August Week Three
Feline Frenzy& Cross My Heart. Mastermind& Fiery Touch.
Bella Luna& Dazzling Dame.
Frozen Motion& Hokum. GS Royal Crown& Midnight Thriller.
Flawed Princess& Whipped Cream. Supernatural& Fly By Darkness.
Prima Donna& Paranormal Hunter.
Bella Luna& Dazzling Dame.
Frozen Motion& Hokum. GS Royal Crown& Midnight Thriller.
Flawed Princess& Whipped Cream. Supernatural& Fly By Darkness.
Prima Donna& Paranormal Hunter.
frenzied cross
My little Fee is almost all grown up, Laura crooned to the black stockinged mare who stood in the main stall row. The mare's fine head switched to look at Laura, her eyes cautious, but bright. Her body was lightly muscled, but that was always a cover up for what lay beneath the light brown hide. Feline Frenzy was a grade two racehorse now. She'd started the year off as a grade five with a single win to her name. She was supposed to be on break this August, but the little mare that could had loathed being a pasture pet. In order to avoid injuring herself, the staff had put her back in training. Today would make her first workout as potential grade one quality. Her next start would come in the Dash Stakes, a series that would definitely attract the grade one sprinting turf superstars. Fee would contest it all and maybe at the end, she would come out on top and ready to pounce on Breeders Cup day.
Ripley glanced from her position, straightening the headstall of her own rather fine-boned filly. Unlike Fee who possessed an innocence unusual for her age, Cross My Heart's eyes glowed with full on power and maturity. Her last victory over Innocent Passion in the Daisy Stakes had turned the princess into a queen. She had one more leg in the Turf Sprinter Tiara, the Butter Cup Sprint, in order to see if she could become a living legend as well. Her next start, however, would come against the top-class turf mare in the country Sugar Jayde. Cross had run up against that particular SOPS representative before, resulting in a second place. Not one to lose to an opponent twice in a row, Cross would be out for victory... and maybe for blood. The filly wouldn't know who was facing until the post parade, but Ripley already knew what her reaction would be. Cross would be the devil herself in speed and fury. Sugar Jayde was not going to meet some young buck looking for ten-minutes of fame this time around. She would be facing a filly on the verge of capturing a sprinting tiara.
Both bay mare and black filly had something to prove in their next start. The little bay needed to prove she belonged at the highest ranks. The little black filly needed to prove that she could handle the older generation. Ripley patted Cross' silken black neck, green eyes full of love and happiness. Cross was turning into everything a racehorse should be. Her record was impressive and versatile. She'd done things that few other fillies had in the past. She'd taken a leg of the Turf Triple Tiara, taken two of the Sprinting Tiara and was on the edge of winning the third. Cross was turning turf sprinting for three year old fillies into something to behold. Next year, the boys would be the goal beginning with a run in the Breeders Cup Turf Sprint later this season.
Laura and Ripley led the mare and filly from the barn, quickly mounting up outside. These two were horses that you never rested with for one second. Fee danced a jig down the path the moment Laura's butt landed on the seat of the saddle. Cross, not to be outdone, squealed and let out a ripping buck that only familiarity and adrenaline had Ripley staying aboard. Fee was the energizer bunny of the barn. Cross was the engine that just didn't quit. Any gallop or workout that they were in together was a fast one. A much anticipated one as well. Cross was top shelf and having Fee run head and head with a top shelf horse did more for her confidence than any solitary strong gallop. Ripley patted Cross' neck as the black filly eyed Fee. She wasn't happy with the current situation. Running against the same competition burned her like an insult. Ripley thought maybe it was because Cross didn't like to have to teach them a lesson twice. Relax, pretty girl. You know she's not gonna beat you.
Laura's shoulders tensed and Feline Frenzy threw her head some more, eyes glowing as if she felt Laura's fury. Oh Ripley Marsh. I know you didn't just throw down a dare. Her blue eyes snapped fire balls in Ripley's direction, and the older woman placed a pale hand on her hip and eyed the other back. And what are you going to about it if I did? Laura didn't answer, simply moved, pushed her whole body into the movement and sent Fee flying. The black trimmed bay flew into action with the swiftness of a very experienced horse. Soon she would be moving up in grade and soon Cross would have no right to say she was the better sprinter of the two. Ripley didn't have to ask Cross twice to go after the little bay runaway. Her black eyes snapped with ferocity and hatred as Feline Frenzy extended her lead to two lengths. All because of the head start. Cross' black legs blurred beneath her light frame and she flew over the course as if born from it.
The little mare was full of energy and she made it to the top of the hillside before Cross. She took a deep breath, or attempted to. Her excitement was causing her focus to dim. Feline Frenzy loved nothing more than being chased. Laura shook the reins and sent Fee loping down the hillside the moment Cross reached the crest of the hill. Ripley was furious now herself and the energy was traveling down the reins and only furthering the ferocity of Cross My Heart. The little black filly leaped from a stand still down the hillside, ears locked back into her mane, legs sweeping over the course with agility only a small horse could be proud of.
Fee's black ears flicked backward briefly and Laura cursed. Cross had somehow reached the flat valley before they'd gotten halfway across. This meant two things. Cross was gunning for them and Feline Frenzy better have the race of her life coming up to meet her. Laura leaned close, molded herself in the best way she could to her favored mare. Fee scooted up the hill, but Cross was now breathing at her haunches, her black head poking at her shoulder as they bolted upward. Laura glowed with pride when Fee put on a burst of speed that knocked Cross back a foot. Her little mare was becoming a proud mare with a big heart. Every win had bolstered Feline Frenzy's moral and now she was becoming a star.
The horses flew down the hill side by side, ears bobbing over their heads, eyes glowing with matched fury. Their riders were still on their backs, holding their own fury in for the three furlong sprint just at the base of this hillside. The dare sizzled in between them, the elephant in the room.
Fee beat Cross to the flat, just as she had beaten her every step of the way so far. The annoyance of it burned in Cross' belly. She was furious. She wanted to show this little mare what she was made of. Suddenly, Cross was having to prove herself when, originally, it had been the other way around. Ripley shook the reins, urged her to get going, to make a grab for the lead before Feline Frenzy grew brave and walked home. Cross responded with a surge so dazzling that Ripley was nearly knocked in back of the saddle. She latched onto Cross' mane, eyes tearing up from the wind. The slim three year old bolted forward so that now she was neck and neck with the little bay that could. Her eyes glowed, full of demons and threats, as she eyed Feline Frenzy. Her heart was tough, her mettle was strong. Cross had never gotten her heart broken in the heat of battle. She was immune to the pressure of locked eyes, but knew the advantage it had over her opponents.
Feline Frenzy snorted, lengthened her stride when Cross met her eye to eye. Her dark gaze glowed with irritation, her joy of running disappearing on the wind of her own creation. She stayed with Cross and did not weaken. Her own mettle had improved some. She gave Cross a dose of her own medicine, dug down and remained side by side with the black. The pair swept under the invisible line at the end of the three furlong stretch. They still had wanted to go at it, wanted to bury each other. But it wasn't allowable. Their time of racing was closed for today. Next up would be the big races. Both of them were more than ready for the true proving ground after today.
Ripley glanced from her position, straightening the headstall of her own rather fine-boned filly. Unlike Fee who possessed an innocence unusual for her age, Cross My Heart's eyes glowed with full on power and maturity. Her last victory over Innocent Passion in the Daisy Stakes had turned the princess into a queen. She had one more leg in the Turf Sprinter Tiara, the Butter Cup Sprint, in order to see if she could become a living legend as well. Her next start, however, would come against the top-class turf mare in the country Sugar Jayde. Cross had run up against that particular SOPS representative before, resulting in a second place. Not one to lose to an opponent twice in a row, Cross would be out for victory... and maybe for blood. The filly wouldn't know who was facing until the post parade, but Ripley already knew what her reaction would be. Cross would be the devil herself in speed and fury. Sugar Jayde was not going to meet some young buck looking for ten-minutes of fame this time around. She would be facing a filly on the verge of capturing a sprinting tiara.
Both bay mare and black filly had something to prove in their next start. The little bay needed to prove she belonged at the highest ranks. The little black filly needed to prove that she could handle the older generation. Ripley patted Cross' silken black neck, green eyes full of love and happiness. Cross was turning into everything a racehorse should be. Her record was impressive and versatile. She'd done things that few other fillies had in the past. She'd taken a leg of the Turf Triple Tiara, taken two of the Sprinting Tiara and was on the edge of winning the third. Cross was turning turf sprinting for three year old fillies into something to behold. Next year, the boys would be the goal beginning with a run in the Breeders Cup Turf Sprint later this season.
Laura and Ripley led the mare and filly from the barn, quickly mounting up outside. These two were horses that you never rested with for one second. Fee danced a jig down the path the moment Laura's butt landed on the seat of the saddle. Cross, not to be outdone, squealed and let out a ripping buck that only familiarity and adrenaline had Ripley staying aboard. Fee was the energizer bunny of the barn. Cross was the engine that just didn't quit. Any gallop or workout that they were in together was a fast one. A much anticipated one as well. Cross was top shelf and having Fee run head and head with a top shelf horse did more for her confidence than any solitary strong gallop. Ripley patted Cross' neck as the black filly eyed Fee. She wasn't happy with the current situation. Running against the same competition burned her like an insult. Ripley thought maybe it was because Cross didn't like to have to teach them a lesson twice. Relax, pretty girl. You know she's not gonna beat you.
Laura's shoulders tensed and Feline Frenzy threw her head some more, eyes glowing as if she felt Laura's fury. Oh Ripley Marsh. I know you didn't just throw down a dare. Her blue eyes snapped fire balls in Ripley's direction, and the older woman placed a pale hand on her hip and eyed the other back. And what are you going to about it if I did? Laura didn't answer, simply moved, pushed her whole body into the movement and sent Fee flying. The black trimmed bay flew into action with the swiftness of a very experienced horse. Soon she would be moving up in grade and soon Cross would have no right to say she was the better sprinter of the two. Ripley didn't have to ask Cross twice to go after the little bay runaway. Her black eyes snapped with ferocity and hatred as Feline Frenzy extended her lead to two lengths. All because of the head start. Cross' black legs blurred beneath her light frame and she flew over the course as if born from it.
The little mare was full of energy and she made it to the top of the hillside before Cross. She took a deep breath, or attempted to. Her excitement was causing her focus to dim. Feline Frenzy loved nothing more than being chased. Laura shook the reins and sent Fee loping down the hillside the moment Cross reached the crest of the hill. Ripley was furious now herself and the energy was traveling down the reins and only furthering the ferocity of Cross My Heart. The little black filly leaped from a stand still down the hillside, ears locked back into her mane, legs sweeping over the course with agility only a small horse could be proud of.
Fee's black ears flicked backward briefly and Laura cursed. Cross had somehow reached the flat valley before they'd gotten halfway across. This meant two things. Cross was gunning for them and Feline Frenzy better have the race of her life coming up to meet her. Laura leaned close, molded herself in the best way she could to her favored mare. Fee scooted up the hill, but Cross was now breathing at her haunches, her black head poking at her shoulder as they bolted upward. Laura glowed with pride when Fee put on a burst of speed that knocked Cross back a foot. Her little mare was becoming a proud mare with a big heart. Every win had bolstered Feline Frenzy's moral and now she was becoming a star.
The horses flew down the hill side by side, ears bobbing over their heads, eyes glowing with matched fury. Their riders were still on their backs, holding their own fury in for the three furlong sprint just at the base of this hillside. The dare sizzled in between them, the elephant in the room.
Fee beat Cross to the flat, just as she had beaten her every step of the way so far. The annoyance of it burned in Cross' belly. She was furious. She wanted to show this little mare what she was made of. Suddenly, Cross was having to prove herself when, originally, it had been the other way around. Ripley shook the reins, urged her to get going, to make a grab for the lead before Feline Frenzy grew brave and walked home. Cross responded with a surge so dazzling that Ripley was nearly knocked in back of the saddle. She latched onto Cross' mane, eyes tearing up from the wind. The slim three year old bolted forward so that now she was neck and neck with the little bay that could. Her eyes glowed, full of demons and threats, as she eyed Feline Frenzy. Her heart was tough, her mettle was strong. Cross had never gotten her heart broken in the heat of battle. She was immune to the pressure of locked eyes, but knew the advantage it had over her opponents.
Feline Frenzy snorted, lengthened her stride when Cross met her eye to eye. Her dark gaze glowed with irritation, her joy of running disappearing on the wind of her own creation. She stayed with Cross and did not weaken. Her own mettle had improved some. She gave Cross a dose of her own medicine, dug down and remained side by side with the black. The pair swept under the invisible line at the end of the three furlong stretch. They still had wanted to go at it, wanted to bury each other. But it wasn't allowable. Their time of racing was closed for today. Next up would be the big races. Both of them were more than ready for the true proving ground after today.
fiery mind
Ripley Marsh sat aboard Fiery Touch as the light bay mare stood in the waning Autumn morning fog. Her body glittered here and there with flecks of gold and silver mixed into the brown. Her long black stockings glinted with all of the secrets of the night and her even darker tail lay slack between them. Her physique was classic, dazzling, gorgeous. She had the attitude of a champion, stood proud and tall alongside the rail. The Touch Up mare had turned from a gangly filly into a powerful mare. Her next start in the Autumn Cup would either bring her to the top or set them back on a realistic path of grade ones over at The Wire, where she had already taken a win in the Azeri Stakes. Ripley considered this workout important to Fiery Touch's journey. It was now or never. It was Fie's last season to prove whether or not she belonged with the top fillies of her generation.
The mare's black tipped ears swung back, away from the track which had been her main focus for a good fifteen minutes, and alerted Ripley that they officially had company. The auburn haired woman turned around, grinning when Lane Thompson guided a very proud looking Mastermind up to Fie's side. The gleaming chestnut colt had never looked better in his career than he did right now. His muscles bulged, his body held good weight, he shimmered like a bright, new copper penny. The Speed Demon son was in a word incredible right now. He'd reeled off two consecutive victories versus top competition in the sprinting Triple Crown races over both surfaces. He would be going for two out of three in the dirt sprinting crown series, having sat out the first leg due to distance shortage. Like Fiery Touch, Mastermind would be going in the Autumn Cup for his next start. He would face older horses not for the first time in his career. Now, that he was actually getting older, Mastermind was about to light a fire and stake a claim for sprinting male divisional honors at the end of the season. Ripley would be aboard the colt for the remainder of his races this season, but she knew him like the back of her hand. Lane wanted a chance to sit aboard "Adonis" as he was known. Ever willing to please, Mastermind would give her the ride of her life.
Is it possible for a horse to feel brilliant at just a walk? Lane questioned as the horses took their first steps out on the track. Ripley snickered, nodded at Mastermind's bobbing head. You are not experiencing just any walk. You are experiencing Mastermind's brilliant-bow-down-to-me-or-face-my-wrath walk. Lane laughed, stroked the colt's neck, smiling. I can believe it. Fiery Touch snorted, drawing attention back to her and away from the three year old colt. She looked awesome in the Azeri, Rip. The trainer nodded, niggled the reins and set the mare down into a sweet canter. Felt, awesome too. She'll be coming around the longer she races. Just a pity I have to say goodbye to her when I'm just getting to know her. It's been a pretty ride.
Lane nodded, reached over from her own cantering horse and stroked the mare's neck. This is what it feels like to be riding grade one caliber horses. I'll be using it for future reference when I get my own mounts. Ripley smiled, noted Fie's pleasure at Lane's touch. The mare was calming down, becoming less of a racehorse and more of a happy horse. The Breeders Cup would be a fitting finale for the grade one mare. You'll get them soon enough. You're going to be starting Canjun Moon up again. He's grade three. Your special project is to find a niche for the All For Glory filly. She fits you to a "T". Wait til you meet her.
Lane puckered her lips up, curious. And I've got Midtee. I can't believe how awesome she felt in that race. I'm even more excited than ever for her workout today. Can't believe she gave Eternal Phantom a scare like that. Has there ever been a race where twins have dead-heated for a victory before? Ripley laughed, pride causing her cheeks to warm up. She'd bred both Eternal Phantom and Midnight Thriller. One sister had reached glory at two and three. The other was just figuring out what it meant to be a racehorse. Midtee will be in the roster next year as well.
Excitement burned within both women for what the end of Year Thirteen and the beginning of Year Fourteen would bring. Births, awards, victories. New plans for Year Fifteen would start developing as well. The mind of a trainer was never at rest. Mastermind bowed his neck, reminding Lane that the present was just as delightful as the future. The colt's elegantly hooded-head bobbed with every graceful, dominating motion he made. He was a tremendous animal, full of pride and speed to back that pride up. Ripley had kept the colt all to herself and now Lane was seeing what all the fuss was about. Here was a horse that you could conquer the world with.
Fie's head was bowed in her run, her eyes glinting with eagle-eyed intensity. She was powered up and ready to roll. She would attempt what Midtee had attempted this week. She would face the toughest horses in her division and attempt to stake a claim for top honors. Ripley had no doubt the powerful daughter of Touch Up could do it. She motored over the dirt course now, stretching out that long muscled body, uncoiling like a snake awakened from sleep. Her long black mane slapped Ripley in the face as she picked up speed on the inside rail. Her lean legs covered a large amount of ground and for once Mastermind was put to his task early. Exercising with Fiery Touch was no easy task.
Lane lowered her hands at the chestnut colt's withers, feeling his talent pour through the leather reins. The woman felt more confident than she had ever felt before. Mastermind stretched out, red mane flying around his slim head, in order to keep up with Fiery Touch. His ears flicked as they rolled into the backstretch, muscles quivered in eagerness to run right on by the bay mare. Lane kept him even with the Touch Up horse. She would not let Fie get a chance to breath. Mastermind would have enough stamina to last the six furlong workout and enough speed to beat Fiery Touch at the end of it all. The horses bounded side by side, speed increasing gradually with every passing furlong. Ripley's eyes grew darker as Fie's intensity increased. She was snorting, chomping at the bit, urging Ripley to just release her so that she might pummel this hot shot colt. Ripley's grip on the reins tightened, she steadied her breathing, forced herself to relax. Fie regretfully settled down, skimming along the rail so that it clanked with Ripley's inside stirrup. Ripley's eyes narrowed at the defiance that bloomed so brilliantly in this mare.
Fie cruised into the far turn with a head lead over Mastermind. Her ears were pricked up over her stripe-marked head. Her eyes were dark with interest and competitiveness. Mastermind was asking for it by not backing down at all. She moved with classic grace, but the big guns had yet to make an appearance so far. Lane remained calm and confident aboard her star-filled pedigreed horse. He was arrogant in his movements, cocky to a point well above Lane's head. Yet, there was a slim stripe of modesty that kept the colt to his task and obeying his rider. A champion's attitude. Lane counted the strides until the head of the stretch, prayed that it come soon so that she could feel the adrenaline rush that this grade one animal would bring.
Ripley could feel the adrenaline rush that Lane was feeling, got the idea that Lane's might even be more intense. The woman would be sitting on a time-bomb right about now. Ripley knew because many times she'd felt the same way aboard Mastermind. The homestretch whipped into view and Ripley caught the timing perfectly and in full flight. She lurched forward, nudged Fiery Touch forward and felt the rush of power slice through her system. The black-edged mare hurtled forward with more power than was her natural right. Her legs blurred beneath her elegant form as she broke the sound barrier with her speed. Her ears were lost in whirling black mane and Ripley's eyes just barely peeked over the black tresses themselves.
Lane had punched it just a second after Ripley sent Fie racing for the final stretch. Mastermind had lit out of there like a bat out of Hell. The chestnut colt had a final kick unlike anything she'd ever felt before in a dirt horse. His onslaught of speed brought tears to her eyes as he charged like a lion to take down his runaway prey. She bowed close, felt the warmth of horse hide seep up into her limbs. He ran like no other horse had run for her before. He made up the ground on Fie swiftly and authoritatively. He drew to barrel, her withers, her neck, her head... her nose. He flew like a chestnut Pegasus.
Ripley had expected Mastermind to come to them, had hoped Lane would feel the heat that the chestnut brought to the table. Now she would experience a battle like no other. Fiery Touch gritted down, rushed up to keep Mastermind at bay. This was a mare used to fighting for every win, every honor she had. Mastermind had not had things handed to him, but he'd never had to truly prove his worth. The bay and chestnut surged for the wire, hooves filling the air with war drums. The riders chirped to them, called to them and then time stopped at the wire.
Fie was perfectly stretched across the line, ears pinned back into her mane, legs reaching with only her right hind connected to the ground. Mastermind, a nose behind, was poised in full flight, none of his hooves connected him to worth. He was not a grounded being. He was commanding, gorgeous, ethereal. Lane and Ripley might as well have not been there, for they sat still as stones, silent as church mice.
Then the moment was over. Mastermind uncoiled his body and came to earth in front just past the wire. But Fie had gutted it out, had won. The riders laughed, bumped hands as their powerfully arrogant horses strode into the far turn. Greatness would await either of them or both of them. But in this workout, both of them had known what it took to win.
The mare's black tipped ears swung back, away from the track which had been her main focus for a good fifteen minutes, and alerted Ripley that they officially had company. The auburn haired woman turned around, grinning when Lane Thompson guided a very proud looking Mastermind up to Fie's side. The gleaming chestnut colt had never looked better in his career than he did right now. His muscles bulged, his body held good weight, he shimmered like a bright, new copper penny. The Speed Demon son was in a word incredible right now. He'd reeled off two consecutive victories versus top competition in the sprinting Triple Crown races over both surfaces. He would be going for two out of three in the dirt sprinting crown series, having sat out the first leg due to distance shortage. Like Fiery Touch, Mastermind would be going in the Autumn Cup for his next start. He would face older horses not for the first time in his career. Now, that he was actually getting older, Mastermind was about to light a fire and stake a claim for sprinting male divisional honors at the end of the season. Ripley would be aboard the colt for the remainder of his races this season, but she knew him like the back of her hand. Lane wanted a chance to sit aboard "Adonis" as he was known. Ever willing to please, Mastermind would give her the ride of her life.
Is it possible for a horse to feel brilliant at just a walk? Lane questioned as the horses took their first steps out on the track. Ripley snickered, nodded at Mastermind's bobbing head. You are not experiencing just any walk. You are experiencing Mastermind's brilliant-bow-down-to-me-or-face-my-wrath walk. Lane laughed, stroked the colt's neck, smiling. I can believe it. Fiery Touch snorted, drawing attention back to her and away from the three year old colt. She looked awesome in the Azeri, Rip. The trainer nodded, niggled the reins and set the mare down into a sweet canter. Felt, awesome too. She'll be coming around the longer she races. Just a pity I have to say goodbye to her when I'm just getting to know her. It's been a pretty ride.
Lane nodded, reached over from her own cantering horse and stroked the mare's neck. This is what it feels like to be riding grade one caliber horses. I'll be using it for future reference when I get my own mounts. Ripley smiled, noted Fie's pleasure at Lane's touch. The mare was calming down, becoming less of a racehorse and more of a happy horse. The Breeders Cup would be a fitting finale for the grade one mare. You'll get them soon enough. You're going to be starting Canjun Moon up again. He's grade three. Your special project is to find a niche for the All For Glory filly. She fits you to a "T". Wait til you meet her.
Lane puckered her lips up, curious. And I've got Midtee. I can't believe how awesome she felt in that race. I'm even more excited than ever for her workout today. Can't believe she gave Eternal Phantom a scare like that. Has there ever been a race where twins have dead-heated for a victory before? Ripley laughed, pride causing her cheeks to warm up. She'd bred both Eternal Phantom and Midnight Thriller. One sister had reached glory at two and three. The other was just figuring out what it meant to be a racehorse. Midtee will be in the roster next year as well.
Excitement burned within both women for what the end of Year Thirteen and the beginning of Year Fourteen would bring. Births, awards, victories. New plans for Year Fifteen would start developing as well. The mind of a trainer was never at rest. Mastermind bowed his neck, reminding Lane that the present was just as delightful as the future. The colt's elegantly hooded-head bobbed with every graceful, dominating motion he made. He was a tremendous animal, full of pride and speed to back that pride up. Ripley had kept the colt all to herself and now Lane was seeing what all the fuss was about. Here was a horse that you could conquer the world with.
Fie's head was bowed in her run, her eyes glinting with eagle-eyed intensity. She was powered up and ready to roll. She would attempt what Midtee had attempted this week. She would face the toughest horses in her division and attempt to stake a claim for top honors. Ripley had no doubt the powerful daughter of Touch Up could do it. She motored over the dirt course now, stretching out that long muscled body, uncoiling like a snake awakened from sleep. Her long black mane slapped Ripley in the face as she picked up speed on the inside rail. Her lean legs covered a large amount of ground and for once Mastermind was put to his task early. Exercising with Fiery Touch was no easy task.
Lane lowered her hands at the chestnut colt's withers, feeling his talent pour through the leather reins. The woman felt more confident than she had ever felt before. Mastermind stretched out, red mane flying around his slim head, in order to keep up with Fiery Touch. His ears flicked as they rolled into the backstretch, muscles quivered in eagerness to run right on by the bay mare. Lane kept him even with the Touch Up horse. She would not let Fie get a chance to breath. Mastermind would have enough stamina to last the six furlong workout and enough speed to beat Fiery Touch at the end of it all. The horses bounded side by side, speed increasing gradually with every passing furlong. Ripley's eyes grew darker as Fie's intensity increased. She was snorting, chomping at the bit, urging Ripley to just release her so that she might pummel this hot shot colt. Ripley's grip on the reins tightened, she steadied her breathing, forced herself to relax. Fie regretfully settled down, skimming along the rail so that it clanked with Ripley's inside stirrup. Ripley's eyes narrowed at the defiance that bloomed so brilliantly in this mare.
Fie cruised into the far turn with a head lead over Mastermind. Her ears were pricked up over her stripe-marked head. Her eyes were dark with interest and competitiveness. Mastermind was asking for it by not backing down at all. She moved with classic grace, but the big guns had yet to make an appearance so far. Lane remained calm and confident aboard her star-filled pedigreed horse. He was arrogant in his movements, cocky to a point well above Lane's head. Yet, there was a slim stripe of modesty that kept the colt to his task and obeying his rider. A champion's attitude. Lane counted the strides until the head of the stretch, prayed that it come soon so that she could feel the adrenaline rush that this grade one animal would bring.
Ripley could feel the adrenaline rush that Lane was feeling, got the idea that Lane's might even be more intense. The woman would be sitting on a time-bomb right about now. Ripley knew because many times she'd felt the same way aboard Mastermind. The homestretch whipped into view and Ripley caught the timing perfectly and in full flight. She lurched forward, nudged Fiery Touch forward and felt the rush of power slice through her system. The black-edged mare hurtled forward with more power than was her natural right. Her legs blurred beneath her elegant form as she broke the sound barrier with her speed. Her ears were lost in whirling black mane and Ripley's eyes just barely peeked over the black tresses themselves.
Lane had punched it just a second after Ripley sent Fie racing for the final stretch. Mastermind had lit out of there like a bat out of Hell. The chestnut colt had a final kick unlike anything she'd ever felt before in a dirt horse. His onslaught of speed brought tears to her eyes as he charged like a lion to take down his runaway prey. She bowed close, felt the warmth of horse hide seep up into her limbs. He ran like no other horse had run for her before. He made up the ground on Fie swiftly and authoritatively. He drew to barrel, her withers, her neck, her head... her nose. He flew like a chestnut Pegasus.
Ripley had expected Mastermind to come to them, had hoped Lane would feel the heat that the chestnut brought to the table. Now she would experience a battle like no other. Fiery Touch gritted down, rushed up to keep Mastermind at bay. This was a mare used to fighting for every win, every honor she had. Mastermind had not had things handed to him, but he'd never had to truly prove his worth. The bay and chestnut surged for the wire, hooves filling the air with war drums. The riders chirped to them, called to them and then time stopped at the wire.
Fie was perfectly stretched across the line, ears pinned back into her mane, legs reaching with only her right hind connected to the ground. Mastermind, a nose behind, was poised in full flight, none of his hooves connected him to worth. He was not a grounded being. He was commanding, gorgeous, ethereal. Lane and Ripley might as well have not been there, for they sat still as stones, silent as church mice.
Then the moment was over. Mastermind uncoiled his body and came to earth in front just past the wire. But Fie had gutted it out, had won. The riders laughed, bumped hands as their powerfully arrogant horses strode into the far turn. Greatness would await either of them or both of them. But in this workout, both of them had known what it took to win.
beautiful dame
Justin needed a good session with a racehorse and he needed it now. His dark eyes were snapping with irritation, his body tense as he swung aboard Dazzling Dame. The dark mare reared beneath him, eyes lighting with the fury of her rider. Her four white marked legs danced mesmerizing patterns in place, dancing staccato beats and sending out warnings to everyone in their near vicinity. Dame was back, furious and better than ever. Justin had never left, was equally as furious and probably worse than he had ever been. The program that had brought him to Witch Creek had come calling for some funds as repayment for their sponsoring a certain Justin Santiago. He had the money to pay for it... somewhere in account managed by Ripley. The woman had taken guardianship over himself and his brother Connor a year ago. Connor was in school currently, but had not received such a notice.
Justin rolled his shoulders, settled Dame back to earth. When the people saw success, they wanted to mess with it. Justin would have forked over donations of uncountable amounts if they'd asked rather than demanded he pay up. And if he didn't pay up, Justin would see his whole lifestory splashed across the nation's most popular websites and newspapers. He cringed a little, terrified of what might come out from his past. There had been a lot of negatives and it would be horrid to see all of this come down on Ripley's shoulders. Ripley, who had put her life on pause to bring Connor and himself to Witch Creek. Ripley, who had put him on horses that she knew would eventually be successful. And Ripley, who had saved his life from turning into the usual horror story of a homeless street kid.
Dame snorted furiously beneath him, ears flicking back and forth over her classic Thoroughbred head. She was his savior too. The Jessie James daughter had been only a grade five at the time of their first meeting. She'd been so close to being a raving success and it had taken Ripley's brilliant insight to match Justin and Dame up. Now the dark mare was finishing first or second in major races every single time she ran. She was a grade one champion now. She was looking for a little revenge herself after suffering her second defeat in a row. Fleet Majesty, a former Witch Creek horse, had stolen the Queen Elizabeth II Stakes out from under Dazzling Dame's hooves. The mare wanted to beat the filly to a pulp, wanted to show her who was boss... But it would have to wait until they next met. Dame's next start would come in the Autumn Cup where she would attempt to notch another win under her recently successful belt. Justin stroked the mare's short muscled neck, spun her on her thickly muscled haunches and faced the enemy of the day.
Reese gawked at the sight of the furious boy and the furious charger prancing beneath him. Bella Luna danced on her tip toes as she emerged from the dark barn, the light glinting on her remarkable dapples. The filly was the first Turf Triple Crown winner ever, but despite that, and her recent success over older horses in the Simply A Flyer Memorial Stakes, she was still less confident around fierce horses. At least until she got running. Luna dipped her head up and down, prancing sideways to avoid Dazzling Dame's teeth and hooves. Reese glared at Justin.
Mind calming down your weapon? Justin sent her a furious look from beneath thick dark lashes, shrugged. However, seconds later, Dame was calmer and walking forwardly to the racetrack. The mare always knew how he was feeling. She was the light on a dark day. He was so happy to have her back running where she belonged. And he would miss her at the end of the season when she would retire to have foals for Witch Creek. Justin patted her neck, murmured soft words to further calm her down. She calm enough for you?
Listen, punk, I'd rather not deal with your snarky attitude. So if this was Ripley's idea to sic you on me, turn around and head back to the barn. Justin grunted, turned Dame off the path to head to the turf track. She wants a seven furlong workout. Reese shrugged, patted Bella's glowing neck. No, she didn't ride to put up with Justin's bad attitude, but Bella needed the work and Reese loved to work with Bella. The filly cantered off over the turf, happy to put some distance in between herself and the Jessie James mare. Reese twined her fingers into the filly's multi-colored mane as the horse cruised over the grass. Luna was a beautiful horse inside and out. Personality wise. Training wise. Everything to Reese. This filly had made Reese's riding career, plain and simple.
Justin took several deep breaths, forced himself to relax when Dame's gait remained choppy. She flexed her muscles, urging him to get a grip when Bella Luna swept by them in a graceful canter. He shook his head, leaned close to the four year old's burly neck and let her loose. The dark charger of a horse bolted, tremendous with her power. She bolted up to run head and head with Bella Luna. The more elegant horse floated along, ears flicking briefly in Dame's direction, but calmer and settled in her run. Her dark eyes were focused on the front. It was the end result that mattered after all. Not the competition.
Reese and Justin were quiet as the horses danced over the dying grass. Soon turf workouts would no longer be possible. Soon workouts on the newly built indoor synthetic track would take over as best they could for the hills. Reese was both excited and disappointed. Running in open air aboard thoroughbreds was way better than running in a closed off arena. The gray filly snorted as if in approval, the first noise heard from the horses besides their running hooves.
The pair cruised over the hills, bodies not touching, but not drifting away from one another. Dame rumbled, Bella Luna floated. Their personalities were in perfect harmony with one another. Dame always managed to keep her more dominating head in front of Bella's less-than-willing-to-fight one. The gray was content to follow along at a solid pace until Reese asked for something more. This was how she had won the Turf Triple Crown. This was how she had beaten older horses in the Simply A Flyer Memorial Stakes. She danced her way to victory.
Dame galloped boldly up the next hill, ears pricked, eyes as wide as saucers as she took in the situation. She knew the time to really run was drawing near. When Ripley said seven furlong workout, she meant a steady pace for the first four furlongs and then a three furlong blowout over the flat portion that lingered in between hills. Justin leaned closed, dark eyes growing more excited with every one of Dame's powerhouse strides. Dame was itching to beat Bella Luna. The filly looked remarkably similar to the foe that had just beaten Dame. It would be a problem for Bella Luna. Not a problem for Justin Santiago and Dazzling Dame.
The quartet cruised up to the last hill. For a moment, all of them were frozen at the sight of spread before them. Dame broke first, nostrils flaring with her various snorts of excitement. Justin dropped the reins and sent her down the hillside. The heavy mare was pretty agile on her feet and she stormed down the hillside with the same fury that she did everything else. He clung to her whipping mane, after pulling down his goggles of course, and braced for the storm of power that would come.
Reese let Dame get the head start. It only made Bella Luna fiercer in the end. Her gray filly shook her head, eyes glowing with competitiveness as Dame surged away with heavy, yet graceful strides. The Jessie James mare was three lengths in front now. Reese rolled her dark eyes, shook the reins. Go get her Luna. The gray filly dashed from what felt like a stand still. She flew over the turf, kicking clods up here and there, but always confident in her movements. Her body was a machine. She'd developed into a champion, carried herself like one. She may not have been much in comparison to Dame's fiery fury, but in run there was no smoother animal. Reese leaned close, eyes brimming with happiness. Here was her favored and best mount.
Justin felt Dame tense when Bella Luna came to their hip in the final furlong. He had known she would be coming. Bella Luna was always coming at the end of the race. He pushed Dame on, refocusing her to the task at hand. She stuttered, pushed mightily off of the earth and flew forward with brilliant strides. It was not enough to knock Bella Luna back. The gray filly was latched onto them like a tick. Her eyes were glittering fiercely now as she floated over the turf course. Dame became infuriated, angry, frustrated. Her strides became longer, stronger, faster. She would not be bested once again by a gray filly. Her short frame scooted over the ground with the power of two horses. Justin was never more proud of Dame than now. His mare was staving off the attack of the only Turf Triple Crown winner in existence. He glanced at Reese, nearly fumbled himself when he realized that she hadn't even moved on the gray ghost of a horse.
He pushed Dame on the second Reese pressed the button. Bella Luna shot forward as if shot out of a cannon and now battled fiercely with his dark mare. He called to Dame, egging her on, forgetting all of his frustrations with the world. This was the world he belonged in. He was born to ride this mare and the others that would come after her. The dark and light horse battled the remaining length of the field, not slackening their onslaught when they rocketed past the imaginary wire. Reese and Justin really had to pull them in to get them to stop. They grinned foolishly at one another, patting and stroking their mount's with verve. Now that, snark master, is what I call a horse race.
Justin rolled his shoulders, settled Dame back to earth. When the people saw success, they wanted to mess with it. Justin would have forked over donations of uncountable amounts if they'd asked rather than demanded he pay up. And if he didn't pay up, Justin would see his whole lifestory splashed across the nation's most popular websites and newspapers. He cringed a little, terrified of what might come out from his past. There had been a lot of negatives and it would be horrid to see all of this come down on Ripley's shoulders. Ripley, who had put her life on pause to bring Connor and himself to Witch Creek. Ripley, who had put him on horses that she knew would eventually be successful. And Ripley, who had saved his life from turning into the usual horror story of a homeless street kid.
Dame snorted furiously beneath him, ears flicking back and forth over her classic Thoroughbred head. She was his savior too. The Jessie James daughter had been only a grade five at the time of their first meeting. She'd been so close to being a raving success and it had taken Ripley's brilliant insight to match Justin and Dame up. Now the dark mare was finishing first or second in major races every single time she ran. She was a grade one champion now. She was looking for a little revenge herself after suffering her second defeat in a row. Fleet Majesty, a former Witch Creek horse, had stolen the Queen Elizabeth II Stakes out from under Dazzling Dame's hooves. The mare wanted to beat the filly to a pulp, wanted to show her who was boss... But it would have to wait until they next met. Dame's next start would come in the Autumn Cup where she would attempt to notch another win under her recently successful belt. Justin stroked the mare's short muscled neck, spun her on her thickly muscled haunches and faced the enemy of the day.
Reese gawked at the sight of the furious boy and the furious charger prancing beneath him. Bella Luna danced on her tip toes as she emerged from the dark barn, the light glinting on her remarkable dapples. The filly was the first Turf Triple Crown winner ever, but despite that, and her recent success over older horses in the Simply A Flyer Memorial Stakes, she was still less confident around fierce horses. At least until she got running. Luna dipped her head up and down, prancing sideways to avoid Dazzling Dame's teeth and hooves. Reese glared at Justin.
Mind calming down your weapon? Justin sent her a furious look from beneath thick dark lashes, shrugged. However, seconds later, Dame was calmer and walking forwardly to the racetrack. The mare always knew how he was feeling. She was the light on a dark day. He was so happy to have her back running where she belonged. And he would miss her at the end of the season when she would retire to have foals for Witch Creek. Justin patted her neck, murmured soft words to further calm her down. She calm enough for you?
Listen, punk, I'd rather not deal with your snarky attitude. So if this was Ripley's idea to sic you on me, turn around and head back to the barn. Justin grunted, turned Dame off the path to head to the turf track. She wants a seven furlong workout. Reese shrugged, patted Bella's glowing neck. No, she didn't ride to put up with Justin's bad attitude, but Bella needed the work and Reese loved to work with Bella. The filly cantered off over the turf, happy to put some distance in between herself and the Jessie James mare. Reese twined her fingers into the filly's multi-colored mane as the horse cruised over the grass. Luna was a beautiful horse inside and out. Personality wise. Training wise. Everything to Reese. This filly had made Reese's riding career, plain and simple.
Justin took several deep breaths, forced himself to relax when Dame's gait remained choppy. She flexed her muscles, urging him to get a grip when Bella Luna swept by them in a graceful canter. He shook his head, leaned close to the four year old's burly neck and let her loose. The dark charger of a horse bolted, tremendous with her power. She bolted up to run head and head with Bella Luna. The more elegant horse floated along, ears flicking briefly in Dame's direction, but calmer and settled in her run. Her dark eyes were focused on the front. It was the end result that mattered after all. Not the competition.
Reese and Justin were quiet as the horses danced over the dying grass. Soon turf workouts would no longer be possible. Soon workouts on the newly built indoor synthetic track would take over as best they could for the hills. Reese was both excited and disappointed. Running in open air aboard thoroughbreds was way better than running in a closed off arena. The gray filly snorted as if in approval, the first noise heard from the horses besides their running hooves.
The pair cruised over the hills, bodies not touching, but not drifting away from one another. Dame rumbled, Bella Luna floated. Their personalities were in perfect harmony with one another. Dame always managed to keep her more dominating head in front of Bella's less-than-willing-to-fight one. The gray was content to follow along at a solid pace until Reese asked for something more. This was how she had won the Turf Triple Crown. This was how she had beaten older horses in the Simply A Flyer Memorial Stakes. She danced her way to victory.
Dame galloped boldly up the next hill, ears pricked, eyes as wide as saucers as she took in the situation. She knew the time to really run was drawing near. When Ripley said seven furlong workout, she meant a steady pace for the first four furlongs and then a three furlong blowout over the flat portion that lingered in between hills. Justin leaned closed, dark eyes growing more excited with every one of Dame's powerhouse strides. Dame was itching to beat Bella Luna. The filly looked remarkably similar to the foe that had just beaten Dame. It would be a problem for Bella Luna. Not a problem for Justin Santiago and Dazzling Dame.
The quartet cruised up to the last hill. For a moment, all of them were frozen at the sight of spread before them. Dame broke first, nostrils flaring with her various snorts of excitement. Justin dropped the reins and sent her down the hillside. The heavy mare was pretty agile on her feet and she stormed down the hillside with the same fury that she did everything else. He clung to her whipping mane, after pulling down his goggles of course, and braced for the storm of power that would come.
Reese let Dame get the head start. It only made Bella Luna fiercer in the end. Her gray filly shook her head, eyes glowing with competitiveness as Dame surged away with heavy, yet graceful strides. The Jessie James mare was three lengths in front now. Reese rolled her dark eyes, shook the reins. Go get her Luna. The gray filly dashed from what felt like a stand still. She flew over the turf, kicking clods up here and there, but always confident in her movements. Her body was a machine. She'd developed into a champion, carried herself like one. She may not have been much in comparison to Dame's fiery fury, but in run there was no smoother animal. Reese leaned close, eyes brimming with happiness. Here was her favored and best mount.
Justin felt Dame tense when Bella Luna came to their hip in the final furlong. He had known she would be coming. Bella Luna was always coming at the end of the race. He pushed Dame on, refocusing her to the task at hand. She stuttered, pushed mightily off of the earth and flew forward with brilliant strides. It was not enough to knock Bella Luna back. The gray filly was latched onto them like a tick. Her eyes were glittering fiercely now as she floated over the turf course. Dame became infuriated, angry, frustrated. Her strides became longer, stronger, faster. She would not be bested once again by a gray filly. Her short frame scooted over the ground with the power of two horses. Justin was never more proud of Dame than now. His mare was staving off the attack of the only Turf Triple Crown winner in existence. He glanced at Reese, nearly fumbled himself when he realized that she hadn't even moved on the gray ghost of a horse.
He pushed Dame on the second Reese pressed the button. Bella Luna shot forward as if shot out of a cannon and now battled fiercely with his dark mare. He called to Dame, egging her on, forgetting all of his frustrations with the world. This was the world he belonged in. He was born to ride this mare and the others that would come after her. The dark and light horse battled the remaining length of the field, not slackening their onslaught when they rocketed past the imaginary wire. Reese and Justin really had to pull them in to get them to stop. They grinned foolishly at one another, patting and stroking their mount's with verve. Now that, snark master, is what I call a horse race.
nonsense motion
Justin and Hokum were seething with fury by the time they reached August Week Three and were settled back at Witch Creek. Their attempt to win the Breeder's Stakes had been thwarted miserably when Hokum had missed the break thanks to the gate worker. A third place finish for Hokum just wasn't good enough. And a win for Italian Ice meant that once again Stride of Perfection Stable had won a Triple Crown. Ripley may have like Stride of Perfection Stable's crew, but at the moment Justin couldn't stand them. Add on to the fact that Innocent Passion and Calamity Queen had beaten a Turf Triple Crown winner when they hadn't even been the toughest competition Bella Luna had faced yet. And add on to the fact that Star Thoroughbreds had gone one-two over GS Royal Crown in the Handsome Mile, there was no doubt as to why Justin Santiago had had enough of the racing competition. He ran a hand down his dark-skinned face, looked at Hokum whom was trembling in outright fury. The dark bay horse had not been running against low levels of competition prior to his run in the Breeder's Stakes. So why the gate-worker had screwed up his run, was a mystery to Justin. All he knew was next time in the Autumn Cup, Hokum would be out for blood, pure and simple.
Brookson could practically feel the heat and rage drifting in his direction from the hot-headed pair tied before him. Hokum had come out of the Breeder's Stakes training better than he had gone into it. He was maturing quite rapidly and Brooks wouldn't be surprised if the horse flashed some dominance in his next start. The blonde-haired man turned to look at his own mount for the time being. Frozen Motion, king of the turf over at The Wire, looked absolutely tremendous and ready to rock and roll. The most important start of the dappled gray's season would be in the Twilight Stakes versus three year old rival Infinite Warcry and whoever else showed up. Freeze dipped his head, flaring his nostrils to the size of tea saucers, and pawed the ground. He was ready to bring some attention back to Witch Creek. Infinite Warcry had been a problem of the past and he hadn't been doing as well as a four year old, at least in the graded stakes division. Freeze had moved to The Wire and was dominating with five length wins and blisteringly fast fractions. No one could hold a candle to the gray horse since his move. And luckily for him, everyone was going to be forced to come to his home turf, his preferred surface. A smile lit up Brooks' face as he stroked his powerful mount's neck. I don't want to be too cocky, but, boy, we're going to give it to them every step of the way.
The Spitz stallion dropped his head in a yes motion. Brooks wanted to believe that the grand horse understood him, hoped for his sake that Freeze brought a little class and prowess into his future stud career. The man tightened up the girth, looked back at Hokum and Justin. You guys ready to tango with the champ? Justin glanced up, flashed a grin for the first time in what felt like weeks. If Freeze is the champ, then meet the horse that's gonna replace him next year. Brooks rolled his eyes at the young buck, unclipped Freeze from the cross-ties and began the procession out of the barn. The gray horse whinnied as he stepped from the barn causing several mares and their weanlings to look up, grass falling from their mouths. Next year, some of those gals will be yours handsome horse. Freeze shook his head, prancing sideways, tail lifted into the air like a showman.
Justin leaped onto the back of his behemoth and smiled as the bay took up a swift, stalking stride. Hokum was coming into his glory after all. It was only a matter of time before the younger set started taking notes from him. The colt bowed his head as he strode off the path and onto the rolling green turf that Witch Creek was known for. Frozen Motion joined them in a matter of seconds, small head at Hokum's shoulder. Hokum did not flash his teeth at the greyhound horse. For some reason, the horse did not mess with Freeze the way he did with Ashes to Ashes. There was a boundary line between himself and the gray that existed.
Frozen Motion had turned into the unexpected boss of the Year Thirteen roster after Screaming Mimi had left the shedrow to become a broodmare. He was a fair boss and did not rule with the iron fist that Mims had used. He broke up fights and squabbles, kept everyone in line and rarely sought violence as a way to handle things. The gray stallion was a respected member of the roster and becoming more and more of the champion he'd been bred to be. Brooks patted the stallion's neck, eyes glinting with pride and excitement. Freeze was rounding into form which meant that Brooks' season was about to get a Hell of a lot better. He would be looking forward to Breeders Cup time this time around.
The massive bay and sleek gray picked up canters over the turf. Their heads were a show of absolute alertness. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, both stallion and colt looked to be pictures of absolute lethal beauty. Justin did not rub all over Hokum, did not show him a glimmer of affection as they picked up the beat. The colt did not expect any and would most likely give a negative response. It was better to let the no nonsense colt do as he please -within the guidelines of the workout, of course- and then both rider and horse would be happy.
Frozen Motion was the first of the duo to line out into a gallop up the hillside. His gray body was trained to maintain top speed over vast amounts of ground. He had and probably always would be a front runner at heart. His ears were pricked dead ahead, ignoring Hokum much like you would a little kid tagging along. He cruised over the turf, breathing quickening in excitement. Brooks leaned close, taking in all of the warmth he could gather from this wonderful racehorse.
Hokum galloped mightily just a length off of Frozen Motion. His larger frame needed more space to work with over the hills. He snorted with every stride, not above intimidation. His massive stride effortlessly carried over the ground. It was his biggest advantage. For every two strides of a normal sized horse, one of Hokum's was sufficient. He wasted less energy and less time when making up ground. He was the perfect stalker. His ears played back and forth in his long black mane, but whenever Frozen Motion quickened, one always shot forward to track him. Justin loved being on this horse. He never felt like he could lose aboard Hokum. Hokum was the horse you could depend on if you were under attack. He was a war horse with muscle and pride.
The iron horse and war horse galloped side by side up the hillside, muscles bunching and releasing in tandem. Neither was feeling particularly taxed and of course they shouldn't. They had been making this similar trek almost every day of their lives except for racing days and rest days. Toughness and grit was the name of the game when it came to turf horses. You either had it or you didn't. If you didn't, you couldn't call yourself successful in the long run.
The pair flew down the hillside to meet the three furlong flat. Frozen Motion did not wait for Brookson's cue. The man could say he was glad he'd been holding on. The gray bullet surged across the turf, legs moving so fast that he looked to be floating over the ground. Frozen Motion was beautifully captivating in full flight. He made people go silent in awe when they watched him fly at The Wire. He was the steady eddy's horse. The people who went for consistency had been spoiled by Frozen Motion's last two seasons.
Justin shook the reins at his big horses, telling him NOW was the time to take on Frozen Motion. How much faster could the gray go when in full flight? His monster horse took three strides to get going, allowing Freeze to put another two lengths between them. Hokum thundered forward, eyes blazing with fury and scary intellect. Justin clung to his thick mane, losing the reins in the mass of it. Hokum roared up to Frozen Motion halfway through the three furlong workout. The big bay was not going down without first using his big gun.
The lean greyhound and giant linebacker muscled each other back and forth for the duration of the run. Their legs had been wrapped prior to the race because both stallion and colt had been known to play a little rough. This would be good training for the next races. Toughness counted more than talent. Grit more than speed. The question was not whether who was the fastest, but, rather, who could stay the longest. At least in the division that Hokum and Frozen Motion called their own.
The pair pummeled one another. One would lead and then the other would finally catch a break and get the lead. Back and forth it went. But neither could draw away from the other. Their speed was blistering and scary. Their riders were still as stone, too scared to move. The male horses blew through the wire, nostrils flared and eyes full of excitement.
Brooks finally came to his senses when the horses had to slow down going up the hillside. He gradually pulled Freeze up, impressed with the horse's ability to travel so far for so long. Awesome, boy. Simply awesome. Justin was never pleased to stop than he was right then and there. He gave Hokum a couple half-hearted pats, heart pounding out of his chest. Oh yeah, man. That was freakin' awesome alright!
Brookson could practically feel the heat and rage drifting in his direction from the hot-headed pair tied before him. Hokum had come out of the Breeder's Stakes training better than he had gone into it. He was maturing quite rapidly and Brooks wouldn't be surprised if the horse flashed some dominance in his next start. The blonde-haired man turned to look at his own mount for the time being. Frozen Motion, king of the turf over at The Wire, looked absolutely tremendous and ready to rock and roll. The most important start of the dappled gray's season would be in the Twilight Stakes versus three year old rival Infinite Warcry and whoever else showed up. Freeze dipped his head, flaring his nostrils to the size of tea saucers, and pawed the ground. He was ready to bring some attention back to Witch Creek. Infinite Warcry had been a problem of the past and he hadn't been doing as well as a four year old, at least in the graded stakes division. Freeze had moved to The Wire and was dominating with five length wins and blisteringly fast fractions. No one could hold a candle to the gray horse since his move. And luckily for him, everyone was going to be forced to come to his home turf, his preferred surface. A smile lit up Brooks' face as he stroked his powerful mount's neck. I don't want to be too cocky, but, boy, we're going to give it to them every step of the way.
The Spitz stallion dropped his head in a yes motion. Brooks wanted to believe that the grand horse understood him, hoped for his sake that Freeze brought a little class and prowess into his future stud career. The man tightened up the girth, looked back at Hokum and Justin. You guys ready to tango with the champ? Justin glanced up, flashed a grin for the first time in what felt like weeks. If Freeze is the champ, then meet the horse that's gonna replace him next year. Brooks rolled his eyes at the young buck, unclipped Freeze from the cross-ties and began the procession out of the barn. The gray horse whinnied as he stepped from the barn causing several mares and their weanlings to look up, grass falling from their mouths. Next year, some of those gals will be yours handsome horse. Freeze shook his head, prancing sideways, tail lifted into the air like a showman.
Justin leaped onto the back of his behemoth and smiled as the bay took up a swift, stalking stride. Hokum was coming into his glory after all. It was only a matter of time before the younger set started taking notes from him. The colt bowed his head as he strode off the path and onto the rolling green turf that Witch Creek was known for. Frozen Motion joined them in a matter of seconds, small head at Hokum's shoulder. Hokum did not flash his teeth at the greyhound horse. For some reason, the horse did not mess with Freeze the way he did with Ashes to Ashes. There was a boundary line between himself and the gray that existed.
Frozen Motion had turned into the unexpected boss of the Year Thirteen roster after Screaming Mimi had left the shedrow to become a broodmare. He was a fair boss and did not rule with the iron fist that Mims had used. He broke up fights and squabbles, kept everyone in line and rarely sought violence as a way to handle things. The gray stallion was a respected member of the roster and becoming more and more of the champion he'd been bred to be. Brooks patted the stallion's neck, eyes glinting with pride and excitement. Freeze was rounding into form which meant that Brooks' season was about to get a Hell of a lot better. He would be looking forward to Breeders Cup time this time around.
The massive bay and sleek gray picked up canters over the turf. Their heads were a show of absolute alertness. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, both stallion and colt looked to be pictures of absolute lethal beauty. Justin did not rub all over Hokum, did not show him a glimmer of affection as they picked up the beat. The colt did not expect any and would most likely give a negative response. It was better to let the no nonsense colt do as he please -within the guidelines of the workout, of course- and then both rider and horse would be happy.
Frozen Motion was the first of the duo to line out into a gallop up the hillside. His gray body was trained to maintain top speed over vast amounts of ground. He had and probably always would be a front runner at heart. His ears were pricked dead ahead, ignoring Hokum much like you would a little kid tagging along. He cruised over the turf, breathing quickening in excitement. Brooks leaned close, taking in all of the warmth he could gather from this wonderful racehorse.
Hokum galloped mightily just a length off of Frozen Motion. His larger frame needed more space to work with over the hills. He snorted with every stride, not above intimidation. His massive stride effortlessly carried over the ground. It was his biggest advantage. For every two strides of a normal sized horse, one of Hokum's was sufficient. He wasted less energy and less time when making up ground. He was the perfect stalker. His ears played back and forth in his long black mane, but whenever Frozen Motion quickened, one always shot forward to track him. Justin loved being on this horse. He never felt like he could lose aboard Hokum. Hokum was the horse you could depend on if you were under attack. He was a war horse with muscle and pride.
The iron horse and war horse galloped side by side up the hillside, muscles bunching and releasing in tandem. Neither was feeling particularly taxed and of course they shouldn't. They had been making this similar trek almost every day of their lives except for racing days and rest days. Toughness and grit was the name of the game when it came to turf horses. You either had it or you didn't. If you didn't, you couldn't call yourself successful in the long run.
The pair flew down the hillside to meet the three furlong flat. Frozen Motion did not wait for Brookson's cue. The man could say he was glad he'd been holding on. The gray bullet surged across the turf, legs moving so fast that he looked to be floating over the ground. Frozen Motion was beautifully captivating in full flight. He made people go silent in awe when they watched him fly at The Wire. He was the steady eddy's horse. The people who went for consistency had been spoiled by Frozen Motion's last two seasons.
Justin shook the reins at his big horses, telling him NOW was the time to take on Frozen Motion. How much faster could the gray go when in full flight? His monster horse took three strides to get going, allowing Freeze to put another two lengths between them. Hokum thundered forward, eyes blazing with fury and scary intellect. Justin clung to his thick mane, losing the reins in the mass of it. Hokum roared up to Frozen Motion halfway through the three furlong workout. The big bay was not going down without first using his big gun.
The lean greyhound and giant linebacker muscled each other back and forth for the duration of the run. Their legs had been wrapped prior to the race because both stallion and colt had been known to play a little rough. This would be good training for the next races. Toughness counted more than talent. Grit more than speed. The question was not whether who was the fastest, but, rather, who could stay the longest. At least in the division that Hokum and Frozen Motion called their own.
The pair pummeled one another. One would lead and then the other would finally catch a break and get the lead. Back and forth it went. But neither could draw away from the other. Their speed was blistering and scary. Their riders were still as stone, too scared to move. The male horses blew through the wire, nostrils flared and eyes full of excitement.
Brooks finally came to his senses when the horses had to slow down going up the hillside. He gradually pulled Freeze up, impressed with the horse's ability to travel so far for so long. Awesome, boy. Simply awesome. Justin was never pleased to stop than he was right then and there. He gave Hokum a couple half-hearted pats, heart pounding out of his chest. Oh yeah, man. That was freakin' awesome alright!
royally thrilled
Lane Thompson and Maggiletti Reynolds were the bubbliest pair of women on the property. Lane, the pixie blonde, was the most recent person to join the team. Maggie had been around since the Battle Brook days. Yet, despite their age differences and experience level when dealing with Ripley Marsh, both of them agreed that the woman needed to get out more. Lane ran a hand through her short cap of hair as she finished rechecking Midnight Thriller's tack. The gorgeous night black mare stood calmly and nobly in between cross-ties. Her eyes glinted with fire and radiant energy. She was back. Two wins in a row, a notch up in grade, and the Night Stalker mare was now at a level she had never been as a three year old filly.
Lane could not say that it was because of her that the El Sol del Mar daughter was seeing her racing experience turn for the better. Midtee was finally learning the name of the racing game. Lane was simply along for the brilliant ride that came with Witch Creek Stable and Ripley Marsh. You know, Maggie, eventually Ripley has to remember that she is a woman with girlish needs. We would simply be reminding her. I can't think of a better way to do that than a weekend at the spa with our fabulous selves and Reese. Maggie laughed, cast a wry look in Lane's direction. You think you're going to get Ripley away from this barn for a whole weekend? Lane shrugged, eyed Crow who was currently snaking his head in Maggie's direction.
The older woman smacked his muzzle while tightening the girth at the same time. The movement was easy, simple and just enough to have the steel colt backing off. He glared at Lane as if she had given her away. Lane shrugged, sent a half-hearted grin in his direction. I think I can and I will. This way we don't have to take a vacation after the Breeders Cup. We'll be doting on the two year olds and new three year olds instead. Maggie smirked, liking the way this conversation was turning. I like the plan. Don't expect any miracles Laney. Ripley's a stickler for the racing schedule.
Oh, you mean the schedule from Hell? Lane sassed. I curse that thing every morning when I get scheduled for the 5 a.m. gallops. Maggie winked. I never get those 5 a.m. gallops due to seniority. Lane stuck her tongue out at the jock, snapped the helmet buckle together and sauntered out of the barn. That explains why you and Brooks don't make your appearance until nine. I loathe you even more now.
Maggie laughed as she swung aboard GS Royal Crown. He danced beneath her, tossing lather up and around, jiggling the bit between his teeth. He felt wonderful and full of himself. His next start in the Sword Dancer Stakes at The Wire would likely be one of his more impressive starts. She patted his bowed neck as he flitted down the path toward the dirt track. A work over the dirt would have his screws tightened for the race against Blue Me Away and Ode To Glory. He had an extremely promising future ahead of him as a racehorse and a stud. She couldn't wait to go along for the ride.
The gray and black horses sauntered their way onto the track. Midtee was full of arrogance, full of fire and more than willing to show Crow her heels. If Ripley wanted to put in a stamina building workout, she would stick them against Midnight Thriller. Midtee just cruised and it did not matter if it was at nine furlongs, ten, eleven or twelve. The mare had surprised everyone when dead-heating this week with Eternal Phantom, her twin, but Ripley and Lane had been pretty confident. The Night Stalker mare was crying out for stardom.
Seven furlongs was the creed Ripley had set down this morning for Maggie and Lane. The head trainer was perched in her newly built training platform. Her eyes were glued to the pair of horses as they picked up a trot down the lane. She rubbed her hands against the heater and smiled that Brooks had thought to create such a gift for her. An enclosed platform/office gave her space to deliberate and watch her horses as they bloomed from babies into superstars. She picked up the binoculars and settled into watch the show.
Maggie grinned when Crow instantly picked up his fast gallop around the far turn. His ears were pricked as he cruised over the course. He was easily one of the more versatile horses at Witch Creek. Turf, dirt, fast, good, sloppy. It made no difference. Crow brought his race every time and gave it his all. He dashed over the fast course, nostrils flared, chest growing with every large breath. Maggie played with the dark mane that danced along his withers. The colt was hers. Every single inch. She was in heaven.
Lane kept Midnight Thriller to the outside of the colt as they cruised into the backstretch. The lean mare danced along at GS Royal Crown's hip, ears pricked and body relaxed as can be. Lane practically stood in the stirrups, a smile playing on her lips. The mare was unbelievable. There were no words to describe how confident Lane felt aboard this horse. Perhaps not as much as Mastermind, but Midtee was getting there. She was still learning. Her dark eyes danced with happiness as Crow picked up the speed. Ears twitching, she listened for Lane's permission to run after him. Lane let the mare out a little, nearly chuckling when she lengthened her body out to run at his hip. She didn't even have to try. Not yet anyway.
Maggie hummed when Midnight Thriller came to Crow's hip. The steel gray colt pinned his ears with unhappiness. He did not like the black mare. Not many of Witch Creek's horses did. Midtee beat them up in workouts and gallops. Today felt like no difference. Maggie jiggled the reins, blue eyes sharpening when the colt took off, putting separation between himself and the Night Stalker mare. Sharp as a tack, Crow knew the only way to beat Midtee was to outgun her from start to finish. She could outlast anyone, but it took time for her speed to get up to top level.
The horses breezed effortlessly through the first three furlongs. Crow was settled down now a length and a half in front of a hand-galloping Midtee. His ears were bobbing up and down as he entered the homestretch. Maggie was more than pleased with his effort. Easy would save him for races later in the season. The harder races were coming where a more taxing effort would be expected of the dappled gray. She shook the reins, inched up his pace, pleased when he met her halfway and sped up his stride. The colt zipped into the first turn, legs flying beneath his athletic body. Midtee was going to have to chase them today if she wanted to beat them.
Lane's eyes were narrowed in concentration when the dark colt took off again around the turn. Midtee cruised in hand, even when Crow drew off to a three length lead. The black mare was calm, but definitely curious about what was going on ahead of her. Her ears were up, twin black towers over her savage head, and tracking the Seabiscuit colt. Her eyes began to take on an edge of fury. Lane could feel the mare tensing up like a cat about to pounce. She guided the mare as close to the rail as she could get her and planned for the future as fast as she possibly could.
How many gears did the miler have in him? Even Maggie didn't know. He was cruising at a very solid pace and doing so without any pressure. She glanced under her arm to find Midtee still behind them by three lengths. Was Lane confident that Midtee could get to them in time? Or was her planning costing her the race at hand? Maggie grunted to herself, turned, debated. She didn't want to press the button and turn this into an easy workout. Crow needed the challenge. She sighed, took the gray up. She would bide her time.
It was at that instant that Lane decided to send Midnight Thriller after Crow. The black mare felt the rapid hormone change in her rider. She responded with pinned ears, a lashing tail and took a large breath of air. Lane twined her hands into the mare's black mane, held on for the launch. It took three strides, but the lean mare soon had her legs blurring beneath her. Four whirling tornadoes carried the mare directly at GS Royal Crown. She flew with grace, precision and power. Lane yanked the reins around just in time to prevent Midtee from going right up over the top of Crow.
Maggie swore violently when Lane's mare charged up alongside GS Royal Crown. A rookie mistake that she would not allow happen again, workout or race. She shook the reins furiously, igniting the fire within GS Royal Crown. Midtee put her nose in front just as Crow stepped into high gear. The mare pinned her ears. The colt bared his teeth.
The animals whirled through the backstretch, hooves beating wildly over the dirt as they challenged one another head-to-head. The battle cry had been sounded. The pair flew over the course, eyes glowing with competition and full out joy. There was nothing like a Thoroughbred in full flight. Midnight Thriller and GS Royal Crown surged over the course, daring one another to bring their best game.
Ripley grinned inside the heated box, kept her binoculars trained on her horses. Crow and Midtee were glorious in full flight. They zipped through the backstretch marker, the wire for today's workout. Midnight Thriller had finished a head in front, if that. She pulled up with a confident swagger. Crow thrashed around furiously, but eventually, back into the homestretch, Maggie had him pulled up. Ripley nodded to herself. Both of them were ready to conquer their toughest challenges yet.
Lane could not say that it was because of her that the El Sol del Mar daughter was seeing her racing experience turn for the better. Midtee was finally learning the name of the racing game. Lane was simply along for the brilliant ride that came with Witch Creek Stable and Ripley Marsh. You know, Maggie, eventually Ripley has to remember that she is a woman with girlish needs. We would simply be reminding her. I can't think of a better way to do that than a weekend at the spa with our fabulous selves and Reese. Maggie laughed, cast a wry look in Lane's direction. You think you're going to get Ripley away from this barn for a whole weekend? Lane shrugged, eyed Crow who was currently snaking his head in Maggie's direction.
The older woman smacked his muzzle while tightening the girth at the same time. The movement was easy, simple and just enough to have the steel colt backing off. He glared at Lane as if she had given her away. Lane shrugged, sent a half-hearted grin in his direction. I think I can and I will. This way we don't have to take a vacation after the Breeders Cup. We'll be doting on the two year olds and new three year olds instead. Maggie smirked, liking the way this conversation was turning. I like the plan. Don't expect any miracles Laney. Ripley's a stickler for the racing schedule.
Oh, you mean the schedule from Hell? Lane sassed. I curse that thing every morning when I get scheduled for the 5 a.m. gallops. Maggie winked. I never get those 5 a.m. gallops due to seniority. Lane stuck her tongue out at the jock, snapped the helmet buckle together and sauntered out of the barn. That explains why you and Brooks don't make your appearance until nine. I loathe you even more now.
Maggie laughed as she swung aboard GS Royal Crown. He danced beneath her, tossing lather up and around, jiggling the bit between his teeth. He felt wonderful and full of himself. His next start in the Sword Dancer Stakes at The Wire would likely be one of his more impressive starts. She patted his bowed neck as he flitted down the path toward the dirt track. A work over the dirt would have his screws tightened for the race against Blue Me Away and Ode To Glory. He had an extremely promising future ahead of him as a racehorse and a stud. She couldn't wait to go along for the ride.
The gray and black horses sauntered their way onto the track. Midtee was full of arrogance, full of fire and more than willing to show Crow her heels. If Ripley wanted to put in a stamina building workout, she would stick them against Midnight Thriller. Midtee just cruised and it did not matter if it was at nine furlongs, ten, eleven or twelve. The mare had surprised everyone when dead-heating this week with Eternal Phantom, her twin, but Ripley and Lane had been pretty confident. The Night Stalker mare was crying out for stardom.
Seven furlongs was the creed Ripley had set down this morning for Maggie and Lane. The head trainer was perched in her newly built training platform. Her eyes were glued to the pair of horses as they picked up a trot down the lane. She rubbed her hands against the heater and smiled that Brooks had thought to create such a gift for her. An enclosed platform/office gave her space to deliberate and watch her horses as they bloomed from babies into superstars. She picked up the binoculars and settled into watch the show.
Maggie grinned when Crow instantly picked up his fast gallop around the far turn. His ears were pricked as he cruised over the course. He was easily one of the more versatile horses at Witch Creek. Turf, dirt, fast, good, sloppy. It made no difference. Crow brought his race every time and gave it his all. He dashed over the fast course, nostrils flared, chest growing with every large breath. Maggie played with the dark mane that danced along his withers. The colt was hers. Every single inch. She was in heaven.
Lane kept Midnight Thriller to the outside of the colt as they cruised into the backstretch. The lean mare danced along at GS Royal Crown's hip, ears pricked and body relaxed as can be. Lane practically stood in the stirrups, a smile playing on her lips. The mare was unbelievable. There were no words to describe how confident Lane felt aboard this horse. Perhaps not as much as Mastermind, but Midtee was getting there. She was still learning. Her dark eyes danced with happiness as Crow picked up the speed. Ears twitching, she listened for Lane's permission to run after him. Lane let the mare out a little, nearly chuckling when she lengthened her body out to run at his hip. She didn't even have to try. Not yet anyway.
Maggie hummed when Midnight Thriller came to Crow's hip. The steel gray colt pinned his ears with unhappiness. He did not like the black mare. Not many of Witch Creek's horses did. Midtee beat them up in workouts and gallops. Today felt like no difference. Maggie jiggled the reins, blue eyes sharpening when the colt took off, putting separation between himself and the Night Stalker mare. Sharp as a tack, Crow knew the only way to beat Midtee was to outgun her from start to finish. She could outlast anyone, but it took time for her speed to get up to top level.
The horses breezed effortlessly through the first three furlongs. Crow was settled down now a length and a half in front of a hand-galloping Midtee. His ears were bobbing up and down as he entered the homestretch. Maggie was more than pleased with his effort. Easy would save him for races later in the season. The harder races were coming where a more taxing effort would be expected of the dappled gray. She shook the reins, inched up his pace, pleased when he met her halfway and sped up his stride. The colt zipped into the first turn, legs flying beneath his athletic body. Midtee was going to have to chase them today if she wanted to beat them.
Lane's eyes were narrowed in concentration when the dark colt took off again around the turn. Midtee cruised in hand, even when Crow drew off to a three length lead. The black mare was calm, but definitely curious about what was going on ahead of her. Her ears were up, twin black towers over her savage head, and tracking the Seabiscuit colt. Her eyes began to take on an edge of fury. Lane could feel the mare tensing up like a cat about to pounce. She guided the mare as close to the rail as she could get her and planned for the future as fast as she possibly could.
How many gears did the miler have in him? Even Maggie didn't know. He was cruising at a very solid pace and doing so without any pressure. She glanced under her arm to find Midtee still behind them by three lengths. Was Lane confident that Midtee could get to them in time? Or was her planning costing her the race at hand? Maggie grunted to herself, turned, debated. She didn't want to press the button and turn this into an easy workout. Crow needed the challenge. She sighed, took the gray up. She would bide her time.
It was at that instant that Lane decided to send Midnight Thriller after Crow. The black mare felt the rapid hormone change in her rider. She responded with pinned ears, a lashing tail and took a large breath of air. Lane twined her hands into the mare's black mane, held on for the launch. It took three strides, but the lean mare soon had her legs blurring beneath her. Four whirling tornadoes carried the mare directly at GS Royal Crown. She flew with grace, precision and power. Lane yanked the reins around just in time to prevent Midtee from going right up over the top of Crow.
Maggie swore violently when Lane's mare charged up alongside GS Royal Crown. A rookie mistake that she would not allow happen again, workout or race. She shook the reins furiously, igniting the fire within GS Royal Crown. Midtee put her nose in front just as Crow stepped into high gear. The mare pinned her ears. The colt bared his teeth.
The animals whirled through the backstretch, hooves beating wildly over the dirt as they challenged one another head-to-head. The battle cry had been sounded. The pair flew over the course, eyes glowing with competition and full out joy. There was nothing like a Thoroughbred in full flight. Midnight Thriller and GS Royal Crown surged over the course, daring one another to bring their best game.
Ripley grinned inside the heated box, kept her binoculars trained on her horses. Crow and Midtee were glorious in full flight. They zipped through the backstretch marker, the wire for today's workout. Midnight Thriller had finished a head in front, if that. She pulled up with a confident swagger. Crow thrashed around furiously, but eventually, back into the homestretch, Maggie had him pulled up. Ripley nodded to herself. Both of them were ready to conquer their toughest challenges yet.
some tea please
The dark mare with the jagged star muscled her way out of the barn with all the pomp and authority that a Thoroughbred champion should carry herself with. Laura admired the strong, burly mare at the end of her reins, felt pride bloom strong and bright within her chest cavity. Whipped Cream had pulled off the upset of a century. She'd toppled Flashy Wings, top dirt horse in the country, and Silent Fury, nearly unbeaten star in Year Thirteen. And she'd done it with power. That was what mattered to Laura. Whipped Cream had proven herself in the big leagues, even if it had only been a one shot deal. Now she had grade one victory and that put her up in the future broodmare ranks of Witch Creek Stable. Laura had turned the grade five horse into a world-beater. And Rea wasn't even done yet.
Flawed Princess danced enthusiastically on her hooves as she stepped from the shadows into to the afternoon light. Her mahogany frame sparkled with good health. Her eyes glittered with joy and excitement. The daughter of Hail To Prince was also coming off of a victory, albeit a lesser one, but still, her confidence was up. She would need it if she was going to beat Dazzling Dame, Flashy Wings and Wild Kiss. Maggie stroked the mare's long mane, eyes brightening as she came back to the present. The six year old was having the best year of her entire racing career. Maggie was more sure than ever that Amira could do what Rea had done last week. The mare just had this confident aura to her that had grown ever since her return from vacation.
The women mounted up, each swinging gracefully into the saddle. Their movements were trained and extremely similar to one another. They did not look the same or act the same, but no one could doubt that they weren't related. Laura was rough and tough, but silent in the saddle. Maggie was rough and tough in the saddle and worked just as hard as her mounts in the running of a race. She was a heart to heart rider. Laura let her horses exploit every second of their talent with quiet reassurance and tactical moves. Maggie stroked Amira's proud neck. Laura's hips moved in perfect tandem with each of Whipped Cream's strides. She did not acknowledge her overtly proud mare just yet. Rea wasn't built for sweet affection.
Maggie trotted Flawed Princess up to Whipped Cream's side. Her blue eyes glittered with excitement. You know, Laura, I think you're becoming more attached to the states than you ever planned to. Laura sent her cocky smirk in Maggie's direction. The horses. Not the states. I can't leave my horses to you. You'd mess them up. Maggie rolled her eyes with a laugh. Sure you aren't messing them up so everyone else can't ride them?
Laura shrugged humorously. Could be. But Fee and Rea don't need anyone else for the rest of the year. Then Ripley retires them both and they'll be mamas. I'm glad they're not leaving though. They fit perfectly. And then I'll get to ride their babies. Maggie grinned over at Laura, tried to stifle the smile. Once, Laura would never have mentioned staying in the states. She'd thrown up such a resistance to coming to the United States to ride, to live. She'd gone from trouble maker to model citizen. Her mother, Maggie's sister, never missed a race that her daughter rode in and called Maggie nearly everyday. Laura, like the horses, was seeing her future grow brighter than she ever thought it would.
The horses stepped proudly off of the trail and onto the turf. Their ears pricked up, even Rea's bad-tempered pinned ones, and their steps became quicker and more exaggerated. This was the greatest past time to both the equine and humans. This meant everything. They lived, breathed, hungered for this moment, the lurch into a full out gallop. Laura braced for it. Maggie welcomed it with a deep forward movement.
Rea bolted forward, hooves beating the earth with a rough jolt. Grass and dirt kicked back, turning the air behind them speckled. Laura grinned maniacally, sent her mare running for the hills. Her dark hide glinted in the sun with each rapid movement. She was a vision of power and simmering strength. There was nothing about Rea that wasn't physically tough. Laura patted her neck, overcome with emotion, as the grade three mare tackled the first hill. Rea had become the rock. The right horse at the right time.
Flawed Princess loped along behind the steam engine that was Rea. She moved confidently and with class. Her eyes glinted with happiness and the rush of running. The mahogany bay mare was always this way, always eager and glad to be running. It took her the first few furlongs to settle in and realize she was running at race. At least in workouts at home. Her dark mane flapped in Maggie's face as she lurched up the hill. Rea was a length and a half in front of them, strong and running as true as she ever did. Amira would have to be tough as nails today in order to beat her.
Laura allowed Rea to set her own pace. Her tongue flapped in the wind to the rhythm of each stride she took. This was what a true champion was made of. This was why Witch Creek took in horses like Rea and Screaming Mimi. The ones with heart that others had given up on. These were the horses that rewarded their new owners with each effort. Rea rolled through her paces, staying one step ahead of the lengthier six year old mare. Amira was top notch in mile races. She came at the end with a great stride with a steady effort. It would be no different today.
Maggie nudged Amira, moved her up to Whipped Cream's barrel, and was pleased with the response she received. Amira galloped along, ears bobbing on her head, ever the noble racehorse. Maggie was extremely satisfied with the feel of this mare. She just got stronger with every single race. If she hadn't need a year of down time prior to being bred to Touch Up, Maggie would suggest another year of racing. But Amira didn't owe anybody anything. She was a true soldier and was the longest running horse on Witch Creek property. That sort of thing meant something to Ripley Marsh and Maggiletti Reynolds. Amira's strength endured despite plenty of hardships.
The bay mares picked up speed going up the hillside, legs pumping nearly in tandem now. Laura tightened her hands on Rea's mane, noting the power that she made with her rear end. The Whippet daughter chugged up the hillside and reached the crest a half stride before Flawed Princess. She did not wait for permission to keep going. She bulled her way forward, determined to keep the other regally bred mare on her toes. Maggie kept the reins tight despite Amira's interest in picking up speed. Rea was more closely coupled. She could motor down the hill in a way that Amira couldn't without possibly hurting herself. Amira fought, but gave into the pressure that Maggie pushed on her.
The loss became a length and Amira was burning with fury by the time she reached the flat. Maggie swore at the burns on her hands, surprised that this usually gentle mare was demanding such loose rein. The leathers whipped through her hands, on purpose now, and Amira was loosed like a pack of Hell hounds. She flew forward, legs blurring beneath her, and picked up tremendous speed. The distance diminished quite swiftly and now she was running head to head with an irritated and surprised Whipped Creamed. The other mare's savaged head snaked out twice, warning Amira to back down. The great mare didn't. She rolled on, strong, true and tough.
Laura shook the reins at Rea, shaking her dogged determination to savage Amira. The darker mare snapped back to her task, put on her burst of speed, but found Amira sticking to her like Velcro. They battled furiously through the furlongs, daring one another to finally give and accept defeat. Neither did. The battle was rough and quick. There was no blood, but it was nearly close to that. The riders were nonexistent to these hardened mares. They were lost in the world they had come to love so much. A world that they were now making a statement in.
Both of the women understood the beautiful nature of this moment. Laura sighed, gave Rea a pat of affection as the big necked mare charged across the imaginary wire. Maggie brushed away a few tears and drooped to hug a now loping Flawed Princess' neck. They glanced at one another, glanced away. Moments like this were hard to talk about. Time was healing their friendship just as time had healed these fantastic mares. It was still too soon to tell what would come of the mares or the friendship. But it would definitely be eventful and a show worth watching.
Flawed Princess danced enthusiastically on her hooves as she stepped from the shadows into to the afternoon light. Her mahogany frame sparkled with good health. Her eyes glittered with joy and excitement. The daughter of Hail To Prince was also coming off of a victory, albeit a lesser one, but still, her confidence was up. She would need it if she was going to beat Dazzling Dame, Flashy Wings and Wild Kiss. Maggie stroked the mare's long mane, eyes brightening as she came back to the present. The six year old was having the best year of her entire racing career. Maggie was more sure than ever that Amira could do what Rea had done last week. The mare just had this confident aura to her that had grown ever since her return from vacation.
The women mounted up, each swinging gracefully into the saddle. Their movements were trained and extremely similar to one another. They did not look the same or act the same, but no one could doubt that they weren't related. Laura was rough and tough, but silent in the saddle. Maggie was rough and tough in the saddle and worked just as hard as her mounts in the running of a race. She was a heart to heart rider. Laura let her horses exploit every second of their talent with quiet reassurance and tactical moves. Maggie stroked Amira's proud neck. Laura's hips moved in perfect tandem with each of Whipped Cream's strides. She did not acknowledge her overtly proud mare just yet. Rea wasn't built for sweet affection.
Maggie trotted Flawed Princess up to Whipped Cream's side. Her blue eyes glittered with excitement. You know, Laura, I think you're becoming more attached to the states than you ever planned to. Laura sent her cocky smirk in Maggie's direction. The horses. Not the states. I can't leave my horses to you. You'd mess them up. Maggie rolled her eyes with a laugh. Sure you aren't messing them up so everyone else can't ride them?
Laura shrugged humorously. Could be. But Fee and Rea don't need anyone else for the rest of the year. Then Ripley retires them both and they'll be mamas. I'm glad they're not leaving though. They fit perfectly. And then I'll get to ride their babies. Maggie grinned over at Laura, tried to stifle the smile. Once, Laura would never have mentioned staying in the states. She'd thrown up such a resistance to coming to the United States to ride, to live. She'd gone from trouble maker to model citizen. Her mother, Maggie's sister, never missed a race that her daughter rode in and called Maggie nearly everyday. Laura, like the horses, was seeing her future grow brighter than she ever thought it would.
The horses stepped proudly off of the trail and onto the turf. Their ears pricked up, even Rea's bad-tempered pinned ones, and their steps became quicker and more exaggerated. This was the greatest past time to both the equine and humans. This meant everything. They lived, breathed, hungered for this moment, the lurch into a full out gallop. Laura braced for it. Maggie welcomed it with a deep forward movement.
Rea bolted forward, hooves beating the earth with a rough jolt. Grass and dirt kicked back, turning the air behind them speckled. Laura grinned maniacally, sent her mare running for the hills. Her dark hide glinted in the sun with each rapid movement. She was a vision of power and simmering strength. There was nothing about Rea that wasn't physically tough. Laura patted her neck, overcome with emotion, as the grade three mare tackled the first hill. Rea had become the rock. The right horse at the right time.
Flawed Princess loped along behind the steam engine that was Rea. She moved confidently and with class. Her eyes glinted with happiness and the rush of running. The mahogany bay mare was always this way, always eager and glad to be running. It took her the first few furlongs to settle in and realize she was running at race. At least in workouts at home. Her dark mane flapped in Maggie's face as she lurched up the hill. Rea was a length and a half in front of them, strong and running as true as she ever did. Amira would have to be tough as nails today in order to beat her.
Laura allowed Rea to set her own pace. Her tongue flapped in the wind to the rhythm of each stride she took. This was what a true champion was made of. This was why Witch Creek took in horses like Rea and Screaming Mimi. The ones with heart that others had given up on. These were the horses that rewarded their new owners with each effort. Rea rolled through her paces, staying one step ahead of the lengthier six year old mare. Amira was top notch in mile races. She came at the end with a great stride with a steady effort. It would be no different today.
Maggie nudged Amira, moved her up to Whipped Cream's barrel, and was pleased with the response she received. Amira galloped along, ears bobbing on her head, ever the noble racehorse. Maggie was extremely satisfied with the feel of this mare. She just got stronger with every single race. If she hadn't need a year of down time prior to being bred to Touch Up, Maggie would suggest another year of racing. But Amira didn't owe anybody anything. She was a true soldier and was the longest running horse on Witch Creek property. That sort of thing meant something to Ripley Marsh and Maggiletti Reynolds. Amira's strength endured despite plenty of hardships.
The bay mares picked up speed going up the hillside, legs pumping nearly in tandem now. Laura tightened her hands on Rea's mane, noting the power that she made with her rear end. The Whippet daughter chugged up the hillside and reached the crest a half stride before Flawed Princess. She did not wait for permission to keep going. She bulled her way forward, determined to keep the other regally bred mare on her toes. Maggie kept the reins tight despite Amira's interest in picking up speed. Rea was more closely coupled. She could motor down the hill in a way that Amira couldn't without possibly hurting herself. Amira fought, but gave into the pressure that Maggie pushed on her.
The loss became a length and Amira was burning with fury by the time she reached the flat. Maggie swore at the burns on her hands, surprised that this usually gentle mare was demanding such loose rein. The leathers whipped through her hands, on purpose now, and Amira was loosed like a pack of Hell hounds. She flew forward, legs blurring beneath her, and picked up tremendous speed. The distance diminished quite swiftly and now she was running head to head with an irritated and surprised Whipped Creamed. The other mare's savaged head snaked out twice, warning Amira to back down. The great mare didn't. She rolled on, strong, true and tough.
Laura shook the reins at Rea, shaking her dogged determination to savage Amira. The darker mare snapped back to her task, put on her burst of speed, but found Amira sticking to her like Velcro. They battled furiously through the furlongs, daring one another to finally give and accept defeat. Neither did. The battle was rough and quick. There was no blood, but it was nearly close to that. The riders were nonexistent to these hardened mares. They were lost in the world they had come to love so much. A world that they were now making a statement in.
Both of the women understood the beautiful nature of this moment. Laura sighed, gave Rea a pat of affection as the big necked mare charged across the imaginary wire. Maggie brushed away a few tears and drooped to hug a now loping Flawed Princess' neck. They glanced at one another, glanced away. Moments like this were hard to talk about. Time was healing their friendship just as time had healed these fantastic mares. It was still too soon to tell what would come of the mares or the friendship. But it would definitely be eventful and a show worth watching.
ghostly flight
The chestnut filly trotted nervously down the dirt path. Lather flew from her mouth, dripped between her hind legs. Her nostrils were flared, her eyes round with worry. Laura could barely sit to the filly, her own body was tense and made moving hard. An intense white fog had rolled in, covering the rolling turf hills with a solid blanket of white. Sound barely traveled so dense was the blanket of fog. Laura did not dare release the reins connected to her hot filly's mouth. Fly did not spook easily, but, man, when she did, she was the hardest horse on the planet to handle. Her close coupled frame was as tense a spring, threatening to bolt with every staccatto stride she took. Laura took a deep breath, forced it to go down the reins, to calm the unhappy filly down. Alright Fly. Relax baby girl.
The sound of trotting hoofbeats caused the chestnut to whirl on her hind end, screaming worriedly up the path. Laura gritted her teeth at the jarring movement, held onto Fly as best she could. Her green eyes focused on the path, trying to draw the expected human and equine pairing into focus. She shivered when she could only hear the dim beats and not see who was the owner. No wonder Fly was so upset.
Supernatural whinnied back, making Reese wish that she could cover her ears with her hands. Her lightly dappled filly was not happy either. Her eyes were rimmed with white, her nostrils flared to the size of a tea saucer. No Siri could not be called happy at this point in time. She pranced sideways down the path, ears pricked at the horse she could not see or scent. Reese stroked her neck, confident that the Dylan Himself two year old would not bolt unexpectedly. Siri was easy to read despite her flighty nature.
Laura released a sigh of relief when Reese and Supernatural finally came into view. The gray filly looked absolutely ethereal framed by the white fog. Her mane shimmered with the condensation from the fog and it sparkled over her frame. The sun leaked through lighting her up like a candle. Fly nickered anxiously, stepped forward to happily touch noses with Supernatural. The leaner, taller filly visibly relaxed, her inner confidence leaking back through her disposition. The fog had everyone stirred up.
Reese nodded to Laura, eyes wary and unhappy. Really? Why does this happen before the two year old workouts? Laura shrugged, guided Fly back in the general direction of the dirt track. It's that darn creek that's doing it. Luckily, the dirt track is a ways away from the creek. Maybe the fog will be thinner. Reese sighed miserably. At least they both have seemed to calm down. We don't need nervous racehorses.
Reese allowed Siri to pick up her nervous jig of a trot, knowing that movement was the only thing that settled her down. How long did Ripley tell you today? Laura took a moment to answer, jiggling her hands to bring the blood back into them. She wanted a mile and a quarter gallop. Four furlong breeze. She wants them to be ready for what's next. I think she was surprised both of them were beaten.
She wasn't the only one, thought Reese. She nudged Supernatural out onto the dirt track, pleased to feel the lean movement of her potential star filly. Supernatural was a few lengths behind the turf horses in terms of wins, but was easily one of the best dirt horses Witch Creek had in training. She cantered smoothly and with unpracticed grace. Here was a classy girl with a classy heart and attitude. She cocked her head as she cantered, outward today, to keep an eye on Fly. The chestnut filly was her rival in workouts and gallops. A hated rival, but Siri didn't like to be obvious about it.
Fly galloped with an intensity that could not be compared with by any other two year old in the crop. Her eyes glittered fiercely and her muscles rolled in fantastic tandem. She was a running machine. Her wins were not many, but she put up a fight and quite often at that. She glared at Supernatural's hovering look, the feeling of irritation traveling up the reins. Laura nodded in satisfaction. Her stick of dynamite was turning into an explosive of massive proportions. To say Laura wasn't impressed with the feelings Fly was giving off would be a lie. The tough filly rounded the turn, neatly cutting into Siri's well-measured length lead. She wanted to pick a fight today. Laura wondered that maybe it was because of her earlier signs of weakness.
The fillies cruised through a swift opening mile, ears flattening, strides increasing with every moment more of running. Laura tangled her hands in Fly's red mane, green eyes sharpening with every passing furlong. The gallop was exactly what Ripley would want. Stiff and battle-testing. It would keep the two dirt two year olds on their toes for what came later in the season. Reese was having similar thoughts, her eyes were glinting with pride. She'd talked Ripley into keeping Supernatural and the gray filly was easily becoming the toughest dirt filly on the circuit. She could think of few fillies that had gotten ahead of Supernatural in any of the top races in Year Thirteen.
The fog was thinning out thanks to the fact that the air was cooling off. The horses whipped off of the final turn, legs stretching over the dirt course. Clumps of dirt and stone flew back, mixing with the fog and leaving a trail of the Thoroughbreds' passing. Their attentions were locked on what was ahead of them, forgetful of the too thick fog. This was competition. It burned stronger than fear. It was what made a Thoroughbred courageous. The fillies were running freely now and Supernatural's ability to run every quarter mile faster than the first was definitely at play here. Laura was so proud of Fly, so proud her little fighter was sticking to Siri like a burr.
The gray filly fanned Fly out two paths into the turn, her long strides carried her farther and weakened her momentum. Despite being pushed, Fly rumbled forward, gaining an edge due to her close coupled body. Quick and surefooted, Fly nearly ran at an angle, pushing Siri off balance and giving the gray a test of champions. Laura did not move a muscle as the pair dashed through the first furlong of the breeze. Reese was ticking off time in her head until Siri reached the straightaway and would get back to running normally.
Then the backstretch came and Fly's advantage was fiercely removed with a snap of Reese's fingers. Siri came alive, long body stretching out until she ran even with the dirt. The Dylan Himself filly threw herself into the workout now, surging forward and taking away the distance separating herself from Fly By Darkness. She ran with the fury of a phantom, her eyes rimmed with red and white. She bore down on Fly, dared her to push her around one more time. The little red-dog of a filly fought back, viciously reaching over in a stunning attempt to savage Supernatural.
Laura gasped, slapped Fly's neck and the fast filly bolted to the lead under the urging. Not to be outdone, Reese shook the reins at Supernatural, grinning when her gray ghost flew up the rail with a menacing look in her eyes. The wire was a hundred yards away and they were closing in on it. Head and head, Siri and Fly battled, fury against fury, heart against heart, will against will. Laura and Reese had quit riding now. Together the chestnut and gray flew across the wire. Fly's ears pricked, Siri's locked back into her mane. Their two personalities could never have been more on show than in today's workout. It was a workout worthy of public note.
The sound of trotting hoofbeats caused the chestnut to whirl on her hind end, screaming worriedly up the path. Laura gritted her teeth at the jarring movement, held onto Fly as best she could. Her green eyes focused on the path, trying to draw the expected human and equine pairing into focus. She shivered when she could only hear the dim beats and not see who was the owner. No wonder Fly was so upset.
Supernatural whinnied back, making Reese wish that she could cover her ears with her hands. Her lightly dappled filly was not happy either. Her eyes were rimmed with white, her nostrils flared to the size of a tea saucer. No Siri could not be called happy at this point in time. She pranced sideways down the path, ears pricked at the horse she could not see or scent. Reese stroked her neck, confident that the Dylan Himself two year old would not bolt unexpectedly. Siri was easy to read despite her flighty nature.
Laura released a sigh of relief when Reese and Supernatural finally came into view. The gray filly looked absolutely ethereal framed by the white fog. Her mane shimmered with the condensation from the fog and it sparkled over her frame. The sun leaked through lighting her up like a candle. Fly nickered anxiously, stepped forward to happily touch noses with Supernatural. The leaner, taller filly visibly relaxed, her inner confidence leaking back through her disposition. The fog had everyone stirred up.
Reese nodded to Laura, eyes wary and unhappy. Really? Why does this happen before the two year old workouts? Laura shrugged, guided Fly back in the general direction of the dirt track. It's that darn creek that's doing it. Luckily, the dirt track is a ways away from the creek. Maybe the fog will be thinner. Reese sighed miserably. At least they both have seemed to calm down. We don't need nervous racehorses.
Reese allowed Siri to pick up her nervous jig of a trot, knowing that movement was the only thing that settled her down. How long did Ripley tell you today? Laura took a moment to answer, jiggling her hands to bring the blood back into them. She wanted a mile and a quarter gallop. Four furlong breeze. She wants them to be ready for what's next. I think she was surprised both of them were beaten.
She wasn't the only one, thought Reese. She nudged Supernatural out onto the dirt track, pleased to feel the lean movement of her potential star filly. Supernatural was a few lengths behind the turf horses in terms of wins, but was easily one of the best dirt horses Witch Creek had in training. She cantered smoothly and with unpracticed grace. Here was a classy girl with a classy heart and attitude. She cocked her head as she cantered, outward today, to keep an eye on Fly. The chestnut filly was her rival in workouts and gallops. A hated rival, but Siri didn't like to be obvious about it.
Fly galloped with an intensity that could not be compared with by any other two year old in the crop. Her eyes glittered fiercely and her muscles rolled in fantastic tandem. She was a running machine. Her wins were not many, but she put up a fight and quite often at that. She glared at Supernatural's hovering look, the feeling of irritation traveling up the reins. Laura nodded in satisfaction. Her stick of dynamite was turning into an explosive of massive proportions. To say Laura wasn't impressed with the feelings Fly was giving off would be a lie. The tough filly rounded the turn, neatly cutting into Siri's well-measured length lead. She wanted to pick a fight today. Laura wondered that maybe it was because of her earlier signs of weakness.
The fillies cruised through a swift opening mile, ears flattening, strides increasing with every moment more of running. Laura tangled her hands in Fly's red mane, green eyes sharpening with every passing furlong. The gallop was exactly what Ripley would want. Stiff and battle-testing. It would keep the two dirt two year olds on their toes for what came later in the season. Reese was having similar thoughts, her eyes were glinting with pride. She'd talked Ripley into keeping Supernatural and the gray filly was easily becoming the toughest dirt filly on the circuit. She could think of few fillies that had gotten ahead of Supernatural in any of the top races in Year Thirteen.
The fog was thinning out thanks to the fact that the air was cooling off. The horses whipped off of the final turn, legs stretching over the dirt course. Clumps of dirt and stone flew back, mixing with the fog and leaving a trail of the Thoroughbreds' passing. Their attentions were locked on what was ahead of them, forgetful of the too thick fog. This was competition. It burned stronger than fear. It was what made a Thoroughbred courageous. The fillies were running freely now and Supernatural's ability to run every quarter mile faster than the first was definitely at play here. Laura was so proud of Fly, so proud her little fighter was sticking to Siri like a burr.
The gray filly fanned Fly out two paths into the turn, her long strides carried her farther and weakened her momentum. Despite being pushed, Fly rumbled forward, gaining an edge due to her close coupled body. Quick and surefooted, Fly nearly ran at an angle, pushing Siri off balance and giving the gray a test of champions. Laura did not move a muscle as the pair dashed through the first furlong of the breeze. Reese was ticking off time in her head until Siri reached the straightaway and would get back to running normally.
Then the backstretch came and Fly's advantage was fiercely removed with a snap of Reese's fingers. Siri came alive, long body stretching out until she ran even with the dirt. The Dylan Himself filly threw herself into the workout now, surging forward and taking away the distance separating herself from Fly By Darkness. She ran with the fury of a phantom, her eyes rimmed with red and white. She bore down on Fly, dared her to push her around one more time. The little red-dog of a filly fought back, viciously reaching over in a stunning attempt to savage Supernatural.
Laura gasped, slapped Fly's neck and the fast filly bolted to the lead under the urging. Not to be outdone, Reese shook the reins at Supernatural, grinning when her gray ghost flew up the rail with a menacing look in her eyes. The wire was a hundred yards away and they were closing in on it. Head and head, Siri and Fly battled, fury against fury, heart against heart, will against will. Laura and Reese had quit riding now. Together the chestnut and gray flew across the wire. Fly's ears pricked, Siri's locked back into her mane. Their two personalities could never have been more on show than in today's workout. It was a workout worthy of public note.
get a clue
Evening trickled its way in slowly, but surely. Red, yellow and orange leaves blew across the ground bringing with them the crisp fall smell that promised beautiful blue sky days and chillier weather. For any true horse person, Autumn was the time of the year for riding. The best competitions and racing took place in the spring and summer, but it was fall that captured the equine person's heart. No mosquitoes, no heat, no flies. It was near perfect.
The fog that had covered the earth had thinned out courtesy of Ripley making everyone wait before going out again. That had taken two hours. Now, at five o'clock at night, the last pairing, a pair of two year olds, was stepping out of the barn. Ripley trailed behind them aboard Jabberwock. The towering gelding nickered softly at the fillies, but neither of them responded. Ripley patted his sleek neck, noted his hurt gaze. Those are athletes handsome man. You don't want any part of them. Trust me.
Maggie glanced over her shoulder, blue eyes sparkling. Definitely. You don't want any part of Para. The dark, blocky filly snorted, stretching her neck out, eyes glittering with boredom and irritation. Those were her usual looks until she was running. Her body was muscled and toned to perfection. She was the dark horse of Witch Creek's turf filly division. She'd run in sprinting and miler races for most of her two year old season so far. Opportunities were growing rarer and the future could only grow if Para could show that she would handle the longer distance races. Her thick tail swished over her well-rounded rump and each hoof step was placed with the thick sound of defiance. No Para wasn't easy to deal with, but she sure as Hell could run.
Prima Donna danced on her toes as she stepped from the dirt path to the turf track. Her savage head with it's oddly angled ears was held tall and a look of arrogance was proudly featured. Justin sat to the filly's prance, felt the smooth agility that Prima advertised with each one of her movements. Prima Donna was a princess turning into a queen. She was only happy when racing and even then, she was more furious at her competition than the thought of working. She had lost drastically in the Racing Post Trophy and finished last. Ripley, not satisfied with that effort, had had Justin gallop her for miles that week and then wheeled her right back in the Slake Stakes. She'd come back with a force, taking down In The Spotlight by a nose. Now her next race would not be until October and she had a month to prove herself worthy of running in the top races.
Ripley nodded to the riders, turned Jabberwock and sent him cantering for the three furlong flats. Justin shrugged, rolled his shoulders, and prepared for the burst of speed that came with every run of Prima's. She did not disappoint. She bolted mightily, so intense was the movement, he nearly flew back over her saddle. Her ears flew back toward her neck, her eyes blazing with full fury and defiance. She cantered sideways, trying to avoid the work. Justin threw his body forward, cracked a whip over her haunches and sent her flying. Sometimes Prima just liked to be a challenge to test him. She seemed to forget that he could handle her tests.
Maggie bit her tongue at the performance in front of her, watched Prima soar away on legs made to run. Today would be interesting. Prima would have the solitary jump on Paranormal Hunter every single step of today's workout. Last time she had been occupied with Hourglass. Today Hourglass was resting up for a workout with Mourning Passion. Para would have her work cut out for her. Would she be able to make a sustained run that was fast enough to take down a well-rested filly? Prima reminded Maggie of Bella Luna and Frozen Motion. She could carry her speed for miles and still have a fast kick at the end of it all. Maggie hoped that Para's determination to beat her rival would be enough to take down the Gorgeous George filly.
Para stumbled into action, sluggish and unwilling. Maggie sighed, wiggled the reins, nudged with her feet. It was only then that the Flash Limit's filly picked it up. She rumbled up the hillside after her fleet stablemate, ears flicking above her head as she processed what today was all about. Prima was floating down the hillside by the time Paranormal Hunter hit the crest. It was then that Maggie knew Para was about to click into gear. Her eyes took on an interested fire, eyes rimming with white. Her nostrils flared and she abruptly moved down the hillside. Maggie leaned back, blue eyes pleased.
Prima danced across the valley, ears pricked, chest broad and carried proudly. She was an intense horse to deal with. Justin kept a light grip on the reins, sure that at any point Prima would get fed up with pacing herself and take off. For now, though, she wasn't showing any signs. She galloped calmly and confidently, easy and strong. She was picture of athleticism. She was Justin's baby and pride and joy. She flitted up the hillside, hooves placed perfectly, catching the best spots.
The blonde jock leaned close to her blocky filly. Paranormal Hunter galloped ominously five lengths behind Prima Donna. Her head was cocked sideways to keep Prima in view. Her blocky body was primed for a thunderous assault. Maggie hummed in approval when she rocketed up the hillside, closing in on Prima. The athletic cat of a filly sensed them, flicked her ears and shook them off with an impressive example of speed. She just floated away from them. A noise sounded from Para and Maggie wondered if perhaps the Flash Limit's filly was feeling a bit frustrated. She knew this was so when Para threw her hind end up in a prominent buck. Maggie clung to the thick black mane, eyes widening fear and excitement. Boy, Para had some guns in the back.
Justin shook his head from his point on Prima Donna. The little minx knew all about Paranormal Hunter. They galloped with her every day of the week after all. She knew that if she kept toying with Para, the chunkier filly would grow more frustrated. He wanted to tell her to knock it off. They didn't need a broken hearted filly on their hands. He glanced beneath his armpit, saw Para coming back down to earth from a wild buck. He let out a sigh of relief when he caught the burr that was Maggie still on her back. Visions of an injured played on his mind. He turned away.
Still in the same positions, Prima Donna and Paranormal Hunter charged toward the final turf hill. Prima was starting to pick up the pace now, legs stretching out in a lean gallop. Justin grinned, so pleased with the way she was moving. There was no one like Prima Donna in racing, except maybe Hourglass. His eyes darkened when he heard the thunder behind them. She flew up the hill, crested it, paused briefly, took a breath and then took off. He clung for his life.
Maggie moved Para earlier than the three furlong flat. She had to in order to make sure the blocky filly was in full momentum. She stormed up the hill, crested, didn't take a breath and bounded down the hillside. Maggie nearly closed her eyes out of fear, but Para never placed a hoof in the wrong spot. She was more sure-footed than even Maggie had thought. And boy was she searching for blood. Her thick frame was stretched out in full glorious racehorse mode. She became beautiful and powerful in full flight. Her eyes glinted with fury and determination as she closed the four length gap between herself and Prima Donna.
Justin put Prima to a drive then, knowing that his filly had a while until her next race. He would give Paranormal Hunter a test himself. If she was good enough to catch Prima than she would definitely take the step up next time out in the Didactic Stakes. His bay darling flew across the grass, lean and mean as lioness. She ran all out in her fury and her speed was simply a thing of beauty. Maggie groaned from spot when Prima shot back out by two more lengths. Para did not make a sound this way. She simply responded with more speed of her own. She gunned it, legs actually blurring beneath her heavy frame.
She chipped away bit by bit through the three furlongs, pushing Prima to her limits. Para was a grinder and she was coming. She was a dark horse and a true blue threat every time she ran. Maggie pushed her, a maniac grin lighting up her pace when she roared up to Prima's outside just two yards from the wire. Hell yeah, Para! Hell yeah, big girl! Justin grinned when Paranormal Hunter streaked beneath the wire a neck in front. Prima squealed furiously, remnants of Cross' attitude flickering through her. Oh, she would give the next horse she worked out with Hell. That was for sure. Justin patted her heartily. That was for damn sure!
The fog that had covered the earth had thinned out courtesy of Ripley making everyone wait before going out again. That had taken two hours. Now, at five o'clock at night, the last pairing, a pair of two year olds, was stepping out of the barn. Ripley trailed behind them aboard Jabberwock. The towering gelding nickered softly at the fillies, but neither of them responded. Ripley patted his sleek neck, noted his hurt gaze. Those are athletes handsome man. You don't want any part of them. Trust me.
Maggie glanced over her shoulder, blue eyes sparkling. Definitely. You don't want any part of Para. The dark, blocky filly snorted, stretching her neck out, eyes glittering with boredom and irritation. Those were her usual looks until she was running. Her body was muscled and toned to perfection. She was the dark horse of Witch Creek's turf filly division. She'd run in sprinting and miler races for most of her two year old season so far. Opportunities were growing rarer and the future could only grow if Para could show that she would handle the longer distance races. Her thick tail swished over her well-rounded rump and each hoof step was placed with the thick sound of defiance. No Para wasn't easy to deal with, but she sure as Hell could run.
Prima Donna danced on her toes as she stepped from the dirt path to the turf track. Her savage head with it's oddly angled ears was held tall and a look of arrogance was proudly featured. Justin sat to the filly's prance, felt the smooth agility that Prima advertised with each one of her movements. Prima Donna was a princess turning into a queen. She was only happy when racing and even then, she was more furious at her competition than the thought of working. She had lost drastically in the Racing Post Trophy and finished last. Ripley, not satisfied with that effort, had had Justin gallop her for miles that week and then wheeled her right back in the Slake Stakes. She'd come back with a force, taking down In The Spotlight by a nose. Now her next race would not be until October and she had a month to prove herself worthy of running in the top races.
Ripley nodded to the riders, turned Jabberwock and sent him cantering for the three furlong flats. Justin shrugged, rolled his shoulders, and prepared for the burst of speed that came with every run of Prima's. She did not disappoint. She bolted mightily, so intense was the movement, he nearly flew back over her saddle. Her ears flew back toward her neck, her eyes blazing with full fury and defiance. She cantered sideways, trying to avoid the work. Justin threw his body forward, cracked a whip over her haunches and sent her flying. Sometimes Prima just liked to be a challenge to test him. She seemed to forget that he could handle her tests.
Maggie bit her tongue at the performance in front of her, watched Prima soar away on legs made to run. Today would be interesting. Prima would have the solitary jump on Paranormal Hunter every single step of today's workout. Last time she had been occupied with Hourglass. Today Hourglass was resting up for a workout with Mourning Passion. Para would have her work cut out for her. Would she be able to make a sustained run that was fast enough to take down a well-rested filly? Prima reminded Maggie of Bella Luna and Frozen Motion. She could carry her speed for miles and still have a fast kick at the end of it all. Maggie hoped that Para's determination to beat her rival would be enough to take down the Gorgeous George filly.
Para stumbled into action, sluggish and unwilling. Maggie sighed, wiggled the reins, nudged with her feet. It was only then that the Flash Limit's filly picked it up. She rumbled up the hillside after her fleet stablemate, ears flicking above her head as she processed what today was all about. Prima was floating down the hillside by the time Paranormal Hunter hit the crest. It was then that Maggie knew Para was about to click into gear. Her eyes took on an interested fire, eyes rimming with white. Her nostrils flared and she abruptly moved down the hillside. Maggie leaned back, blue eyes pleased.
Prima danced across the valley, ears pricked, chest broad and carried proudly. She was an intense horse to deal with. Justin kept a light grip on the reins, sure that at any point Prima would get fed up with pacing herself and take off. For now, though, she wasn't showing any signs. She galloped calmly and confidently, easy and strong. She was picture of athleticism. She was Justin's baby and pride and joy. She flitted up the hillside, hooves placed perfectly, catching the best spots.
The blonde jock leaned close to her blocky filly. Paranormal Hunter galloped ominously five lengths behind Prima Donna. Her head was cocked sideways to keep Prima in view. Her blocky body was primed for a thunderous assault. Maggie hummed in approval when she rocketed up the hillside, closing in on Prima. The athletic cat of a filly sensed them, flicked her ears and shook them off with an impressive example of speed. She just floated away from them. A noise sounded from Para and Maggie wondered if perhaps the Flash Limit's filly was feeling a bit frustrated. She knew this was so when Para threw her hind end up in a prominent buck. Maggie clung to the thick black mane, eyes widening fear and excitement. Boy, Para had some guns in the back.
Justin shook his head from his point on Prima Donna. The little minx knew all about Paranormal Hunter. They galloped with her every day of the week after all. She knew that if she kept toying with Para, the chunkier filly would grow more frustrated. He wanted to tell her to knock it off. They didn't need a broken hearted filly on their hands. He glanced beneath his armpit, saw Para coming back down to earth from a wild buck. He let out a sigh of relief when he caught the burr that was Maggie still on her back. Visions of an injured played on his mind. He turned away.
Still in the same positions, Prima Donna and Paranormal Hunter charged toward the final turf hill. Prima was starting to pick up the pace now, legs stretching out in a lean gallop. Justin grinned, so pleased with the way she was moving. There was no one like Prima Donna in racing, except maybe Hourglass. His eyes darkened when he heard the thunder behind them. She flew up the hill, crested it, paused briefly, took a breath and then took off. He clung for his life.
Maggie moved Para earlier than the three furlong flat. She had to in order to make sure the blocky filly was in full momentum. She stormed up the hill, crested, didn't take a breath and bounded down the hillside. Maggie nearly closed her eyes out of fear, but Para never placed a hoof in the wrong spot. She was more sure-footed than even Maggie had thought. And boy was she searching for blood. Her thick frame was stretched out in full glorious racehorse mode. She became beautiful and powerful in full flight. Her eyes glinted with fury and determination as she closed the four length gap between herself and Prima Donna.
Justin put Prima to a drive then, knowing that his filly had a while until her next race. He would give Paranormal Hunter a test himself. If she was good enough to catch Prima than she would definitely take the step up next time out in the Didactic Stakes. His bay darling flew across the grass, lean and mean as lioness. She ran all out in her fury and her speed was simply a thing of beauty. Maggie groaned from spot when Prima shot back out by two more lengths. Para did not make a sound this way. She simply responded with more speed of her own. She gunned it, legs actually blurring beneath her heavy frame.
She chipped away bit by bit through the three furlongs, pushing Prima to her limits. Para was a grinder and she was coming. She was a dark horse and a true blue threat every time she ran. Maggie pushed her, a maniac grin lighting up her pace when she roared up to Prima's outside just two yards from the wire. Hell yeah, Para! Hell yeah, big girl! Justin grinned when Paranormal Hunter streaked beneath the wire a neck in front. Prima squealed furiously, remnants of Cross' attitude flickering through her. Oh, she would give the next horse she worked out with Hell. That was for sure. Justin patted her heartily. That was for damn sure!