to start. It had been slow to start last year as well. This year would be her and Amira's final year at the races. They had to go out with a bang. They deserved to.
The mares snorted at one another. Amira was finally catching some of Dame's more authoritative energy. Her skin shivered with impatience now and she glared at the defiant youngster. Maggie felt the tension swoop through Flawed Princess' brilliant muscles. Amira would always provide you with the knowledge that she would bring her A game while jogging in the parade or heading to a workout. She was a tough gal and she loved getting riled as much as any two year old race horse out there. She chomped at the bit and went so far as pinning her ears at Dame when they reached the path to start their workout. Dame threw a powerhouse buck and Justin clung to her withers, eyes alight with a return challenge. Justin patted her neck, glanced at Maggie for confirmation and then sent his 15.3 hand explosive running. Maggie waited a beat before releasing Flawed Princess.
The Hail to Prince mare set off like a rocket after her stablemate, longer legs stretching to come up to the darker horse's throat latch. Maggie kept her hands light and made sure to keep watch on Amira's ears. They flopped along like a rabbits at the moment, but when the big girl wanted to close they would pin back in her trimmed mane. For now, Flawed Princess was content to track Dazzling Dame and play the game of cat and mouse. Dame was not ready to give into the older mare, the queen. She was the princess forever gunning for the top step of royalty. She stretched out her stride, but did not pick up speed. Her effort was suddenly dropped down to zero. She would not put effort in if Flawed Princess did not either. The cat and mouse game was her game as well. She played it perfectly or almost perfectly, every race.
Maggie kept her tone light as she spoke to Flawed Princess who danced lightly up the hillside. Amira and Dame ran the same race, both preceders and both of them were very good at maintaining a high cruising speed. The pair would get a lot out of this workout compared to others where they could goof off and only expend energy in the final furlong. Maggie flicked her hands and sent Amira faster when they reached flat turf. Amira wanted to settle and give Dame a dose of her own medicine, but Maggie wanted strong and she wanted now. Flawed Princess bounded forward with a quick reaction to the sudden pressure. Her ears danced uneasily as she left Dazzling Dame behind. Amira loved to wait on other horses unlike Dazzling Dame who would blow by anyone and everyone she could.
Justin felt the immediate tension in the tightening of the reins. Dame's ears zoomed forward, tuning in on Flawed Princess' quickened pace. The hulking turf mare lowered herself, stalking the other, more out of instinct than out of direction. Justin perched silently like a leopard as Dame stalked the rival mare. Her eyes were rimmed with red and white. She wanted to beat the other horse, wanted to run her down like she hadn't been able to do recently. Dame lived for the racetrack, loved it just as much as any of the human counterparts. Her ferocity in the running of it was nearly unmatched at Witch Creek. The Jessie James gal swarmed suddenly as they cleared the final hill. She attacked Flawed Princess with a brilliant burst of speed and was able to carry it down the steeper hill with the agility that came from her size. Flawed Princess snorted in restrained fury. She could not move as fast as the smaller mare.
Dazzling Dame overtook Amira with two slick strides and poured on the speed as she touched flat ground. Justin remained silent in the stirrups, kept his weight even as his TNT mare rocketed to her exciting goal. Dame was all fire and she was powerful in flight. Flawed Princess was shell-shocked for a step, her eyes uncertain, but a chirp from Maggie had the ever-consistent gem of a mare bursting forward with her own terrifying kick. Amira flew after Dame with a sense of righteousness blooming in her noble gaze. Her long strides ate up the ground between herself and the near black mare, but Dame, sensing Amira's closing kick, put on another burst of speed. Maggie shouted in anger and spurred Amira on. The large mare took a long breath, gathered herself and set down for the final furlong.
Dame moved like a freight train beneath Justin. Her gaze was locked on her goal while her ears danced, listening for her competitor. Amira was coming and coming quick. Justin flicked his fingers on the reins and scooted forward, driving Dame home. She needed to be ready for her next race, whenever it came. Amira flew up in the last few strides, a length behind, then a half-length, then a neck. But the big closing mare could not match the fire that blossomed inside Dazzling Dame. The younger filly stormed beneath the wire and up the next hillside, hell-bent on beating her enemy. Flawed Princess did not slacken her pace, stuck to Dame like a blur, determined to make the gallop out miserable. Maggie patted Amira's neck, satisfied. Amira was not the best at the hillside turf course and the flat course was where she loved to run. She'd get the turf course she dreamed of in her next race. And there would be no Dazzling Dame's to ruin her coronation to Queen. Justin thought, maybe, Dame would have a coronation of her own if she could only have the chance.
fire to gasoline
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley... I need a race for him soon. The guy is wound up so tight, I'm afraid he's going to explode before we even make it to the starting gate. Birds chirped at the tanned woman's raised voice, but the horses simply flicked their ears and went on with their business. Reese glared at Ripley when the woman simply turned her cat-green eyes on Reese and shrugged. Reese had been floating on cloud-nine since yesterday. Yesterday had been a dream. Bella Luna had bolted her way to a win in the Preakness Champion Stakes, becoming only the second horse to hit the top two legs and go into the Belmont Turf Classic looking for a sweep of the Crown. Despite everyone's insistence on taking a day off, the staff was back to the daily grind of managing the lot of horses at Witch Creek. Reese included despite her stirring victory.
All seventeen hands of her bay stallion rumbled beneath her as they strode down to the race track. There had been no Triple Crown for Jabberwock, the second son of Native Flame. He hadn't entered training until late in his three year old year and was actually quite remarkable for what he had accomplished so far. Yet, the powerful stallion had not seen the racetrack in quite sometime. Jabber had been put on the sidelines for his lackluster coat and his unwillingness to cooperate in gallops. Two weeks ago something had clicked in his brain again. Now he was running brilliantly, beating up his partners in the gallops and workouts. He was on his toes with a dappled coat and a fantastic muscle tone. Reese wanted a race for the guy badly. The Wire or Green Horse Fields. It did not matter to her. She patted the high-crested neck of her favorite stallion at Witch Creek, smiled when he dipped his head to accept the affection. Ripley come on... There has to be some race out there that he can run in.
And I'll let you know when I find one Reese. We have a big barn and I'm spanning two tracks to fit them all in. I don't want to enter a horse who just recently picked his conditioning up. If he works out well against Fie then I'll try to find a race for him. Just have some patience, will you? Reese glared when Ripley nudged her light bay mare into a trot down the path. The last sentence had not been a question, but a demand. Ripley was just plain irritating these days. Reese moved Jabber into a swinging trot after Fiery Touch. The Flash At Dawn mare moved powerfully beneath the head trainer, neck bowed and ears pointed forward. If there was any horse on edge and ready to explode next time out, it was Fie. Reese knew that if Jabberwock performed up to the newly grade one's level, Ripley would have to seriously consider entering him. There wasn't a horse in the barn that could hold a match to Fiery Touch at the moment.
Ripley was reveling in the power beneath her and quickly forgetting the defiant remarks of Reese Balling Jones. It wasn't hard to do when you were sitting on a million bucks worth of horse. Fiery Touch had not been a superstar as a two year old and it wasn't until the Triple Tiara time that Fie had really begun to show signs of talent. The blaze marked mare had turned into a monster this season, winning five of seven starts, and flying into grade one territory. Her gallops were stupendous and she often had to be worked alone. Fiery Touch would be switched away from The Wire and take on the supposedly tougher competition at Green Horse Fields. Part of it involved separating her from Ashes to Ashes who ran the same distance, but also, Fiery Touch was looking for a challenge. And she just wasn't getting it at The Wire.
The cat-eyed woman ran a hand down the neck of her prized mare, letting the rhythm of Fie's stride lull her briefly. She was going to be a challenge for Jabberwock. No doubt about it. The mare was as cool as a cucumber. When Jabberwock caught up at the gap, Fie swung into a canter, immediately sending signals that the stallion had his work cut out for him. Reese mumbled under her breath, lifted her hands and sent Jabber rollicking after the classically built mare. Reese eyed Ripley's back watching for any tenseness or hints of further speed. She watched Fie's sweeping stride and labelled herself a cooked goose if Jabber really wasn't up to par.
The big stallion settled into his ground-eating gallop, inside ear locked on Fiery Touch who was simply gamboling along like a seasoned pro. Jabber was still new compared to Fie, still finding his bearings in the eventful world of racing. Reese leaned close to his warm neck, smiling as he lifted it to catch a secret. She loved the horse like no other. He had been her first ride with Witch Creek and she planned on sticking with him until the end. The bay galloped without effort as Fie lead them into the first turn. She was settled and content. She'd once been worried about being pinned on the rail, but improved agility made it hard for any horse to get past her now. Fie nickered softly, tossing her head and sweet-talking Jabber. The stallion snorted, nostrils flaring. Reese and Ripley leaned forward instantly, throwing the reins up and sending the horses faster.
If they had time to chat, they clearly weren't working hard enough or working at all. Fie's ears flew back into her mane, all sense of play lost with the rapid speed. Her eyes became serious, her muscles grew tense as she grew focused. Ripley felt adrenaline surge through her own body with lightning swiftness as Fie took the corner so closely that the stirrup brushed against it. Fie squealed, locked her ears down and hit the gas pedal. Ripley leaned close at the surge of speed, watched as Jabber vanished suddenly from their haunches. Fie flew up the track, knees lifting high and strong. She was not running away with Ripley. Their partnership had grown strong enough that simple thought did the trick where physical encouragement used to be end all, be all.
Reese whistled as Fie flew away. The mare could run, but she would not be running off by herself. Not on this day. She flung the reins down at her truck of a stallion, chirped to him. Jabber responded quickly with a swift half-buck. Within two strides the stallion was soaring after Fiery Touch. His power was mesmerizing and swift for such a large horse. He drove after her with big, leaping strides and narrowed the gap between them with every single one. Reese's eyes burned with tears from the wind, so much so that she yanked her goggles down. Jabberwock in full flight was a sight to behold. The sweet-talker became a freight train and Fie was the intended victim, not lover. Reese goaded him on as they flew into the final turn, grinning hugely when Fie's big, beautiful butt drew closer and closer.
Fie heard the thunderous hoofbeats a second before Ripley dared to acknowledge them. Jabber had hesitated and had been left behind by at least seven lengths. That distance probably had been more by the time he'd picked up his stride. He was a proven front-runner and if he was making the gigantic closing move the way Ripley believed he was, Jabberwock had more secrets than they'd originally thought. She glanced under her armpit and shook her head. He was bearing down on Fie with all of the determination and fire in the world. Ripley punched Fie forward then with a swift kick and shake of the reins. The Touch Up mare roared forward, legs covering tremendous amounts of ground as she stormed up the homestretch. Her eyes were fierce and grew only fiercer when Jabber came to her barrel.
Reese was laughing like a loon as Jabber reached Fie. God, the stallion could be bloody brilliant! Fiery Touch's nostrils flared in fury when she caught his scent rushing up on her and she bolted. Ripley's fingers tightened hard on the mare's whipping black mane, almost not prepared for this kind of kick so late in the seven furlongs. Fie was not going to be outdone by Jabberwock today. She was stronger, more experienced and wiser to the ways of racing. He was simply a newbie. Ripley leaned close as the grand mare dashed beneath the wire, admired Jabber as he flew on by after Fie was pulled up. Maybe Reese was right. Maybe the stallion was ready for a race.
Reese turned Jabber back, stroking his neck as he met up with Fie. Well? Ripley shrugged again. Just to infuriate Reese. He looked good to me. But he won't race for another week. I want him in the Spring Cup. They'll both go to the Spring Cup and we'll see what we have then. Stiff two minute licks until then and they'll be ready. Reese stuck her tongue out at Ripley's back as the older woman guided Fie home. Inside, however, Reese was giving herself and Jabber a standing ovation.
All seventeen hands of her bay stallion rumbled beneath her as they strode down to the race track. There had been no Triple Crown for Jabberwock, the second son of Native Flame. He hadn't entered training until late in his three year old year and was actually quite remarkable for what he had accomplished so far. Yet, the powerful stallion had not seen the racetrack in quite sometime. Jabber had been put on the sidelines for his lackluster coat and his unwillingness to cooperate in gallops. Two weeks ago something had clicked in his brain again. Now he was running brilliantly, beating up his partners in the gallops and workouts. He was on his toes with a dappled coat and a fantastic muscle tone. Reese wanted a race for the guy badly. The Wire or Green Horse Fields. It did not matter to her. She patted the high-crested neck of her favorite stallion at Witch Creek, smiled when he dipped his head to accept the affection. Ripley come on... There has to be some race out there that he can run in.
And I'll let you know when I find one Reese. We have a big barn and I'm spanning two tracks to fit them all in. I don't want to enter a horse who just recently picked his conditioning up. If he works out well against Fie then I'll try to find a race for him. Just have some patience, will you? Reese glared when Ripley nudged her light bay mare into a trot down the path. The last sentence had not been a question, but a demand. Ripley was just plain irritating these days. Reese moved Jabber into a swinging trot after Fiery Touch. The Flash At Dawn mare moved powerfully beneath the head trainer, neck bowed and ears pointed forward. If there was any horse on edge and ready to explode next time out, it was Fie. Reese knew that if Jabberwock performed up to the newly grade one's level, Ripley would have to seriously consider entering him. There wasn't a horse in the barn that could hold a match to Fiery Touch at the moment.
Ripley was reveling in the power beneath her and quickly forgetting the defiant remarks of Reese Balling Jones. It wasn't hard to do when you were sitting on a million bucks worth of horse. Fiery Touch had not been a superstar as a two year old and it wasn't until the Triple Tiara time that Fie had really begun to show signs of talent. The blaze marked mare had turned into a monster this season, winning five of seven starts, and flying into grade one territory. Her gallops were stupendous and she often had to be worked alone. Fiery Touch would be switched away from The Wire and take on the supposedly tougher competition at Green Horse Fields. Part of it involved separating her from Ashes to Ashes who ran the same distance, but also, Fiery Touch was looking for a challenge. And she just wasn't getting it at The Wire.
The cat-eyed woman ran a hand down the neck of her prized mare, letting the rhythm of Fie's stride lull her briefly. She was going to be a challenge for Jabberwock. No doubt about it. The mare was as cool as a cucumber. When Jabberwock caught up at the gap, Fie swung into a canter, immediately sending signals that the stallion had his work cut out for him. Reese mumbled under her breath, lifted her hands and sent Jabber rollicking after the classically built mare. Reese eyed Ripley's back watching for any tenseness or hints of further speed. She watched Fie's sweeping stride and labelled herself a cooked goose if Jabber really wasn't up to par.
The big stallion settled into his ground-eating gallop, inside ear locked on Fiery Touch who was simply gamboling along like a seasoned pro. Jabber was still new compared to Fie, still finding his bearings in the eventful world of racing. Reese leaned close to his warm neck, smiling as he lifted it to catch a secret. She loved the horse like no other. He had been her first ride with Witch Creek and she planned on sticking with him until the end. The bay galloped without effort as Fie lead them into the first turn. She was settled and content. She'd once been worried about being pinned on the rail, but improved agility made it hard for any horse to get past her now. Fie nickered softly, tossing her head and sweet-talking Jabber. The stallion snorted, nostrils flaring. Reese and Ripley leaned forward instantly, throwing the reins up and sending the horses faster.
If they had time to chat, they clearly weren't working hard enough or working at all. Fie's ears flew back into her mane, all sense of play lost with the rapid speed. Her eyes became serious, her muscles grew tense as she grew focused. Ripley felt adrenaline surge through her own body with lightning swiftness as Fie took the corner so closely that the stirrup brushed against it. Fie squealed, locked her ears down and hit the gas pedal. Ripley leaned close at the surge of speed, watched as Jabber vanished suddenly from their haunches. Fie flew up the track, knees lifting high and strong. She was not running away with Ripley. Their partnership had grown strong enough that simple thought did the trick where physical encouragement used to be end all, be all.
Reese whistled as Fie flew away. The mare could run, but she would not be running off by herself. Not on this day. She flung the reins down at her truck of a stallion, chirped to him. Jabber responded quickly with a swift half-buck. Within two strides the stallion was soaring after Fiery Touch. His power was mesmerizing and swift for such a large horse. He drove after her with big, leaping strides and narrowed the gap between them with every single one. Reese's eyes burned with tears from the wind, so much so that she yanked her goggles down. Jabberwock in full flight was a sight to behold. The sweet-talker became a freight train and Fie was the intended victim, not lover. Reese goaded him on as they flew into the final turn, grinning hugely when Fie's big, beautiful butt drew closer and closer.
Fie heard the thunderous hoofbeats a second before Ripley dared to acknowledge them. Jabber had hesitated and had been left behind by at least seven lengths. That distance probably had been more by the time he'd picked up his stride. He was a proven front-runner and if he was making the gigantic closing move the way Ripley believed he was, Jabberwock had more secrets than they'd originally thought. She glanced under her armpit and shook her head. He was bearing down on Fie with all of the determination and fire in the world. Ripley punched Fie forward then with a swift kick and shake of the reins. The Touch Up mare roared forward, legs covering tremendous amounts of ground as she stormed up the homestretch. Her eyes were fierce and grew only fiercer when Jabber came to her barrel.
Reese was laughing like a loon as Jabber reached Fie. God, the stallion could be bloody brilliant! Fiery Touch's nostrils flared in fury when she caught his scent rushing up on her and she bolted. Ripley's fingers tightened hard on the mare's whipping black mane, almost not prepared for this kind of kick so late in the seven furlongs. Fie was not going to be outdone by Jabberwock today. She was stronger, more experienced and wiser to the ways of racing. He was simply a newbie. Ripley leaned close as the grand mare dashed beneath the wire, admired Jabber as he flew on by after Fie was pulled up. Maybe Reese was right. Maybe the stallion was ready for a race.
Reese turned Jabber back, stroking his neck as he met up with Fie. Well? Ripley shrugged again. Just to infuriate Reese. He looked good to me. But he won't race for another week. I want him in the Spring Cup. They'll both go to the Spring Cup and we'll see what we have then. Stiff two minute licks until then and they'll be ready. Reese stuck her tongue out at Ripley's back as the older woman guided Fie home. Inside, however, Reese was giving herself and Jabber a standing ovation.
think twice, not nice
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Laura nodded to Reese as the woman passed by aboard Jabberwock, fingers tensing briefly on the reins as Whipped Cream prepared to kick. She was the only mare in the barn who did not seem enchanted by Jabberwock's advances. Her head snaked at him with pinned ears and evil eyes, her body angled for attack. Laura sat with the violent movement, keeping a deep seat as Rea moved toward her prey. She was the predator in this relationship. Jabberwock stepped to the side to avoid the thick mare, head bobbing when Reese reassured him that everything was fine. Keep your dragon mare away from my baby boy. Laura rolled her eyes as she straightened Whippet mare bay to her normal path for turf track. If there was any horse who could teach meanness, it was surely Whipped Cream. Laura patted the mare's neck, not expecting her to accept the easy affection. Whipped Cream was a workingman's horse with the body of a dressage princess. She worked wonders out on the turf track and had a tendency to get a little nasty in the homestretch. To Laura, she was the perfect mount. To everyone else, she was the devil himself.
Brookson kept his lean dappled gray stallion back from Whipped Cream as she stalked down the path. Rea was not a friend of Frozen Motion's and Frozen Motion did not even pretend a friendship existed. The noble gray horse had long since given up on that rebellious mare long ago. Now, Freeze sauntered along, ears up and eyes bright. There was nothing in the world that could make him happier than a ride with Brooks. Freeze was pretty easy going in that way. Unfortunately, he was becoming too easy going. The killer instinct that had driven Frozen Motion to finish off his races as a three year old just didn't exist. He'd taken too many beatings at the hooves of Souvenir over his home track The Wire. Now he wasn't interested in beating anyone. Brooks wasn't sure if Ripley's experiment with Rea would work for Freeze, but he sure hoped it would. His best partner was floundering out there when this time last year he'd been at the top of his game.
The mare and stallion trotted over the turf course with abandon. Rea's ears were pricked as far forward as they would go, her eyes were bright with excitement. This was the one place that Whipped Cream was at her nicest. She loved training, loved racing and simply hated her competition. Her eyes flashed every time Frozen Motion approached and Freeze would often take himself up in order to escape her venom. Only after a few of these times did Brookson force the dappled gray to move on. He did not need to jump out whenever the hefty mare approached. He was the champion and she was merely on the up and up. Brooks forced these arrogant thoughts through the reins and into the head of his favorite mount. Freeze ducked it down, dark eyes widening and nostrils flaring as if he'd somehow caught the projected message. Whenever Rea turned to snap at him Freeze merely moved on, did not duck out, and stayed right between Brooks' long legs. Brooks patted the horse's neck, very pleased. Freeze needed to remember that he was in possession of competitive fires. He often forgot, but it was easy enough to remind him.
Laura tugged on the reins when Rea went to savage her stablemate once again. Whipped Cream often grew too preoccupied with her competition and needed reminders herself. Laura let out a heavy sigh out, watched as Rea's ears pinned. The mare was simply too cranky for her own good. A chirp had the charger bounding forward into a long gallop stride. The wind whipped back into Laura's face with the increased speed, but not enough to pull the goggles down quite yet. Rea was a glory of muscle on top of more muscle. She had a fierce style and a rock solid kick over the turf track. She so clearly enjoyed the challenge that the hills provided that Laura wished her races could take place over the hillside turf course. She settled down the moment she reached the crest of the hill. Her head cocked this way and that to take in the view for just a few moment. Laura waited for Freeze to gallop by before encouraging the mare to take after him.
Freeze swept down the hillside strong, true and brave. The dappled stallion was a fearless mount. He would have been the perfect warhorse and he was indeed Witch Creek's own true blue iron horse. His time was not over yet. His ears locked back in his mane when Brooks booted him forward into a faster run over the flat. The gray had once been a wild front-runner. It was a testament to his age that Freeze was now able to settle. However, settling was not getting the job done anymore. He needed more of that cruising speed back into his style. That would be his only way to get back on top. Brooks leaned close, nudged the handsome gray along when Rea came to his haunches. The burly mare was usually a mid-packer. Brooks imagined that it was under Laura's urging that she was up this close so quickly. Both of them needed a good old fashioned tightener.
The pair swept up the hillside with great strides, Rea gaining more and more on Frozen Motion. She was at his throat latch at the top of the hill. Freeze's eyes grew briefly panicked, but Brooks patted him, soothing him. Rea was only catching up thanks to the boosters that she called legs. The moment the hill sloped down, Freeze regained control, gliding down the course with elegant, nimble strides. He moved like a deer down the hillside, careful and yet full of run if called upon. Brooks perched quietly now. The adrenaline was pumping through them both. Freeze didn't need much more encouragement. The dappled gray steamrolled into the three furlong flat. Leaving behind a momentarily stunned Laura and furious Rea. Brooks remained quiet as the good old charger proved who was boss over this course.
Laura called shrilly after Brooks, blue eyes sharp as daggers. She pushed heartily into Rea's withers and mane, calling for run, challenging her challenger. Whipped Cream surged forward in a powerful display of strength and muscle. The dark bay mare shouldered her way up into a blinding run, gunning for the silver beast flying ahead of them. Rea's nostrils flared with every sweeping stride, her eyes glittered with fire and a need to dominate. Laura remained quiet. There was no need to egg on a horse so filled with fire and hate for the competition. The mare's hoof beats sounded like warning drums that the battle was about to commence. Laura nearly cackled, dipping into her own sense of scary humor. Whipped Cream was so perfect for her.
Frozen Motion lined out like a greyhound the minute he heard Rea coming. His ears were lost in his darker mane, his tail went straight back, floating on the wind of his own making. The dappled gray's movement was swift and smooth as glass as he rolled over the familiar turf course. Brooks was quiet and lost in a world of happiness. The stallion was back to the way he had always been, leading the last final charge, making his final stand a few strides before the wire. He dared Whipped Cream to come and take him for he had reserves that were unmeasured and had been relatively untapped until this moment in the year. His eyes glittered with rage and the excitement that the race had once brought to him.
Laura gave her mare one last fierce push, uncertain that they would reach the streaming silver stallion. Rea's nostrils flared as she responded, her eyes rimmed red with intense dislike as she gave one last effort. The burly mare launched off of her hind end, stormed after Frozen Motion and caught up to his rear end as he streaked through the wire. Freeze's ears lifted up from their locked position and he began to lift his knees high with pride. He'd defeated the dragon mare on the nose. Whipped Cream snaked her head at him as Laura forced her to gallop out by him. The dark mare was not used to being beaten over this turf course. She glared at Frozen Motion as she passed, but the stallion was too lost in his victory to care.
Brookson kept his lean dappled gray stallion back from Whipped Cream as she stalked down the path. Rea was not a friend of Frozen Motion's and Frozen Motion did not even pretend a friendship existed. The noble gray horse had long since given up on that rebellious mare long ago. Now, Freeze sauntered along, ears up and eyes bright. There was nothing in the world that could make him happier than a ride with Brooks. Freeze was pretty easy going in that way. Unfortunately, he was becoming too easy going. The killer instinct that had driven Frozen Motion to finish off his races as a three year old just didn't exist. He'd taken too many beatings at the hooves of Souvenir over his home track The Wire. Now he wasn't interested in beating anyone. Brooks wasn't sure if Ripley's experiment with Rea would work for Freeze, but he sure hoped it would. His best partner was floundering out there when this time last year he'd been at the top of his game.
The mare and stallion trotted over the turf course with abandon. Rea's ears were pricked as far forward as they would go, her eyes were bright with excitement. This was the one place that Whipped Cream was at her nicest. She loved training, loved racing and simply hated her competition. Her eyes flashed every time Frozen Motion approached and Freeze would often take himself up in order to escape her venom. Only after a few of these times did Brookson force the dappled gray to move on. He did not need to jump out whenever the hefty mare approached. He was the champion and she was merely on the up and up. Brooks forced these arrogant thoughts through the reins and into the head of his favorite mount. Freeze ducked it down, dark eyes widening and nostrils flaring as if he'd somehow caught the projected message. Whenever Rea turned to snap at him Freeze merely moved on, did not duck out, and stayed right between Brooks' long legs. Brooks patted the horse's neck, very pleased. Freeze needed to remember that he was in possession of competitive fires. He often forgot, but it was easy enough to remind him.
Laura tugged on the reins when Rea went to savage her stablemate once again. Whipped Cream often grew too preoccupied with her competition and needed reminders herself. Laura let out a heavy sigh out, watched as Rea's ears pinned. The mare was simply too cranky for her own good. A chirp had the charger bounding forward into a long gallop stride. The wind whipped back into Laura's face with the increased speed, but not enough to pull the goggles down quite yet. Rea was a glory of muscle on top of more muscle. She had a fierce style and a rock solid kick over the turf track. She so clearly enjoyed the challenge that the hills provided that Laura wished her races could take place over the hillside turf course. She settled down the moment she reached the crest of the hill. Her head cocked this way and that to take in the view for just a few moment. Laura waited for Freeze to gallop by before encouraging the mare to take after him.
Freeze swept down the hillside strong, true and brave. The dappled stallion was a fearless mount. He would have been the perfect warhorse and he was indeed Witch Creek's own true blue iron horse. His time was not over yet. His ears locked back in his mane when Brooks booted him forward into a faster run over the flat. The gray had once been a wild front-runner. It was a testament to his age that Freeze was now able to settle. However, settling was not getting the job done anymore. He needed more of that cruising speed back into his style. That would be his only way to get back on top. Brooks leaned close, nudged the handsome gray along when Rea came to his haunches. The burly mare was usually a mid-packer. Brooks imagined that it was under Laura's urging that she was up this close so quickly. Both of them needed a good old fashioned tightener.
The pair swept up the hillside with great strides, Rea gaining more and more on Frozen Motion. She was at his throat latch at the top of the hill. Freeze's eyes grew briefly panicked, but Brooks patted him, soothing him. Rea was only catching up thanks to the boosters that she called legs. The moment the hill sloped down, Freeze regained control, gliding down the course with elegant, nimble strides. He moved like a deer down the hillside, careful and yet full of run if called upon. Brooks perched quietly now. The adrenaline was pumping through them both. Freeze didn't need much more encouragement. The dappled gray steamrolled into the three furlong flat. Leaving behind a momentarily stunned Laura and furious Rea. Brooks remained quiet as the good old charger proved who was boss over this course.
Laura called shrilly after Brooks, blue eyes sharp as daggers. She pushed heartily into Rea's withers and mane, calling for run, challenging her challenger. Whipped Cream surged forward in a powerful display of strength and muscle. The dark bay mare shouldered her way up into a blinding run, gunning for the silver beast flying ahead of them. Rea's nostrils flared with every sweeping stride, her eyes glittered with fire and a need to dominate. Laura remained quiet. There was no need to egg on a horse so filled with fire and hate for the competition. The mare's hoof beats sounded like warning drums that the battle was about to commence. Laura nearly cackled, dipping into her own sense of scary humor. Whipped Cream was so perfect for her.
Frozen Motion lined out like a greyhound the minute he heard Rea coming. His ears were lost in his darker mane, his tail went straight back, floating on the wind of his own making. The dappled gray's movement was swift and smooth as glass as he rolled over the familiar turf course. Brooks was quiet and lost in a world of happiness. The stallion was back to the way he had always been, leading the last final charge, making his final stand a few strides before the wire. He dared Whipped Cream to come and take him for he had reserves that were unmeasured and had been relatively untapped until this moment in the year. His eyes glittered with rage and the excitement that the race had once brought to him.
Laura gave her mare one last fierce push, uncertain that they would reach the streaming silver stallion. Rea's nostrils flared as she responded, her eyes rimmed red with intense dislike as she gave one last effort. The burly mare launched off of her hind end, stormed after Frozen Motion and caught up to his rear end as he streaked through the wire. Freeze's ears lifted up from their locked position and he began to lift his knees high with pride. He'd defeated the dragon mare on the nose. Whipped Cream snaked her head at him as Laura forced her to gallop out by him. The dark mare was not used to being beaten over this turf course. She glared at Frozen Motion as she passed, but the stallion was too lost in his victory to care.
lion & the lamb
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
There was nothing particularly spectacular about the two bays walking towards the turf track. One was a minuscule 15.2 hands tall and the other was a towering 17.0. Both of them had a tiny white star gracing their foreheads and both had long black stockings typical of bay horses. On paper, however, both horses increased in public opinion. The dainty Feline Frenzy owned five victories in Year Thirteen, all at sprint distances and over The Wire course. She was becoming a horse to deal with no matter where she was racing. Now that she'd gone from a grade five horse to a grade three in a matter of half the season, Fee needed to step things up a bit. She was becoming a ferocious lion out on racetrack, taking no prisoners and zero chances. She went out to beat you and if she couldn't beat you, then she'd make sure you'd have a difficult time beating her. Feline Frenzy, of no known pedigree, was giving even top class horses a bit of a hard time. She was quickly becoming Laura DeComte's pride and joy out on the track.
The Rising, the Goliath to her Fee's David, had no such fiery record on the track, though he was slowly moving up the ranks of older horses. His prized possession was in his pedigree and specifically his female relatives. His dam Warm Wishes was a grade one producer. His half sisters through his sire, Wildly Natural and Born To Soar, were both Hall of Famers and accepting awards well before their four year old season. The Rising had no such awards and was in the background, a lamb in the claiming ranks. He was now a grade four, but still no one believed he could reach the insurmountable level of his sisters. And maybe he couldn't, Maggie thought, but he could give as good as he got for however long he wanted to race. The blonde patted his powerful neck, admiring the slope of his muscles and the glimpse of kindness in his eye. The Rising was not a slouch. He was a beautiful animal built for speed and stamina. He could get turf and dirt and go as far as you wanted him to go. He was a warhorse willing to blow through the holes that didn't exist or run that much farther out in the middle of the stretch. He was the push button mount any rider dreamed of getting in a race, whether it was the Kentucky Derby or not.
Feline Frenzy and The Rising were a rag tag pair compared to others in the Witch Creek barn. They were good horses, not great ones, but with the potential to get there. This was the slogan for Witch Creek's training practice. These two fit it to the 'T." Laura patted Fee's neck, laughing when she dipped her head in cautious acceptance. Fee'd hated being the one of many, but still couldn't figure out how to accept the attention when it was finally given to her. She endeared herself to Laura every single day. The tiny mare with the big heart was growing on everyone. She just refused to lose without a fight, much like Cross My Heart, but kinder in the stable. Laura could count on Fee to be there for her no matter the race or the situation. She was the little engine that could.
Ri marched like a solider into battle beside Feline Frenzy. He was a noble warhorse, careful with his steps, but always exuding that special substance that could not be put into words. He drew attention like a magnet, thrived on an audience and on the action in the winner's circle. Maggie had been preoccupied with her other horses, particularly GS Royal Crown and Flawed Princess, but now she could finally devote time to Hall of Famer The Natural's colt. Handsome man... I swear you'll be special to everyone one day. Just like you are to me. To everyone here. The muscular horse stopped to paw the earth briefly, ears cocked sideways to listen. His large, kind eye was glued to Fee. The little mare was full of spice today. She bounced around on toes as sharp as flint, her eyes glittered with the playfulness that seemed to be apart of her. The Rising had been a gallop partner to her for most of the year. This would be the first time he faced off with her in a workout. He would not underestimate her. He did not underestimate any opponents in any situation.
Maggie and Laura exchanged excited glances before setting the mare and stallion into a strong gallop. Fee flew ahead to lead by a length and a half. She was as dainty as a baby bird, but with the speed of a cheetah, Fee was potentially dangerous. Laura let the mare lengthen her stride until the plain brown horse was content. She danced up and over the first turf hill with natural grace, sure in every single step she took. The Rising tracked her, ears flopping up and down, back into his black mane and then soldier straight again. His muscles were lean and he was moving as though he wasn't putting in any effort at all. Maggie perched at his withers, blue eyes dancing with inner flame. Ri may not be the best in the bunch, but he sure had the prettiest stride on him. He picked up speed when Feline Frenzy did, settled when she did so as well. He was malleable. Perfect. He was becoming a threat to the track when he'd once only been a single paced front runner.
Laura was happy with Feline Frenzy whom darted away from her rival with swift ease once she hit the flat. Her strides were tight and quick, small because of her size. She took two for every single one of The Rising's, but he never reached her. He would not come after her until the three furlong flat. The little mare knew it and so she was at play, only going to work when Laura niggled the reins at her. She'd pin her ears, threaten to hop, but after a remark the spitfire would settle down again. Laura smirked, settled in and waited. The Rising would come for them soon enough. She would be ready for him and for whatever move Maggie planned to try out this time.
Maggie's hands braced on Ri's neck. Fee raced ahead of them, but she would be reeled in quite easily. Ri could do it. He was tougher. He could last longer than the little mare. But would he be fast enough to catch the little dervish? Maggie bit her lip. Even she wasn't sure. Few had this year. Only twice. Feline Frenzy was the toughest sprinter on the circuit below the grade one level. Maggie shook her head, momentarily uncertain. The stallion's black rimmed ears dipped back to listen to the movement. Wrinkles appeared over his brow and then suddenly Maggie didn't have a choice in when to make the move. Ri made it for her. The bay horse clamped the bit between his pearly white teeth, locked his ears back into his trimmed mane and bolted. Maggie felt fear and adrenaline course through her light frame as Ri flew after Feline Frenzy. The horse covered ground with immense strides and quickly drew even with the slim mare.
Laura glanced over in surprise, eyes widening like saucers. What kind of move was this. They still had four furlongs to go and Maggie was pressing the button? There were only two reasons for this move: either A) The Rising had bolted or B) Maggie believed Ri's stamina would outlast Fee's speed. The redhead held tight when Fee responded with a burst of energy. She wanted to go after the flying stallion, her heart burned at the thought of being beaten. Foam flew up and spotted Laura's shoulder when the mare crow-hopped. Laura held her in for a moment more and then simply let the reins go. The doe-like mare rocketed forward, kicking up clods of well-groomed turf. Her eyes glinted with determination as she surged after Ri. The stallion was moving easily. He still had more in the tank, but without Maggie's control he wasn't being rated down. Laura banked on that, shot a prayer skyward, and stayed as still as stone when Fee charged up the hillside.
Maggie could hear Fee's snorting breaths just behind The Rising. The big stallion heard her as well, locked on harder to the bit, but at the crest of the hill became indecisive. Maggie gasped, snapped the bit out of Ri's teeth and grinned. Finally. The stallion glared, but did not fight against the sudden control. He was not GS Royal Crown. A nudge sent the handsome horse over the edge of the hill, down the hillside. He navigated it quickly enough to keep the more agile Fee at bay, but she'd closed the gap tremendously by the time they'd reached the base. Maggie held Ri close even when Fee glided up to his barrel. The Rising did not like it, but he had long ago dropped the pure sprinter's mentality. He rated down, held back by Maggie's superb horsemanship and his own kind attitude.
Fee was breaking track records in order to keep even with Ri. She'd run hard and fast in order to catch up to him, but she was still in her wheelhouse of eight furlongs. This mile workout was all she needed to prep her for future races. The competition would get tougher, the horses faster, but her determination could beat them both back. Laura called on for more speed as they whipped through the two furlong juncture. Feline Frenzy responded magnificently, drawing up to nose out The Rising. Maggie gritted her teeth and released her adrenaline boosted stud. Ri bolted up to run neck and neck, legs reaching farther, but not swift enough to outgun little Fee. Laura implored her mount with her hands, her feet, her voice. Fee fired every gear she head, mouth agape and eyes wide. She was fighting with everything she had. And The Rising was finally putting some effort into his running.
Head and head, the stallion and mare flew for the wire, gouging hoofprints into the earth as they raced. Maggie and Laura pushed them on through, eyes each lighting with triumph when The Rising and Feline Frenzy hit the wire together. The pair galloped out up the hillside, strong, but breathing heavy. Their eyes were bright and they both looked every inch the winner. It had felt good to put it all on the line and come out winners. Hopefully the bays would duplicate the feat next time out.
The Rising, the Goliath to her Fee's David, had no such fiery record on the track, though he was slowly moving up the ranks of older horses. His prized possession was in his pedigree and specifically his female relatives. His dam Warm Wishes was a grade one producer. His half sisters through his sire, Wildly Natural and Born To Soar, were both Hall of Famers and accepting awards well before their four year old season. The Rising had no such awards and was in the background, a lamb in the claiming ranks. He was now a grade four, but still no one believed he could reach the insurmountable level of his sisters. And maybe he couldn't, Maggie thought, but he could give as good as he got for however long he wanted to race. The blonde patted his powerful neck, admiring the slope of his muscles and the glimpse of kindness in his eye. The Rising was not a slouch. He was a beautiful animal built for speed and stamina. He could get turf and dirt and go as far as you wanted him to go. He was a warhorse willing to blow through the holes that didn't exist or run that much farther out in the middle of the stretch. He was the push button mount any rider dreamed of getting in a race, whether it was the Kentucky Derby or not.
Feline Frenzy and The Rising were a rag tag pair compared to others in the Witch Creek barn. They were good horses, not great ones, but with the potential to get there. This was the slogan for Witch Creek's training practice. These two fit it to the 'T." Laura patted Fee's neck, laughing when she dipped her head in cautious acceptance. Fee'd hated being the one of many, but still couldn't figure out how to accept the attention when it was finally given to her. She endeared herself to Laura every single day. The tiny mare with the big heart was growing on everyone. She just refused to lose without a fight, much like Cross My Heart, but kinder in the stable. Laura could count on Fee to be there for her no matter the race or the situation. She was the little engine that could.
Ri marched like a solider into battle beside Feline Frenzy. He was a noble warhorse, careful with his steps, but always exuding that special substance that could not be put into words. He drew attention like a magnet, thrived on an audience and on the action in the winner's circle. Maggie had been preoccupied with her other horses, particularly GS Royal Crown and Flawed Princess, but now she could finally devote time to Hall of Famer The Natural's colt. Handsome man... I swear you'll be special to everyone one day. Just like you are to me. To everyone here. The muscular horse stopped to paw the earth briefly, ears cocked sideways to listen. His large, kind eye was glued to Fee. The little mare was full of spice today. She bounced around on toes as sharp as flint, her eyes glittered with the playfulness that seemed to be apart of her. The Rising had been a gallop partner to her for most of the year. This would be the first time he faced off with her in a workout. He would not underestimate her. He did not underestimate any opponents in any situation.
Maggie and Laura exchanged excited glances before setting the mare and stallion into a strong gallop. Fee flew ahead to lead by a length and a half. She was as dainty as a baby bird, but with the speed of a cheetah, Fee was potentially dangerous. Laura let the mare lengthen her stride until the plain brown horse was content. She danced up and over the first turf hill with natural grace, sure in every single step she took. The Rising tracked her, ears flopping up and down, back into his black mane and then soldier straight again. His muscles were lean and he was moving as though he wasn't putting in any effort at all. Maggie perched at his withers, blue eyes dancing with inner flame. Ri may not be the best in the bunch, but he sure had the prettiest stride on him. He picked up speed when Feline Frenzy did, settled when she did so as well. He was malleable. Perfect. He was becoming a threat to the track when he'd once only been a single paced front runner.
Laura was happy with Feline Frenzy whom darted away from her rival with swift ease once she hit the flat. Her strides were tight and quick, small because of her size. She took two for every single one of The Rising's, but he never reached her. He would not come after her until the three furlong flat. The little mare knew it and so she was at play, only going to work when Laura niggled the reins at her. She'd pin her ears, threaten to hop, but after a remark the spitfire would settle down again. Laura smirked, settled in and waited. The Rising would come for them soon enough. She would be ready for him and for whatever move Maggie planned to try out this time.
Maggie's hands braced on Ri's neck. Fee raced ahead of them, but she would be reeled in quite easily. Ri could do it. He was tougher. He could last longer than the little mare. But would he be fast enough to catch the little dervish? Maggie bit her lip. Even she wasn't sure. Few had this year. Only twice. Feline Frenzy was the toughest sprinter on the circuit below the grade one level. Maggie shook her head, momentarily uncertain. The stallion's black rimmed ears dipped back to listen to the movement. Wrinkles appeared over his brow and then suddenly Maggie didn't have a choice in when to make the move. Ri made it for her. The bay horse clamped the bit between his pearly white teeth, locked his ears back into his trimmed mane and bolted. Maggie felt fear and adrenaline course through her light frame as Ri flew after Feline Frenzy. The horse covered ground with immense strides and quickly drew even with the slim mare.
Laura glanced over in surprise, eyes widening like saucers. What kind of move was this. They still had four furlongs to go and Maggie was pressing the button? There were only two reasons for this move: either A) The Rising had bolted or B) Maggie believed Ri's stamina would outlast Fee's speed. The redhead held tight when Fee responded with a burst of energy. She wanted to go after the flying stallion, her heart burned at the thought of being beaten. Foam flew up and spotted Laura's shoulder when the mare crow-hopped. Laura held her in for a moment more and then simply let the reins go. The doe-like mare rocketed forward, kicking up clods of well-groomed turf. Her eyes glinted with determination as she surged after Ri. The stallion was moving easily. He still had more in the tank, but without Maggie's control he wasn't being rated down. Laura banked on that, shot a prayer skyward, and stayed as still as stone when Fee charged up the hillside.
Maggie could hear Fee's snorting breaths just behind The Rising. The big stallion heard her as well, locked on harder to the bit, but at the crest of the hill became indecisive. Maggie gasped, snapped the bit out of Ri's teeth and grinned. Finally. The stallion glared, but did not fight against the sudden control. He was not GS Royal Crown. A nudge sent the handsome horse over the edge of the hill, down the hillside. He navigated it quickly enough to keep the more agile Fee at bay, but she'd closed the gap tremendously by the time they'd reached the base. Maggie held Ri close even when Fee glided up to his barrel. The Rising did not like it, but he had long ago dropped the pure sprinter's mentality. He rated down, held back by Maggie's superb horsemanship and his own kind attitude.
Fee was breaking track records in order to keep even with Ri. She'd run hard and fast in order to catch up to him, but she was still in her wheelhouse of eight furlongs. This mile workout was all she needed to prep her for future races. The competition would get tougher, the horses faster, but her determination could beat them both back. Laura called on for more speed as they whipped through the two furlong juncture. Feline Frenzy responded magnificently, drawing up to nose out The Rising. Maggie gritted her teeth and released her adrenaline boosted stud. Ri bolted up to run neck and neck, legs reaching farther, but not swift enough to outgun little Fee. Laura implored her mount with her hands, her feet, her voice. Fee fired every gear she head, mouth agape and eyes wide. She was fighting with everything she had. And The Rising was finally putting some effort into his running.
Head and head, the stallion and mare flew for the wire, gouging hoofprints into the earth as they raced. Maggie and Laura pushed them on through, eyes each lighting with triumph when The Rising and Feline Frenzy hit the wire together. The pair galloped out up the hillside, strong, but breathing heavy. Their eyes were bright and they both looked every inch the winner. It had felt good to put it all on the line and come out winners. Hopefully the bays would duplicate the feat next time out.
man to man
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Brooks stared into the stall closest to the left exit of the 20-horse race barn. A 16.3 hand bay stallion stared back at him with fiery eyes. His tail switched over his rump, his nostrils flared and his eyes glittered with all of the fury in the world. He pinned his ears at Brooks, threatened him with harm if he did not move away. The human still remained. Cowed, the bay stud began to pace his stall, swishing his tail to and fro, whacking the light racing saddle with the whip-like strands. Ashes to Ashes was not a happy camper. Therefore, Brookson Wells, assistant trainer at Witch Creek Stable, was not a happy camper either. One of his favorite studs was severely unhappy and it had nothing to do with his racing. His third place finish in the British Colombia Derby had been nothing to sneeze at. He'd performed gallantly, beautifully even in defeat. Plus, that race had been a week ago. He should have been over it, but he definitely was not.
A welcoming nicker sounded down the stall row and Brooks was suddenly facing a furious animal of large proportions. Ashes to Ashes was furious. With nostrils distended and red, the bay stallion stared down his new rival. Brooks followed the horse's gaze. A coal black stallion of slightly taller and blockier build stared back at them. His savage head twisted on a high crested neck to accept the challenge of the horse down the row. Cold Mountain had returned. And Ripley now had a stallion on her hands with a heated rival inside the barn. Brooks remembered to a time when Ripley had tossed Clint, his uncle, out of her house for criticizing the black beast. Now he understood, but he wouldn't voice his opinion to the head trainer.
Cold Mountain shrieked, pawed the inside of his stall angrily and then whipped around, launching two swift kicks at the wood. Brooks winced at the creaks of the wood giving beneath sharp hooves. Ashes to Ashes snorted wildly, ducked back into his stall to do some serious pacing. The other remaining stallion in the barn, a dappled gray charger named Frozen Motion simply watched the activities with a mouthful of grass between his teeth. Why can't they all be as accepting as you, Freeze? A laugh preceded the woman Brooks had fallen in love with a second before she walked into the barn. Cold Mountain stepped out, challenge forgotten, with eyes full of adoration. The seventeen hand black stallion had not forgotten his most favorite human. Even being gone for half of a year hadn't stopped him from forgetting her. Ripley patted the tender skin between Captain's nostrils. Hey big man. Ready to work out today? Brooks mumbled under his breath at the sweet exchange. At one time Ripley had looked at him like that and then he'd blew it. Brooks rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, uneasy with her and the situation. Or he's ready to take a bite out of Ashes. Ripley sent a heated look in his direction. Brooks hadn't expected anything less.
Well let's get them out then. Maybe Ashes will cool it. He's here to stay this time. Brooks shrugged, marched to the tack room. Ripley sighed, ran a hand down Cold Mountain's face. The stallion sighed into the pressure, loving the attention. He'd been back at Witch Creek for a few days and had been enjoying his routine gallops, his time in his old pasture. Unfortunately, others did not want him around, but only because they feared him. Captain was a horse to fear. His great size and bulk made for an imposing force in any given situation. He could haul his great body around at as great a speed as Cross My Heart. He was tough. He did not tolerate fools and he made no secrets as to who he liked and who he did not. Ripley counted herself fortunate that this great horse had chosen her to accompany him in his life on the track and perhaps beyond. She gave his neck a gentle pat before stalking to the tack room. It was time to see if his speed had carried over into his four year old season.
...
Brooks felt the fury and power within Ashes to Ashes. The bay Crooked Fire stallion pranced with his chin to his chest, his muscles pulsing with adrenaline and aggression. Brooks had never expected to see this side of the horse. He'd never seen it before. Ashes was downright furious and ready to pick a fight with Cold Mountain. The black horse jogged behind them over the track, his great strides so silent that he could have been a phantom. Perhaps that was what perturbed Brooks' handsome horse so much. Captain was spooky. He was the quietly threatening type. The kind of horse who could strike at any moment. Ashes to Ashes was protective of his home "harem." He was the boss in the racing string recently. He'd stepped up to take charge seeing as Screaming Mimi had been moved to the broodmare barn in retirement. The stallion strutted angrily, switching his tail, flicking his ears. Brooks niggled the reins, sent the stallion forward into a long stride gallop.
His movement was strong and powerful. He snorted with every elongated stride. The bay horse had been off in recent races, but God his form felt good right now. Ashes to Ashes flew over the dirt, pounding it with loud angry steps. He wanted to bury Cold Mountain and the only way to bury him was to use his hot flashing speed. Brooks leaned close to him, blue eyes widening with the ferocity blooming in Ashes to Ashes. This was pure competition, pure challenge. He'd never exuded this kind of energy and it was a bit of a shock to have it discovered in his four year old season. But then again, Ashes had only started running on a regular basis in his three year old season. He was fresh compared to Frozen Motion and Flawed Princess. Brooks murmured softly to the horse, settling him, but stoking the fire that burned so openly, so suddenly inside the blood bay.
The big black horse glided over the dirt beneath Ripley. His lumbering body stretched over the dirt, his small head tracking Ashes to Ashes with upright ears and keen eyes. He was like a predator stalking his prey. Nerves pulsed through Ripley's system. The stallion was not a killer. He was a gentle giant in some respects, but she could see where people thought he was potentially dangerous. A horse this big and heavy handed was bound to instill fear in some people. He bounded over the dirt, kicking up a cloud behind him, reminding Ripley she needed to hire track maintenance back for the summer. The burly monster gobbled up ground yet scarily maintained his easy energy. Ripley could not be afraid of him. Not when he was this soft on the bit, so supple in his movements.
The horses rounded the first turn into the backstretch with Ashes to Ashes two comfortable lengths in front. Well... comfortable for Brooks. Ashes probably felt that he could be farther from Cold Mountain. He would outrun him when he was finally released. It was coming. The bay horse thundered alongside the rail, ears flicking backward to listen to Captain's movement. He was uneasy, unsure of when the big guy was going to strike. Brooks shook his hands, let the stallion move into a faster stride. Ashes willingly stepped up, soaring now down the straightaway. His ears finally moved up, ignoring Cold Mountain's rumbling steps for the moment. Brooks nudged him off of the rail into the two path, smiling when Ashes obliged willingly.
Ripley grabbed a hold of Cold Mountain's long mane, felt a wildness brewing inside her when the horse tensed at such a simple movement. He was sitting on an explosive despite all of his easy striding. The power house was waiting to be tapped. The auburn haired woman waited until Ashes glided into the far turn before she let Captain go. The black horse stuttered a moment while he took stock of the sudden change in her grip. Then, realizing he was free to take flight, Captain launched forward so quickly that Ripley nearly landed behind the racing saddle. Propelled by the strength of his haunches, Ripley fell forward over the stallion's withers, laughing anxiously when the black steadied her with his big body. Good boy. Captain dipped his head down, reached deep inside and charged on after his competitor.
Brooks and Ashes heard Captain begin to roll once they reached the middle of the far turn. The horse was not keeping his movements a secret by any stretch of the imagination. The blonde man leaned over the stallion's powerful shoulders, urged him on with hands and voice. Ashes responded with his high cruising speed that he often brutally used to his advantage in his races. Ashes glided close to the rail, closing the gap he'd left in a show of aggression when Cold Mountain drew up to him. Willing to test his horse's competitive fires, Brooks locked Ashes to run side by side with Captain. Ashes pinned his ears at the bulky colt, furious at his inability to dislodge the competitor. Ripley reined in Cold Mountain as they straightened into the homestretch. If Brooks wanted to play that game with Ashes then she would do the same with Captain. After all, he hadn't been to the track in a while.
The stallions brushed up against one another, bumping and grinding it out repeatedly up the track. Neither would give in and neither would move off. Ashes kept Cold Mountain on the rail, but not once did the big horse back down. His courage was enough to match the anger exuding off of his rival. The riders remained still as the horses gutted each other, fanning each other's fury. The horses match strides, burned the track up and stormed beneath the wire to the delight of the grooms on the sidelines. An even bigger audience would await them both in future races.
A welcoming nicker sounded down the stall row and Brooks was suddenly facing a furious animal of large proportions. Ashes to Ashes was furious. With nostrils distended and red, the bay stallion stared down his new rival. Brooks followed the horse's gaze. A coal black stallion of slightly taller and blockier build stared back at them. His savage head twisted on a high crested neck to accept the challenge of the horse down the row. Cold Mountain had returned. And Ripley now had a stallion on her hands with a heated rival inside the barn. Brooks remembered to a time when Ripley had tossed Clint, his uncle, out of her house for criticizing the black beast. Now he understood, but he wouldn't voice his opinion to the head trainer.
Cold Mountain shrieked, pawed the inside of his stall angrily and then whipped around, launching two swift kicks at the wood. Brooks winced at the creaks of the wood giving beneath sharp hooves. Ashes to Ashes snorted wildly, ducked back into his stall to do some serious pacing. The other remaining stallion in the barn, a dappled gray charger named Frozen Motion simply watched the activities with a mouthful of grass between his teeth. Why can't they all be as accepting as you, Freeze? A laugh preceded the woman Brooks had fallen in love with a second before she walked into the barn. Cold Mountain stepped out, challenge forgotten, with eyes full of adoration. The seventeen hand black stallion had not forgotten his most favorite human. Even being gone for half of a year hadn't stopped him from forgetting her. Ripley patted the tender skin between Captain's nostrils. Hey big man. Ready to work out today? Brooks mumbled under his breath at the sweet exchange. At one time Ripley had looked at him like that and then he'd blew it. Brooks rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, uneasy with her and the situation. Or he's ready to take a bite out of Ashes. Ripley sent a heated look in his direction. Brooks hadn't expected anything less.
Well let's get them out then. Maybe Ashes will cool it. He's here to stay this time. Brooks shrugged, marched to the tack room. Ripley sighed, ran a hand down Cold Mountain's face. The stallion sighed into the pressure, loving the attention. He'd been back at Witch Creek for a few days and had been enjoying his routine gallops, his time in his old pasture. Unfortunately, others did not want him around, but only because they feared him. Captain was a horse to fear. His great size and bulk made for an imposing force in any given situation. He could haul his great body around at as great a speed as Cross My Heart. He was tough. He did not tolerate fools and he made no secrets as to who he liked and who he did not. Ripley counted herself fortunate that this great horse had chosen her to accompany him in his life on the track and perhaps beyond. She gave his neck a gentle pat before stalking to the tack room. It was time to see if his speed had carried over into his four year old season.
...
Brooks felt the fury and power within Ashes to Ashes. The bay Crooked Fire stallion pranced with his chin to his chest, his muscles pulsing with adrenaline and aggression. Brooks had never expected to see this side of the horse. He'd never seen it before. Ashes was downright furious and ready to pick a fight with Cold Mountain. The black horse jogged behind them over the track, his great strides so silent that he could have been a phantom. Perhaps that was what perturbed Brooks' handsome horse so much. Captain was spooky. He was the quietly threatening type. The kind of horse who could strike at any moment. Ashes to Ashes was protective of his home "harem." He was the boss in the racing string recently. He'd stepped up to take charge seeing as Screaming Mimi had been moved to the broodmare barn in retirement. The stallion strutted angrily, switching his tail, flicking his ears. Brooks niggled the reins, sent the stallion forward into a long stride gallop.
His movement was strong and powerful. He snorted with every elongated stride. The bay horse had been off in recent races, but God his form felt good right now. Ashes to Ashes flew over the dirt, pounding it with loud angry steps. He wanted to bury Cold Mountain and the only way to bury him was to use his hot flashing speed. Brooks leaned close to him, blue eyes widening with the ferocity blooming in Ashes to Ashes. This was pure competition, pure challenge. He'd never exuded this kind of energy and it was a bit of a shock to have it discovered in his four year old season. But then again, Ashes had only started running on a regular basis in his three year old season. He was fresh compared to Frozen Motion and Flawed Princess. Brooks murmured softly to the horse, settling him, but stoking the fire that burned so openly, so suddenly inside the blood bay.
The big black horse glided over the dirt beneath Ripley. His lumbering body stretched over the dirt, his small head tracking Ashes to Ashes with upright ears and keen eyes. He was like a predator stalking his prey. Nerves pulsed through Ripley's system. The stallion was not a killer. He was a gentle giant in some respects, but she could see where people thought he was potentially dangerous. A horse this big and heavy handed was bound to instill fear in some people. He bounded over the dirt, kicking up a cloud behind him, reminding Ripley she needed to hire track maintenance back for the summer. The burly monster gobbled up ground yet scarily maintained his easy energy. Ripley could not be afraid of him. Not when he was this soft on the bit, so supple in his movements.
The horses rounded the first turn into the backstretch with Ashes to Ashes two comfortable lengths in front. Well... comfortable for Brooks. Ashes probably felt that he could be farther from Cold Mountain. He would outrun him when he was finally released. It was coming. The bay horse thundered alongside the rail, ears flicking backward to listen to Captain's movement. He was uneasy, unsure of when the big guy was going to strike. Brooks shook his hands, let the stallion move into a faster stride. Ashes willingly stepped up, soaring now down the straightaway. His ears finally moved up, ignoring Cold Mountain's rumbling steps for the moment. Brooks nudged him off of the rail into the two path, smiling when Ashes obliged willingly.
Ripley grabbed a hold of Cold Mountain's long mane, felt a wildness brewing inside her when the horse tensed at such a simple movement. He was sitting on an explosive despite all of his easy striding. The power house was waiting to be tapped. The auburn haired woman waited until Ashes glided into the far turn before she let Captain go. The black horse stuttered a moment while he took stock of the sudden change in her grip. Then, realizing he was free to take flight, Captain launched forward so quickly that Ripley nearly landed behind the racing saddle. Propelled by the strength of his haunches, Ripley fell forward over the stallion's withers, laughing anxiously when the black steadied her with his big body. Good boy. Captain dipped his head down, reached deep inside and charged on after his competitor.
Brooks and Ashes heard Captain begin to roll once they reached the middle of the far turn. The horse was not keeping his movements a secret by any stretch of the imagination. The blonde man leaned over the stallion's powerful shoulders, urged him on with hands and voice. Ashes responded with his high cruising speed that he often brutally used to his advantage in his races. Ashes glided close to the rail, closing the gap he'd left in a show of aggression when Cold Mountain drew up to him. Willing to test his horse's competitive fires, Brooks locked Ashes to run side by side with Captain. Ashes pinned his ears at the bulky colt, furious at his inability to dislodge the competitor. Ripley reined in Cold Mountain as they straightened into the homestretch. If Brooks wanted to play that game with Ashes then she would do the same with Captain. After all, he hadn't been to the track in a while.
The stallions brushed up against one another, bumping and grinding it out repeatedly up the track. Neither would give in and neither would move off. Ashes kept Cold Mountain on the rail, but not once did the big horse back down. His courage was enough to match the anger exuding off of his rival. The riders remained still as the horses gutted each other, fanning each other's fury. The horses match strides, burned the track up and stormed beneath the wire to the delight of the grooms on the sidelines. An even bigger audience would await them both in future races.