Three Year Old Classic Workouts
Cross My Heart& Bella Luna. Red Herring& Indian Darling. Wish Upon A Star& Mastermind.
GS Royal Crown& Hokum& Van Guard
GS Royal Crown& Hokum& Van Guard
beautiful heart
Courtesy of Event of The Year Photos.
The pair of horses slipped down the path, silent and stalking, careful with their hooves. While of similar build, the pair had drawn up different paths for themselves. One's destiny lay in the Kentucky Open, the others in the Debutante Stakes, the first leg of the Turf Triple Tiara. It had been a relatively unexpected path when the fillies had first arrived at Witch Creek. Cross My Heart had been a scared, timid filly, more likely to run out of fear than out of joy. A rocketing hit from the start, Cross proved immediately to be a champion, winning the Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf Sprint on the world's biggest stage. Bella Luna had come under the hope that she would eventually turn into a champion. A rough season to start found the filly sitting pretty late in her two year old, early three year old season. Now in seven starts this season, with only two second place finishes as blemishes, Bella Luna was likely to be one of the major favorites come morning of the Turf Triple Crown.
Cross, the black filly, danced like one of the Chinese dragons, slipping from one side of the path to the other. Her nostrils flared, white mist flew from her nostrils giving her the look of the fierce dragon. Her savage head sat upon a graceful neck which merged into one of the finest conformed equine bodies at Witch Creek Stable. But most compelling were her eyes. They glittered with fire and the eagerness to run. She had changed dramatically in her one and a half years with Witch Creek. Considered one of the fastest fillies of the Year Ten crop, Cross had more than made a statement that she was the one to deal with. And what was even more, the longer she had to go, the longer she could stretch her speed. The mile distance of the Debutante would be no problem as she had proven countless times that eight furlongs was well within her range. The toughest fillies would be waiting to deal with her, but she'd dealt with the best before and had come out on top.
Reese jerked the reins up as her gray filly stretched her head low in an attempt for a snack. The fire that burned within the black so openly was well muted here. But Bella Luna had only tasted defeat twice in her three year old career and she was not interested in going back to the barn without a visit to the winner's circle first. She had the prime breeding to get the Kentucky Open trophy, the right style, the right kind of talent and mind. Partnered with Reese, Bella was a different type of animal and considered The Wire's top representative when it came to the three year old classics this year. Reese patted the filly's neck, felt the confidence that loomed beneath the silver-dappled hide. Witch Creek had snagged the Kentucky Open and Belmont Turf Classic trophies last year, maybe Bella would be able to notch the Preakness Champion Stakes as well. But only after the Kentucky Open. Ripley had stated long ago that she would have Bella Luna ready to compete in the Turf Triple Crown of Year Thirteen. Few had believed her and here they were, Reese and Bella Luna nearly ready to sweep in and attempt to win it all.
Ripley sighed aboard her black filly. Cross needed the race and most of her races would come at a mile this year. Ripley needed the race as well. She missed her partner dearly and the victory in the Miesque Stakes had only spurred her need to ride the black more. Cross stepped lightly onto the turf track, head tilted to the side, fiery eyes brilliant amid all that coal black hide. She shivered from all her energy, dancing and half-rearing. Ripley backed her, meeting the eyes of Reese. Bella stood tall, effervescent in all of the early morning fog. Reese could feel the muted power that glittered here. Bella was ready to do more than she'd ever been asked before. Brown eyes wide, Reese stared down at the filly she'd come to love. This one would take her to great heights and maybe, just maybe, the Kentucky Open would be the start of it all.
A soundless word of agreement echoed between the riders. Ripley's reins fell around the neck of Cross and the black leaped like a panther up the emerald green hills. Her body was a shadow amid all the fog. In seconds, Bella glided up to run beside her, Reese holding her at a steady gallop with just two fingers. The shadow and the ghost slipped across the turf, bounding, bodies colliding once or twice, but the sounds were completely muted. They might have been spirits playing in a graveyard, their bodies ethereal and not quite connected to the ground they ran over. The atmosphere touched Ripley and once again she was reminded of why she was in the business. Moments like this filled her with such contentment and such hope. She'd done it again. She'd brought up two severe underdogs and brought them to cliffs of glory. It was their turn to either meet the demands of passage or fail and return to earth.
Cross' head bobbed as she tackled the hill, muscles contracting and releasing in a show of equine perfection. The black filly from the auction house didn't exist here. Only the superstar form of her did. Ripley caressed the filly's neck, admiring her strength and her will. She cruised along. She'd learned to rate sometime just before the Motion Sprint. She would not rate behind another horse, but she certainly could slow herself down enough to go undaunted. Her cruising speed was set at a much higher speed than most others. Her body glittered like the feathers of raven wings as the weak sunlight managed to break through the fog. She slipped down the hillside, pinned her ears when Bella came from her haunches to run strongly at her throat-latch.
The competitive fires burned bright.
Bella met the fury of the demon-eyed with pure icy calmness. She flowed like liquid over the grass, slipped down on her rear when the going got too steep. She knew it was time to rush up and conquer. The three furlong section of the turf track spread out before them, endless in the thick curtain of fog. Reese leaned close, black hair mingling with silver mane. Bella was her horse and the race in the Kentucky Open may not be theirs to lose, but it could be theirs to win. The dappled gray soared beneath her partner and Reese could have sworn that the atmosphere was getting to the horses as well. Their galloping was quieter, so quiet it seemed that they could have been floating.
The thoroughbred is known for its courage in the heat of battle. And courage flickered in the eyes of the black and the gray as they met the wall of fog head on. Cross' flared nostrils broke through the sheet of white air two seconds before Bella. She noted the cameras flashing, but ran on. The surreal atmosphere was now broken. The sun bore down on the back of her and Ripley released her hold. In two sweeping strides Cross was setting a torrid pace over the turf. Reese, glared forward, noted that her adrenaline was suddenly pumping. Bella faltered momentarily at the sight of the reporters, but drew in a giant breath to fill her lungs and flew forward as if she were being chased. Mane and tail flew out behind her and she might have been a ship setting its sails to full mast. She flew after the black, hooves thundering loudly in this endless stretch of grass. Her eyes glittered with anger. She knew where the finish line was and Cross was not going to get there first.
Reese let out a shriek, shook the reins, breaking up the noise of just running hooves and snorting horses. Bella charged forward, body turning into that of a running machine, with ears locked back in all of that long mane. She swallowed the ground rapidly between herself and Cross, gaining with every glorious stride. But the black was not going to be easy today. She'd been waiting for this challenge, had grown to love the challenge that came from the competitor in the last potent furlong. Her eyes glowed with hatred for the rival and love for the running. Her tail swung back and forth, much like a cat awaiting its prey. Then Bella was sweeping up alongside, her knees lifting with every closing stride. Cross sped up then, delicate muzzle pushing forward, meeting the challenge. The invisible wire drew closer, the one the riders had set and the one their partners knew of as well.
The sounds grew louder and louder, they began to reach longer and move faster. Courage, heart, hope and the fear of being defeated fluttered within the horses brains. The photographers could feel the intensity, the emotion as they watched the gray and black fly to the wire. The snapping of cameras began in rapid succession.
Who won? The angel or the demon?
They vanished like mist and smoke back into the wall of fog, ascending the next hill well in command. The photographers held their breath, excited to get home to upload what they'd captured, but stayed instead, eager to see the ethereal creatures they'd captured.
The black squealed in fury. The gray snorted, demanding for attention. They trotted back through the wall, breaking up the atmosphere and becoming simple horses. But to the riders they were not just simple horses nor to the photographers. They'd been captured, frozen in time in the heat of the battle. And when the photographers went back home and sent the videos and pictures to the press, they swore they'd lay their bets down on the horses they'd seen today.
They also knew two other things:
1) Ripley Marsh had turned these two plain Janes into something dangerous.
And
2) Bella Luna and Cross My Heart were ready for their toughest challenge yet.
Cross, the black filly, danced like one of the Chinese dragons, slipping from one side of the path to the other. Her nostrils flared, white mist flew from her nostrils giving her the look of the fierce dragon. Her savage head sat upon a graceful neck which merged into one of the finest conformed equine bodies at Witch Creek Stable. But most compelling were her eyes. They glittered with fire and the eagerness to run. She had changed dramatically in her one and a half years with Witch Creek. Considered one of the fastest fillies of the Year Ten crop, Cross had more than made a statement that she was the one to deal with. And what was even more, the longer she had to go, the longer she could stretch her speed. The mile distance of the Debutante would be no problem as she had proven countless times that eight furlongs was well within her range. The toughest fillies would be waiting to deal with her, but she'd dealt with the best before and had come out on top.
Reese jerked the reins up as her gray filly stretched her head low in an attempt for a snack. The fire that burned within the black so openly was well muted here. But Bella Luna had only tasted defeat twice in her three year old career and she was not interested in going back to the barn without a visit to the winner's circle first. She had the prime breeding to get the Kentucky Open trophy, the right style, the right kind of talent and mind. Partnered with Reese, Bella was a different type of animal and considered The Wire's top representative when it came to the three year old classics this year. Reese patted the filly's neck, felt the confidence that loomed beneath the silver-dappled hide. Witch Creek had snagged the Kentucky Open and Belmont Turf Classic trophies last year, maybe Bella would be able to notch the Preakness Champion Stakes as well. But only after the Kentucky Open. Ripley had stated long ago that she would have Bella Luna ready to compete in the Turf Triple Crown of Year Thirteen. Few had believed her and here they were, Reese and Bella Luna nearly ready to sweep in and attempt to win it all.
Ripley sighed aboard her black filly. Cross needed the race and most of her races would come at a mile this year. Ripley needed the race as well. She missed her partner dearly and the victory in the Miesque Stakes had only spurred her need to ride the black more. Cross stepped lightly onto the turf track, head tilted to the side, fiery eyes brilliant amid all that coal black hide. She shivered from all her energy, dancing and half-rearing. Ripley backed her, meeting the eyes of Reese. Bella stood tall, effervescent in all of the early morning fog. Reese could feel the muted power that glittered here. Bella was ready to do more than she'd ever been asked before. Brown eyes wide, Reese stared down at the filly she'd come to love. This one would take her to great heights and maybe, just maybe, the Kentucky Open would be the start of it all.
A soundless word of agreement echoed between the riders. Ripley's reins fell around the neck of Cross and the black leaped like a panther up the emerald green hills. Her body was a shadow amid all the fog. In seconds, Bella glided up to run beside her, Reese holding her at a steady gallop with just two fingers. The shadow and the ghost slipped across the turf, bounding, bodies colliding once or twice, but the sounds were completely muted. They might have been spirits playing in a graveyard, their bodies ethereal and not quite connected to the ground they ran over. The atmosphere touched Ripley and once again she was reminded of why she was in the business. Moments like this filled her with such contentment and such hope. She'd done it again. She'd brought up two severe underdogs and brought them to cliffs of glory. It was their turn to either meet the demands of passage or fail and return to earth.
Cross' head bobbed as she tackled the hill, muscles contracting and releasing in a show of equine perfection. The black filly from the auction house didn't exist here. Only the superstar form of her did. Ripley caressed the filly's neck, admiring her strength and her will. She cruised along. She'd learned to rate sometime just before the Motion Sprint. She would not rate behind another horse, but she certainly could slow herself down enough to go undaunted. Her cruising speed was set at a much higher speed than most others. Her body glittered like the feathers of raven wings as the weak sunlight managed to break through the fog. She slipped down the hillside, pinned her ears when Bella came from her haunches to run strongly at her throat-latch.
The competitive fires burned bright.
Bella met the fury of the demon-eyed with pure icy calmness. She flowed like liquid over the grass, slipped down on her rear when the going got too steep. She knew it was time to rush up and conquer. The three furlong section of the turf track spread out before them, endless in the thick curtain of fog. Reese leaned close, black hair mingling with silver mane. Bella was her horse and the race in the Kentucky Open may not be theirs to lose, but it could be theirs to win. The dappled gray soared beneath her partner and Reese could have sworn that the atmosphere was getting to the horses as well. Their galloping was quieter, so quiet it seemed that they could have been floating.
The thoroughbred is known for its courage in the heat of battle. And courage flickered in the eyes of the black and the gray as they met the wall of fog head on. Cross' flared nostrils broke through the sheet of white air two seconds before Bella. She noted the cameras flashing, but ran on. The surreal atmosphere was now broken. The sun bore down on the back of her and Ripley released her hold. In two sweeping strides Cross was setting a torrid pace over the turf. Reese, glared forward, noted that her adrenaline was suddenly pumping. Bella faltered momentarily at the sight of the reporters, but drew in a giant breath to fill her lungs and flew forward as if she were being chased. Mane and tail flew out behind her and she might have been a ship setting its sails to full mast. She flew after the black, hooves thundering loudly in this endless stretch of grass. Her eyes glittered with anger. She knew where the finish line was and Cross was not going to get there first.
Reese let out a shriek, shook the reins, breaking up the noise of just running hooves and snorting horses. Bella charged forward, body turning into that of a running machine, with ears locked back in all of that long mane. She swallowed the ground rapidly between herself and Cross, gaining with every glorious stride. But the black was not going to be easy today. She'd been waiting for this challenge, had grown to love the challenge that came from the competitor in the last potent furlong. Her eyes glowed with hatred for the rival and love for the running. Her tail swung back and forth, much like a cat awaiting its prey. Then Bella was sweeping up alongside, her knees lifting with every closing stride. Cross sped up then, delicate muzzle pushing forward, meeting the challenge. The invisible wire drew closer, the one the riders had set and the one their partners knew of as well.
The sounds grew louder and louder, they began to reach longer and move faster. Courage, heart, hope and the fear of being defeated fluttered within the horses brains. The photographers could feel the intensity, the emotion as they watched the gray and black fly to the wire. The snapping of cameras began in rapid succession.
Who won? The angel or the demon?
They vanished like mist and smoke back into the wall of fog, ascending the next hill well in command. The photographers held their breath, excited to get home to upload what they'd captured, but stayed instead, eager to see the ethereal creatures they'd captured.
The black squealed in fury. The gray snorted, demanding for attention. They trotted back through the wall, breaking up the atmosphere and becoming simple horses. But to the riders they were not just simple horses nor to the photographers. They'd been captured, frozen in time in the heat of the battle. And when the photographers went back home and sent the videos and pictures to the press, they swore they'd lay their bets down on the horses they'd seen today.
They also knew two other things:
1) Ripley Marsh had turned these two plain Janes into something dangerous.
And
2) Bella Luna and Cross My Heart were ready for their toughest challenge yet.
running wild
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Bella Luna and Cross My Heart had long since been at the barn by the time Brookson Wells and Laura DeComte guided their pair down to the dirt track. Red Herring bounced forward into the bit, muscles pumping beneath his copper-red coat. There was no three year old colt with a coat brighter than Red Herring. The once unknown colt from Arizona had turned into a monster on the track. His second place finish to the filly War Cry in the Santa Anita Derby had turned him into a monster in the barn as well. Brooks had all he could to hold his seat aboard the broad backed muscular colt. Red Herring was not invincible, but with the attitude he possessed at the moment he could be the horse to beat in the Kentucky Derby. Brooks stroked a cautiously calming hand down the thoroughbred's neck. Red Herring was more than ready for this year's Kentucky Derby. His gallops over the training track had been tremendous. He worked tirelessly and was becoming a true professional just in time for his biggest race.
While colts usually went off favored in the big dance, this year it might be a filly getting all the attention. War Cry had been a demon on the track at Green Horse Fields taking the Santa Anita Derby and then deadheating with Born To Impress, her own stablemate, in the Florida Derby. However, Brooks was interested in the filly curse. Few fillies won the Kentucky Derby for a reason. In their three year old seasons, most of them were simply not ready to take on the colts in the Kentucky Derby. Eternal Phantom had been pretty special last year, but it had knocked her out in both the Preakness and Belmont Stakes. And she hadn't been running against Red Herring. Brooks was supremely confident in his horse. He would get home court advantage at The Wire and War Cry would have to run over a track that she did not know as well. Red Herring was rested where War Cry had been running in tough races for the last two months. Brooks believed Red Herring was being campaigned smartly. He would be capable of running the duration of Year Thirteen instead of taking a few months off here and there.
Laura's mount was the picture of wild perfection. Indian Darling danced alongside Red as they crossed onto the dirt track. Her bay body was dappled out and her legs were clean cut and swift as they swept over the dirt track. She was a slim filly, but one who leaned toward being a tom boy. She pushed mightily into Red Herring up the track as they switched into a canter. The chestnut was not phased in the least by her intimidation tactics. He cantered straight and true, flicked her off like a bug. The Silverbulletday Stakes winner was no match for him at this point in time though Darla had proved to be tough in The Wire race. Laura petted the filly's neck. She would sit out of the first race in the Triple Tiara. Her lean body was made for longer distances and the first was simply too short. The tired horses coming out of the first race would be facing a very tough, very good filly in the second leg. Laura kissed the bay's neck, admired her shapely head as it thrashed in annoyance. Darla was not fond of affection in the saddle. She was all business.
Brooks squeezed Red Herring forward when the colt threatened to rear up. He was a live wire today and he barely stayed between his rider's legs. His dark eyes flashed, white rolling on the edges as Darla nosed her way to the front. She squealed, a bucket full of attitude and sass. Her confidence was roaring and mighty these days. She tossed her savage head to the sky and dared Red Herring to take her on. Laura's adrenaline zipped through her bloodlines, feeling the filly's excitement. She would be Laura's first real active filly on the three year old classic trail. A world awaited her, the winner's circle potentially waited for them. Where the Triple Crown had two relative favorites, the Tiara had a field full of dead even fillies. Indian Darling could be the one to take Witch Creek to the winner's circle.
The horses spread themselves, long and lean over the truck. Darla's hooves flicked light as a deer's over the sandy surface. Red moved with more effort and strength. He rumbled and made everyone take notice. The press had waited for them and they murmured over the condition of both horses. Darla had come out of her prep at The Wire extremely well. Red Herring it seemed had come out even better than he had gone in. Brooks perched lightly over the chestnut's withers. They'd been pointing the colt to this path for so long that it was hard to believe he was actually here. He was actually gracing the Triple Crown with his presence after two very successful campaigns. It commended the efforts of everyone involved to have this ruby colored colt going into the Kentucky Derby. This wasn't just about Brooks and Red Herring. This was about everyone involved from the breeders, to the jocks, to the farrier, to the exercise riders. It was about the blood, sweat and tears. The goal was the Kentucky Derby and the roses waiting in the winner's circle.
The wave of intensity that Brooks felt passed from him into his mount. Red snorted and kicked it up a notch into the backstretch, knocking Darla out of the lead. Darla settled back, eyes rolling but not fighting the pressure of the bit to back up. Laura soothed her fast filly with her low voice. Indian Darling quelled the fire burning within and settled to a lean, graceful gallop. Red moved on, taking his lead, but keeping his outside ear locked on the bay filly. She was trouble. He'd long since stopped underestimating his opponents. Especially the filly opponents. Brooks did not move his hands, did not signal to the colt to move onward, did not give him anymore notion of command. The colt was doing everything on his own. He was the Big Red for Brooks. The Impressario, the Bank On Silver, the El Sol del Mar. This colt had been everything he'd worked for in his lifetime.
Laura knew this filly, had helped to turn her right back around when Ripley looked to give up on her. Now she was a stakes winner at The Wire. She would be a stakes winner at Green Horse Fields. She would be tough and commanding. She would let her wild spirit free in the stretch of the Mother Goose Stakes, carrying her sweeping middle move past the tiring front runners. She could roll and show the world that they had been wrong to forget about her. It would only get better for Indian Darling in the Coaching Club American Oaks. The farther the better. Laura could not wait to show the filly's true potential. As far as Laura was concerned, Darla was ready to fire her best on the biggest stage.
The colt and filly slipped into the final turn, legs covering the ground with massive strides. Darla remained settled, ears pinned in her wild mane, but not moving a step faster. She stayed settled off of Red Herring whose muscles were pumping though he moved easily. Brooks did not move a muscle on his colt. This was just an opener. The real running would come in the Kentucky Derby. Their next start. He would ship in a day and would gallop a mile and a half up until the day of the race. The colt just needed a speed burst to keep him sharp. Brooks was intent on this as they cruised into the final leg of the workout.
Laura did not have to move a muscle on Indian Darling for her to know it was time for that swift move. Darla swept forward in a matter of seconds to rush head and head with Red Herring. Her eyes were bright and sharp. She hugged Red Herring's form keeping him locked to the rail. The big blaze-faced colt took the intimidation easy. He was the antagonist. Little Indian Darling did not scare him with her might, but with her high cruising speed. Brooks wiggled his fingers as they straightened up, but otherwise did not give the reporters anything to... report.
Red Herring lined up, not quite graceful like Darla, but with his ground eating strides it did not really matter. The big chestnut took one stride for every two of Darla's. Her speed was solid for the moment, but, oh, thought Laura, Darla had not even been tapped yet. She gave the appearance of merely galloping alongside the thunderous Kentucky Derby colt. The two remained level as they bolted through the rushing oncoming wind, fighting nature and one another. This was the perfect race setup, the perfect workout. They rushed up the track, nostrils flared with excitement and legs still reaching. The pair lined out nicely beneath the wire and took up as though they were looking for far more. The two horses were more than ready to face the competition.
It was just a matter of who would get to the wire first just likely any other race. But the Kentucky Derby was like no other. There were no other races quite like the Triple Crown and Tiara races. Let the chaos begin. Witch Creek Stable was ready with their best contenders yet.
While colts usually went off favored in the big dance, this year it might be a filly getting all the attention. War Cry had been a demon on the track at Green Horse Fields taking the Santa Anita Derby and then deadheating with Born To Impress, her own stablemate, in the Florida Derby. However, Brooks was interested in the filly curse. Few fillies won the Kentucky Derby for a reason. In their three year old seasons, most of them were simply not ready to take on the colts in the Kentucky Derby. Eternal Phantom had been pretty special last year, but it had knocked her out in both the Preakness and Belmont Stakes. And she hadn't been running against Red Herring. Brooks was supremely confident in his horse. He would get home court advantage at The Wire and War Cry would have to run over a track that she did not know as well. Red Herring was rested where War Cry had been running in tough races for the last two months. Brooks believed Red Herring was being campaigned smartly. He would be capable of running the duration of Year Thirteen instead of taking a few months off here and there.
Laura's mount was the picture of wild perfection. Indian Darling danced alongside Red as they crossed onto the dirt track. Her bay body was dappled out and her legs were clean cut and swift as they swept over the dirt track. She was a slim filly, but one who leaned toward being a tom boy. She pushed mightily into Red Herring up the track as they switched into a canter. The chestnut was not phased in the least by her intimidation tactics. He cantered straight and true, flicked her off like a bug. The Silverbulletday Stakes winner was no match for him at this point in time though Darla had proved to be tough in The Wire race. Laura petted the filly's neck. She would sit out of the first race in the Triple Tiara. Her lean body was made for longer distances and the first was simply too short. The tired horses coming out of the first race would be facing a very tough, very good filly in the second leg. Laura kissed the bay's neck, admired her shapely head as it thrashed in annoyance. Darla was not fond of affection in the saddle. She was all business.
Brooks squeezed Red Herring forward when the colt threatened to rear up. He was a live wire today and he barely stayed between his rider's legs. His dark eyes flashed, white rolling on the edges as Darla nosed her way to the front. She squealed, a bucket full of attitude and sass. Her confidence was roaring and mighty these days. She tossed her savage head to the sky and dared Red Herring to take her on. Laura's adrenaline zipped through her bloodlines, feeling the filly's excitement. She would be Laura's first real active filly on the three year old classic trail. A world awaited her, the winner's circle potentially waited for them. Where the Triple Crown had two relative favorites, the Tiara had a field full of dead even fillies. Indian Darling could be the one to take Witch Creek to the winner's circle.
The horses spread themselves, long and lean over the truck. Darla's hooves flicked light as a deer's over the sandy surface. Red moved with more effort and strength. He rumbled and made everyone take notice. The press had waited for them and they murmured over the condition of both horses. Darla had come out of her prep at The Wire extremely well. Red Herring it seemed had come out even better than he had gone in. Brooks perched lightly over the chestnut's withers. They'd been pointing the colt to this path for so long that it was hard to believe he was actually here. He was actually gracing the Triple Crown with his presence after two very successful campaigns. It commended the efforts of everyone involved to have this ruby colored colt going into the Kentucky Derby. This wasn't just about Brooks and Red Herring. This was about everyone involved from the breeders, to the jocks, to the farrier, to the exercise riders. It was about the blood, sweat and tears. The goal was the Kentucky Derby and the roses waiting in the winner's circle.
The wave of intensity that Brooks felt passed from him into his mount. Red snorted and kicked it up a notch into the backstretch, knocking Darla out of the lead. Darla settled back, eyes rolling but not fighting the pressure of the bit to back up. Laura soothed her fast filly with her low voice. Indian Darling quelled the fire burning within and settled to a lean, graceful gallop. Red moved on, taking his lead, but keeping his outside ear locked on the bay filly. She was trouble. He'd long since stopped underestimating his opponents. Especially the filly opponents. Brooks did not move his hands, did not signal to the colt to move onward, did not give him anymore notion of command. The colt was doing everything on his own. He was the Big Red for Brooks. The Impressario, the Bank On Silver, the El Sol del Mar. This colt had been everything he'd worked for in his lifetime.
Laura knew this filly, had helped to turn her right back around when Ripley looked to give up on her. Now she was a stakes winner at The Wire. She would be a stakes winner at Green Horse Fields. She would be tough and commanding. She would let her wild spirit free in the stretch of the Mother Goose Stakes, carrying her sweeping middle move past the tiring front runners. She could roll and show the world that they had been wrong to forget about her. It would only get better for Indian Darling in the Coaching Club American Oaks. The farther the better. Laura could not wait to show the filly's true potential. As far as Laura was concerned, Darla was ready to fire her best on the biggest stage.
The colt and filly slipped into the final turn, legs covering the ground with massive strides. Darla remained settled, ears pinned in her wild mane, but not moving a step faster. She stayed settled off of Red Herring whose muscles were pumping though he moved easily. Brooks did not move a muscle on his colt. This was just an opener. The real running would come in the Kentucky Derby. Their next start. He would ship in a day and would gallop a mile and a half up until the day of the race. The colt just needed a speed burst to keep him sharp. Brooks was intent on this as they cruised into the final leg of the workout.
Laura did not have to move a muscle on Indian Darling for her to know it was time for that swift move. Darla swept forward in a matter of seconds to rush head and head with Red Herring. Her eyes were bright and sharp. She hugged Red Herring's form keeping him locked to the rail. The big blaze-faced colt took the intimidation easy. He was the antagonist. Little Indian Darling did not scare him with her might, but with her high cruising speed. Brooks wiggled his fingers as they straightened up, but otherwise did not give the reporters anything to... report.
Red Herring lined up, not quite graceful like Darla, but with his ground eating strides it did not really matter. The big chestnut took one stride for every two of Darla's. Her speed was solid for the moment, but, oh, thought Laura, Darla had not even been tapped yet. She gave the appearance of merely galloping alongside the thunderous Kentucky Derby colt. The two remained level as they bolted through the rushing oncoming wind, fighting nature and one another. This was the perfect race setup, the perfect workout. They rushed up the track, nostrils flared with excitement and legs still reaching. The pair lined out nicely beneath the wire and took up as though they were looking for far more. The two horses were more than ready to face the competition.
It was just a matter of who would get to the wire first just likely any other race. But the Kentucky Derby was like no other. There were no other races quite like the Triple Crown and Tiara races. Let the chaos begin. Witch Creek Stable was ready with their best contenders yet.
battle tested
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
The major workouts appeared to be done according to the fleeing reporters and photographers heading back to their cars. They'd capture the favorites for the Turf Triple Crown and the Triple Crown, the hidden favorite in the Mother Goose and a potential winner in the Debutante Stakes, the first race of the Turf Triple Tiara. There was no need to stay for the next pair of horses or the trio after that. Wish Upon A Star would have said otherwise with two wins, one a major prep, and a few places in races that no reporter would sneeze at. And while Mastermind was still the gracious speedball, it seemed, at least in the reporter's eyes, that he was well on his way to the back burner for Witch Creek. He had tried the dirt going nine furlongs and had backed right of it. He had only won a single race since his three year old debut. He was a champion, but only as a two year old. The newspaper cast its doubts all over the bay filly and the chestnut colt, but their barn hadn't.
Maggie and Ripley stood at the rail aboard their horses. Wish Upon A Star had filled out beautifully with muscles blooming beneath her warm colored hide. Her gentle gaze swept over the track as her classic head turned this way and that. She was a good girl, a tough girl and turning into something that promised an even stronger career later on. Maggie was so proud of Wish, so proud she hadn't turned her back on the gal that had really only been brought in for breeding purposes. The bay filly stood tall, stood proud and looked every inch the classic dame. She would go in the Cotillion Stakes and the last race of the Turf Tiara, the Duchess. Like Indian Darling, with every furlong Wish got stronger and tougher to beat. The nine and ten furlong races suited her more and that was why Cross was going to go in the Debutante where she could fly at a mile. Maggie was also happy Cross would take first crack at the contenders because Cross inherently a pain right in the butt. She would set Wish up later on without knowing it and would bring the others down to a level that Wish could beat. She was a champion in Maggie's mind, but she would become moreso with every race here on out.
Ripley was having the opposite problem with her version of a David. The broad chested son of two Hall of Famers appeared to be on a downward trend. He just was not blowing the competition away the way he had in the Breeders Cup and before that. Everyone was catching up to him apparently, but he was still the two year old champ in the sprint world. They had all season to take on the likes of the disaster twins, Tears of Blood and Tears of An Angel. Cross My Heart had beaten them both and Mastermind had beaten them both at some point. He simply had to get the swagger back. The chestnut colt bowed his neck, touching his slim chin to a center point of his chest. Ripley let the easiness of the day flow from her and into him. She needed him primed. He would venture off somewhere along the way and mainly stick to seven and eight furlong races. The three year old sprint stakes were not meant for him and they weren't doing him any good. Racing against older, more mature horses would benefit him. His nerves were not reflected back at him in those fields. He would face his enemies in the Breeders Cup where their paths would finally converge. Only he would be tougher. He would be battle-tested.
The riders let the horses step out into a flowing trot, class flowed from them. These were the two best bred three year olds in the barn. Each had a Hall of Famer in their pedigree. Mastermind had two. There was no doubt the breeding had put them in the spotlight from the beginning. Now it was their turn to prove that their talent exceeded their parents in some way. Mastermind snorted, coat glowing vibrantly in the sun as they marched over the dirt track. Wish was quite capable of handling any surface. She was the most versatile horse in the barn. Mastermind inherently thrived on dirt and so dirt it was. Wish gained a worthy competitor for the day, possibly the best one she'd ever face.
Maggie ran a hand down the filly's neck, feeling her out, relishing in her muted power. It was there, glowing like an ember from a dying fire. It was hope and heart all in one. There was no horse out there that tried harder than Wish. She had to, but soon she would be just as good if not better than the competition. She would be ready to run the races of her life and soon. Maggie was liking the way the filly was coming into the Turf Tiara races. She was a competitor few people would take notice of except in their trifectas with her placed second or third. She'd finished third in the Juvenile Fillies, a fact that very few people remembered. And it seemed that her best races came out on the biggest stages. She was a filly made for the dramatic.
She moved into a pleasant canter alongside the energy bolt that was Mastermind. He snorted with every stride, puffed himself up. He was the undisputed king here. He had yet to be match in a workout and often worked by himself. Today was different. Maggie wanted to see where Wish stood and Ripley needed to see if there was a spark of fire burning within Mastermind. The pair of them made quite a vision as they rolled into the first turn in a long, sweeping gallop. Mastermind was ahead by a length, but Wish was just playing and placed no pressure on the grand colt. She hung back, not quite ominous to the Breeders Cup Juvenile Sprint champ. This was where Mastermind inherently failed. He always underestimated his competition. He remained his usual playful self, ears flicking side to side, stride changing often from lack of pressure. He was not hard to ride. He was quite easy to ride because he could race by himself. But he needed to remember that sometimes his partner knew best.
Mastermind's blinkered head snaked sideways when Wish moved up to his outside. He tensed like a lion about to attack while rolling up the backstretch, but when Wish stayed back he began to relax. Not today, handsome man. With a flick of the reins, Ripley put the Speed Demon colt to pressure. The full-bodied three year old instantly picked up speed, ears jiggling back into his mane. He was confused, but didn't fight her and when Wish rushed up to his shoulder, Ripley sensed some relief that she'd told him to move. Preparation was the best defense. His mane whipped back as he jumped out, lengthening his stride and daring Wish to come after him.
Maggie shook the reins. A seven furlong workout would do them both good. The bay filly stayed even with Mastermind's haunches, not pushed mightily, but enough to keep up. Mastermind remained on the lead for most of that stretch. He was not playing any longer, his ears were locked in that flaming mane and he was dead focused. He could not see Wish, but he could hear her, could sense her breath off his haunches. He wanted to gun it and bury her. It was then that Ripley knew Mastermind would be ready come next race. They simply had to run to the level of their partnership. He was her horse through and through, just like his mama.
Wish swept forward at the flick of the reins, tackling Mastermind's outside with a tenacity that Maggie admired. She was a tough, classic gal. The Everyday Hero filly stayed at Mastermind's shoulder even when he carried her out two paths on the turn. Nimble enough to maintain speed even at the addition of distance, Wish remained a fervent competitor. Mastermind struck out at the head of the stretch, muscled his way forward until he was three quarters of a length in front. Last year he would have easily crushed Wish Upon A Star. This year everyone had grown up to match him. Now it was Ripley and Mastermind against the rest, exactly the way it should be.
Their hoofbeats echoed as they stormed up the track, Wish gained a half length, to be a neck back. Her eyes glowed with determination to run this foe down. Mastermind's blazed with indignity and loathing for the burr of a filly. With a neat squeal of frustration, Wish bolted forward to come head and head with the mighty chestnut. Mastermind pushed from his back-end with a courage Ripley was surprised to find. He dug in to just nip the filly by a muzzle. At the edge of his distance limitations, Mastermind slowed up enough for Ripley to let him gallop out in a controlled move. Wish stormed away from them under some pressure to finish out a mile. The bay filly was cruising by the time she hit the next furlong pole and galloped out fifteen lengths in front. Mastermind rolled his eyes at the show of it all and Ripley patted his neck. He was a good boy and they'd just found themselves again.
Maggie cantered Wish back, meeting a lathered, but not too-tired Mastermind. Bit of an eye-opener for them wasn't it. Mastermind finds he can be beaten, but won't be and Wish finds that she wants to win. Maggie's face glowed as she patted bay filly. Wish dipped her head in proper modestness, but accepted the pats for what they were worth.
Know what this tells me? Ripley asked. Maggie looked to her, eyes shimmering with the excitement that Wish could bring to the table. This tells me that no one should ever forget the underdog... Especially when they're past champions. Mastermind and Wish snorted as if in agreement. They'd prove everyone how wrong they were when the dust finally settled.
Maggie and Ripley stood at the rail aboard their horses. Wish Upon A Star had filled out beautifully with muscles blooming beneath her warm colored hide. Her gentle gaze swept over the track as her classic head turned this way and that. She was a good girl, a tough girl and turning into something that promised an even stronger career later on. Maggie was so proud of Wish, so proud she hadn't turned her back on the gal that had really only been brought in for breeding purposes. The bay filly stood tall, stood proud and looked every inch the classic dame. She would go in the Cotillion Stakes and the last race of the Turf Tiara, the Duchess. Like Indian Darling, with every furlong Wish got stronger and tougher to beat. The nine and ten furlong races suited her more and that was why Cross was going to go in the Debutante where she could fly at a mile. Maggie was also happy Cross would take first crack at the contenders because Cross inherently a pain right in the butt. She would set Wish up later on without knowing it and would bring the others down to a level that Wish could beat. She was a champion in Maggie's mind, but she would become moreso with every race here on out.
Ripley was having the opposite problem with her version of a David. The broad chested son of two Hall of Famers appeared to be on a downward trend. He just was not blowing the competition away the way he had in the Breeders Cup and before that. Everyone was catching up to him apparently, but he was still the two year old champ in the sprint world. They had all season to take on the likes of the disaster twins, Tears of Blood and Tears of An Angel. Cross My Heart had beaten them both and Mastermind had beaten them both at some point. He simply had to get the swagger back. The chestnut colt bowed his neck, touching his slim chin to a center point of his chest. Ripley let the easiness of the day flow from her and into him. She needed him primed. He would venture off somewhere along the way and mainly stick to seven and eight furlong races. The three year old sprint stakes were not meant for him and they weren't doing him any good. Racing against older, more mature horses would benefit him. His nerves were not reflected back at him in those fields. He would face his enemies in the Breeders Cup where their paths would finally converge. Only he would be tougher. He would be battle-tested.
The riders let the horses step out into a flowing trot, class flowed from them. These were the two best bred three year olds in the barn. Each had a Hall of Famer in their pedigree. Mastermind had two. There was no doubt the breeding had put them in the spotlight from the beginning. Now it was their turn to prove that their talent exceeded their parents in some way. Mastermind snorted, coat glowing vibrantly in the sun as they marched over the dirt track. Wish was quite capable of handling any surface. She was the most versatile horse in the barn. Mastermind inherently thrived on dirt and so dirt it was. Wish gained a worthy competitor for the day, possibly the best one she'd ever face.
Maggie ran a hand down the filly's neck, feeling her out, relishing in her muted power. It was there, glowing like an ember from a dying fire. It was hope and heart all in one. There was no horse out there that tried harder than Wish. She had to, but soon she would be just as good if not better than the competition. She would be ready to run the races of her life and soon. Maggie was liking the way the filly was coming into the Turf Tiara races. She was a competitor few people would take notice of except in their trifectas with her placed second or third. She'd finished third in the Juvenile Fillies, a fact that very few people remembered. And it seemed that her best races came out on the biggest stages. She was a filly made for the dramatic.
She moved into a pleasant canter alongside the energy bolt that was Mastermind. He snorted with every stride, puffed himself up. He was the undisputed king here. He had yet to be match in a workout and often worked by himself. Today was different. Maggie wanted to see where Wish stood and Ripley needed to see if there was a spark of fire burning within Mastermind. The pair of them made quite a vision as they rolled into the first turn in a long, sweeping gallop. Mastermind was ahead by a length, but Wish was just playing and placed no pressure on the grand colt. She hung back, not quite ominous to the Breeders Cup Juvenile Sprint champ. This was where Mastermind inherently failed. He always underestimated his competition. He remained his usual playful self, ears flicking side to side, stride changing often from lack of pressure. He was not hard to ride. He was quite easy to ride because he could race by himself. But he needed to remember that sometimes his partner knew best.
Mastermind's blinkered head snaked sideways when Wish moved up to his outside. He tensed like a lion about to attack while rolling up the backstretch, but when Wish stayed back he began to relax. Not today, handsome man. With a flick of the reins, Ripley put the Speed Demon colt to pressure. The full-bodied three year old instantly picked up speed, ears jiggling back into his mane. He was confused, but didn't fight her and when Wish rushed up to his shoulder, Ripley sensed some relief that she'd told him to move. Preparation was the best defense. His mane whipped back as he jumped out, lengthening his stride and daring Wish to come after him.
Maggie shook the reins. A seven furlong workout would do them both good. The bay filly stayed even with Mastermind's haunches, not pushed mightily, but enough to keep up. Mastermind remained on the lead for most of that stretch. He was not playing any longer, his ears were locked in that flaming mane and he was dead focused. He could not see Wish, but he could hear her, could sense her breath off his haunches. He wanted to gun it and bury her. It was then that Ripley knew Mastermind would be ready come next race. They simply had to run to the level of their partnership. He was her horse through and through, just like his mama.
Wish swept forward at the flick of the reins, tackling Mastermind's outside with a tenacity that Maggie admired. She was a tough, classic gal. The Everyday Hero filly stayed at Mastermind's shoulder even when he carried her out two paths on the turn. Nimble enough to maintain speed even at the addition of distance, Wish remained a fervent competitor. Mastermind struck out at the head of the stretch, muscled his way forward until he was three quarters of a length in front. Last year he would have easily crushed Wish Upon A Star. This year everyone had grown up to match him. Now it was Ripley and Mastermind against the rest, exactly the way it should be.
Their hoofbeats echoed as they stormed up the track, Wish gained a half length, to be a neck back. Her eyes glowed with determination to run this foe down. Mastermind's blazed with indignity and loathing for the burr of a filly. With a neat squeal of frustration, Wish bolted forward to come head and head with the mighty chestnut. Mastermind pushed from his back-end with a courage Ripley was surprised to find. He dug in to just nip the filly by a muzzle. At the edge of his distance limitations, Mastermind slowed up enough for Ripley to let him gallop out in a controlled move. Wish stormed away from them under some pressure to finish out a mile. The bay filly was cruising by the time she hit the next furlong pole and galloped out fifteen lengths in front. Mastermind rolled his eyes at the show of it all and Ripley patted his neck. He was a good boy and they'd just found themselves again.
Maggie cantered Wish back, meeting a lathered, but not too-tired Mastermind. Bit of an eye-opener for them wasn't it. Mastermind finds he can be beaten, but won't be and Wish finds that she wants to win. Maggie's face glowed as she patted bay filly. Wish dipped her head in proper modestness, but accepted the pats for what they were worth.
Know what this tells me? Ripley asked. Maggie looked to her, eyes shimmering with the excitement that Wish could bring to the table. This tells me that no one should ever forget the underdog... Especially when they're past champions. Mastermind and Wish snorted as if in agreement. They'd prove everyone how wrong they were when the dust finally settled.
field of dreams
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Maggie smiled as she rode point down to the dirt track. The strangers had cleared out by now, driving off to write their articles and preach once again about the friendliness of Witch Creek's staff. Truly the hospitality had more to do with not being bugged until Breeders Cup time than actual genuine friendliness. She smiled because of the emptiness of the open land and because Witch Creek, for all intents and purposes, was loaded for three year old classics. So loaded that the winner of the Lecomte Stakes and Holy Bull Stakes would not be entered in the Triple Crown. Instead GS Royal Crown would flex his muscle later on in the Canadian Triple Crown, waiting to take on horses tired from the other classics. The dappled gray colt had come a long ways from last year. He was Maggie's pride and joy. She stroked a hand down the lean colt's neck, feeling pride bloom inside of her. Crow was tough and still learning. And he was all hers.
Justin and Laura rode in the back aboard their monsters. Van Guard strode along on muscled legs, big, soft eyes taking in his surroundings. The newly gelded horse had gone out and taken his second win of his career in the Focus Stakes with Laura DeComte aboard. The girl had turned Indian Darling, Feline Frenzy and Whipped Cream's careers around with the simple jock switch. Van Guard, the third son of Native Flame, was her next major project. She swept a gentle hand down the curly mane of his, smiling. She too had a reason to hope that Van Guard would be a showstopper by the end of this year and into his four year old season. Since he was a gelding he would continue until at least five, six or seven. She would stick with him until the end. Now was only the beginning.
Hokum snorted loudly, nearly sending GS Royal Crown out of his skin. Justin hid a smile, not quite so open in his expressions as his female counterpart. Hokum did the rest for him. The eighteen hand behemoth towered over his three year old stablemates in body size and in attitude. The son of Kore VS was a true monster in every sense of the word. He was grade four with five powerful wins and with every race he became more aggressive and showed off more of his talent. Justin had once been afraid of the powerhouse colt, but now he respected him more than other animal on the property. Hokum was a still untested talent, still trying to find his best stride out on the track. But what he had shown was that he could be the best late bloomer that Witch Creek had ever dug up. Justin slapped the well-muscled neck, watching the way the sun hit him. Hokum could have gone in the Derby alongside Red Herring and GS Royal Crown, but like GS Royal Crown, Hokum would live to fight in the Canadian Triple Crown. Perhaps he would be better off because of it.
The three colts pranced onto the track. GS Royal Crown swept exuberantly into his canter-gallop, head up and ears pricked. The dappled gray colt was eager to go and eager to show off. He'd been a beast in the barn, nipping and kicking, becoming more like a temperamental champion every day. He deserved to be proud of himself off of his two last victories. He'd been a turf horse last year and now he could do anything. He was more versatile than Frozen Motion, once his idol. Maggie wiggled her fingers on the reins, reminding Crow that she was in charge. He'd found himself a niche in a barn where every horse needed a role. Maggie couldn't be happier at the moment. Her horse. He bowed his neck, snorting and doing his best impression of Hokum. That horse cantered powerfully up alongside them, one stride for every one and a half of GS Royal Crown's. The horse gleamed like polished mahogany as he snaked threateningly toward GS Royal Crown. Crow squealed and spun as best he could, but Justin managed to pull Hokum off his potential victim. Soon they trotted along like best friends, only pinning their ears when Van Guard came close.
Laura smirked when Van's ears went sideways at their threats. Van wanted to be everyone's friend, but it never worked out for the large gelding. Van was the low man on the totem pole despite his 17 hand size. He could deal out the damage he received, he just simply didn't have the heart to do it. Laura let the gelding go at his own pace, allowing him to settle into his near trucking pace. He could move and he did indeed have a cruising speed. He still had things to put together, but where Crow and Hokum were on a time clock, Van had all the time in the world to take his time. Laura kissed the crest of his neck, enjoying the long, lumbering stride. He stayed to the outside of Hokum, less worried about him than the insufferable gray on the rail. He'd won his last race, showing his true colors in fine fashion. Her dream for him would come true soon enough. She enjoyed stopping and smelling the roses this time around.
Crow assumed dominance, leading at the gallop with his small head stuck up in the air. He was a snob of sorts, but he could really move. Maggie perched lightly, kept her weight locked into the stirrups. He could fly and was like gun powder waiting to be lit. His greyhound body lined out over the dirt track, knees lifting perfectly. He'd long since grown accustomed to the harsher surface. He lowered his head, his tail flicked over his rump as he moved just five inches off of the rail. He did not flinch when Hokum came into him once they reached the backstretch. He pushed back, fought off the enemy. And Hokum was the enemy.
Justin relished in the unbelievable power he felt rolling out beneath him. Hokum wasn't even trying to stick it to Crow. He cruised right along, letting GS Royal Crown have his way on the lead until the moment was right. The moment would come in the homestretch where he would have placed himself perfectly and when he would sweep forward to take over for the staggering leader. Justin ran his hands over the muscle, sure that the colt would not move until the homestretch. Hokum had once been unpredictable, but a lot of seasoning had straightened out the hot tempered, conniving horse. Now he strolled along like a professional and even pulled out a couple dirty race tactics on his own by crowding GS Royal Crown.
Van Guard trailed to the outside still, four paths out, but content to sit. He was used to being in this position though he was still more lightly raced than Hokum who'd joined Witch Creek later on. The big gelding tucked his chin to his chest, remaining collected even as the other two stretched out to accommodate their riders need for speed. Unusually patient aboard the gentle giant, Laura kept her hands silent and steady, let the horse feel out the bit and get a feel for his own strength. The windup was coming. They both knew it.
Crow bolted at the head of the stretch, knocking Hokum back a surprised step. Maggie knew Hokum's game and Crow could easily dispatch him with a proper burst of speed. The dappled gray horse lined out for him, head lower, muscles bunching and releasing in a perfect display of stamina and speed. Maggie pulled her goggles down to block the tears caused by the wind. Crow's ears were lost in the mane of differing grays. He was flying and determined to stave off Hokum from start to finish. Hokum was just as determined to run him down like a steamroller. Justin dropped his hands then, letting the reins soar through his gloved hands, admiring the agility that allowed his monster colt to go from cruising to thunderous in a matter of seconds. Hokum flew up to GS Royal Crown in a matter of strides, but GS Royal Crown was the speed of the speed. He could last longer than most other horses that Hokum faced. He was not cheap speed and he served as an important lesson for future races. Hokum's surprise lasted for a stride, but a nudge from Justin had him bolting forward again to run head and head with his Canadian Triple Crown rival.
Laura watched the drama play out before her, listening to the wild drumbeat of racing hooves. Van was four lengths back, galloping with interest, but not threatening to run unless she told him to. With a shriek, the red head set him down the drive. He too was in possession of cat-like agility. He attacked the earth beneath him with a vengeance, black tipped ears became lost in the wild midnight tresses. He bounded forward on the far outside, body moving like a freight train as he bore down on his stablemates. Laura leaned close to him, feeling the raw power that came with the trucking movement of Van Guard. He surged up to be level with Hokum and GS Royal Crown, though neither of them saw him coming. Another call had Van Guard surging forward, surprising both the other riders and their horses when he swept away to win the unexpected race by a half length.
Justin cursed as the unsuspecting winner drew to the rail and drew off. Van Guard was still unsure of his moves and he always managed to surprise when least expected. Hokum protested the loss, squealing and neighing, demanding for a challenge. He bucked once, twice, three times before Justin was able to get him to stay on the ground, such was his fury. GS Royal Crown pinned his ears, eyes blazing. Maggie patted the colt's neck even as he bolted to streak by Hokum. Van Guard was already pulling up, cantering with his ears flicked. Maggie nodded to Laura as Crow blatantly flew on by. Laura let out a gut wrenching laugh, turned to meet Justin and his mule of a horse. Laura patted Van Guard who dodged the teeth of his more dominant stablemate. He doesn't even know he's good yet. Justin nodded, too concentrated on Hokum to really pay attention. The big bay was going to be hell-bent to win next time out. Not that Justin minded in the least. Hokum could do whatever he pleased when it came to winning a race.
Crow came back, breathing loudly, but not looking too tired. He locked up with Hokum, pinning his ears at the other. Crow had managed to nip the colt at the wire. He was more than satisfied, but next time they met, whether it was a workout or a race, Crow would make sure he'd win by a lot more. The field of dreams had just doubled in size.
Justin and Laura rode in the back aboard their monsters. Van Guard strode along on muscled legs, big, soft eyes taking in his surroundings. The newly gelded horse had gone out and taken his second win of his career in the Focus Stakes with Laura DeComte aboard. The girl had turned Indian Darling, Feline Frenzy and Whipped Cream's careers around with the simple jock switch. Van Guard, the third son of Native Flame, was her next major project. She swept a gentle hand down the curly mane of his, smiling. She too had a reason to hope that Van Guard would be a showstopper by the end of this year and into his four year old season. Since he was a gelding he would continue until at least five, six or seven. She would stick with him until the end. Now was only the beginning.
Hokum snorted loudly, nearly sending GS Royal Crown out of his skin. Justin hid a smile, not quite so open in his expressions as his female counterpart. Hokum did the rest for him. The eighteen hand behemoth towered over his three year old stablemates in body size and in attitude. The son of Kore VS was a true monster in every sense of the word. He was grade four with five powerful wins and with every race he became more aggressive and showed off more of his talent. Justin had once been afraid of the powerhouse colt, but now he respected him more than other animal on the property. Hokum was a still untested talent, still trying to find his best stride out on the track. But what he had shown was that he could be the best late bloomer that Witch Creek had ever dug up. Justin slapped the well-muscled neck, watching the way the sun hit him. Hokum could have gone in the Derby alongside Red Herring and GS Royal Crown, but like GS Royal Crown, Hokum would live to fight in the Canadian Triple Crown. Perhaps he would be better off because of it.
The three colts pranced onto the track. GS Royal Crown swept exuberantly into his canter-gallop, head up and ears pricked. The dappled gray colt was eager to go and eager to show off. He'd been a beast in the barn, nipping and kicking, becoming more like a temperamental champion every day. He deserved to be proud of himself off of his two last victories. He'd been a turf horse last year and now he could do anything. He was more versatile than Frozen Motion, once his idol. Maggie wiggled her fingers on the reins, reminding Crow that she was in charge. He'd found himself a niche in a barn where every horse needed a role. Maggie couldn't be happier at the moment. Her horse. He bowed his neck, snorting and doing his best impression of Hokum. That horse cantered powerfully up alongside them, one stride for every one and a half of GS Royal Crown's. The horse gleamed like polished mahogany as he snaked threateningly toward GS Royal Crown. Crow squealed and spun as best he could, but Justin managed to pull Hokum off his potential victim. Soon they trotted along like best friends, only pinning their ears when Van Guard came close.
Laura smirked when Van's ears went sideways at their threats. Van wanted to be everyone's friend, but it never worked out for the large gelding. Van was the low man on the totem pole despite his 17 hand size. He could deal out the damage he received, he just simply didn't have the heart to do it. Laura let the gelding go at his own pace, allowing him to settle into his near trucking pace. He could move and he did indeed have a cruising speed. He still had things to put together, but where Crow and Hokum were on a time clock, Van had all the time in the world to take his time. Laura kissed the crest of his neck, enjoying the long, lumbering stride. He stayed to the outside of Hokum, less worried about him than the insufferable gray on the rail. He'd won his last race, showing his true colors in fine fashion. Her dream for him would come true soon enough. She enjoyed stopping and smelling the roses this time around.
Crow assumed dominance, leading at the gallop with his small head stuck up in the air. He was a snob of sorts, but he could really move. Maggie perched lightly, kept her weight locked into the stirrups. He could fly and was like gun powder waiting to be lit. His greyhound body lined out over the dirt track, knees lifting perfectly. He'd long since grown accustomed to the harsher surface. He lowered his head, his tail flicked over his rump as he moved just five inches off of the rail. He did not flinch when Hokum came into him once they reached the backstretch. He pushed back, fought off the enemy. And Hokum was the enemy.
Justin relished in the unbelievable power he felt rolling out beneath him. Hokum wasn't even trying to stick it to Crow. He cruised right along, letting GS Royal Crown have his way on the lead until the moment was right. The moment would come in the homestretch where he would have placed himself perfectly and when he would sweep forward to take over for the staggering leader. Justin ran his hands over the muscle, sure that the colt would not move until the homestretch. Hokum had once been unpredictable, but a lot of seasoning had straightened out the hot tempered, conniving horse. Now he strolled along like a professional and even pulled out a couple dirty race tactics on his own by crowding GS Royal Crown.
Van Guard trailed to the outside still, four paths out, but content to sit. He was used to being in this position though he was still more lightly raced than Hokum who'd joined Witch Creek later on. The big gelding tucked his chin to his chest, remaining collected even as the other two stretched out to accommodate their riders need for speed. Unusually patient aboard the gentle giant, Laura kept her hands silent and steady, let the horse feel out the bit and get a feel for his own strength. The windup was coming. They both knew it.
Crow bolted at the head of the stretch, knocking Hokum back a surprised step. Maggie knew Hokum's game and Crow could easily dispatch him with a proper burst of speed. The dappled gray horse lined out for him, head lower, muscles bunching and releasing in a perfect display of stamina and speed. Maggie pulled her goggles down to block the tears caused by the wind. Crow's ears were lost in the mane of differing grays. He was flying and determined to stave off Hokum from start to finish. Hokum was just as determined to run him down like a steamroller. Justin dropped his hands then, letting the reins soar through his gloved hands, admiring the agility that allowed his monster colt to go from cruising to thunderous in a matter of seconds. Hokum flew up to GS Royal Crown in a matter of strides, but GS Royal Crown was the speed of the speed. He could last longer than most other horses that Hokum faced. He was not cheap speed and he served as an important lesson for future races. Hokum's surprise lasted for a stride, but a nudge from Justin had him bolting forward again to run head and head with his Canadian Triple Crown rival.
Laura watched the drama play out before her, listening to the wild drumbeat of racing hooves. Van was four lengths back, galloping with interest, but not threatening to run unless she told him to. With a shriek, the red head set him down the drive. He too was in possession of cat-like agility. He attacked the earth beneath him with a vengeance, black tipped ears became lost in the wild midnight tresses. He bounded forward on the far outside, body moving like a freight train as he bore down on his stablemates. Laura leaned close to him, feeling the raw power that came with the trucking movement of Van Guard. He surged up to be level with Hokum and GS Royal Crown, though neither of them saw him coming. Another call had Van Guard surging forward, surprising both the other riders and their horses when he swept away to win the unexpected race by a half length.
Justin cursed as the unsuspecting winner drew to the rail and drew off. Van Guard was still unsure of his moves and he always managed to surprise when least expected. Hokum protested the loss, squealing and neighing, demanding for a challenge. He bucked once, twice, three times before Justin was able to get him to stay on the ground, such was his fury. GS Royal Crown pinned his ears, eyes blazing. Maggie patted the colt's neck even as he bolted to streak by Hokum. Van Guard was already pulling up, cantering with his ears flicked. Maggie nodded to Laura as Crow blatantly flew on by. Laura let out a gut wrenching laugh, turned to meet Justin and his mule of a horse. Laura patted Van Guard who dodged the teeth of his more dominant stablemate. He doesn't even know he's good yet. Justin nodded, too concentrated on Hokum to really pay attention. The big bay was going to be hell-bent to win next time out. Not that Justin minded in the least. Hokum could do whatever he pleased when it came to winning a race.
Crow came back, breathing loudly, but not looking too tired. He locked up with Hokum, pinning his ears at the other. Crow had managed to nip the colt at the wire. He was more than satisfied, but next time they met, whether it was a workout or a race, Crow would make sure he'd win by a lot more. The field of dreams had just doubled in size.