January Week One Workouts: Scroll for Individuals
Indian Darling& Hokum. Flawed Princess. Van Guard& Red Herring. Flashpoint& Supernatural.
Prima Donna& Paranormal Hunter. The Devil's Hourglass& Alucard.
Prima Donna& Paranormal Hunter. The Devil's Hourglass& Alucard.
mythical nonsense
Courtesy of C.H. Photography..
Ripley and Justin leaned against the rail of the dirt track, eying the conditions with critical eyes. It was early spring and Witch Creek had been pounded incessantly with torrential rains. Almost so much that training had almost been called off completely. Of course that was just unacceptable and Ripley had made immediate calls to get the development of the indoor track moving along. Her place was becoming a serious contender and they needed serious equipment and tracks if they were to keep up the tremendous progress.
Justin shaded his eyes against the bright sun, keeping still. Ripley had been agitated all week, unable to ride and only able to groom. He felt similarly, but strong physical labor in the barn and a consistent schedule of gym workouts was keeping him relatively on his toes. He had to be in order to do well on the track in his first official year as jock. And he had to be in an excellent shape for the horse he would be riding in the first workout of Year Thirteen.
The humans turned as the sound of thudding hooves drew near. Their eyes brightened up considerably and the tension visually flowed out of Ripley's figure. Justin felt the atmosphere relax considerably in terms of the human counterparts. However, the horses were the polar opposite. Their powerful muscles were loaded with tension and excitement, their eyes alight with fire that only the track could cause. A prancing step passed from one to the other like a wave. If there were any horses that were relatively fresh and relatively ready to conquer Year Thirteen racing, it was these two.
Ripley clapped her hands, with eyes only for the fluidly elegant Indian Darling. The bay miss was loaded with racing talent, her figure was dainty and beautiful. She looked glorious even after her first race in nine months last week. The Native Flame looked pumped up and eager to prove that she was back. She had come out of the Noella Derby as if she had never even run. It had been against Ripley's usual policy to get her back on the track two days after her race. Her gallops had been superb. And Ripley was happy. She had a huge task ahead of her if she was going to have Indian Darling ready to compete in the Triple Tiara. It would take such quick recoveries between races to get the lithe bay into the race.
Justin could feel the affection pour over from Ripley to Indian Darling. He could not say the same for himself and Hokum. The giant bay three year old glared him down with eyes lit up by fight. There was no affection here for the human who had guided him to impressive victory in the Movember Maiden. There was, however, a grudging respect. Justin took the reins from Reese who sat on Jabberwock. The bay stallion danced sideways the moment the forced contact was released. He too was not a big fan of the Kore VS son. Jabber nickered eagerly to Indian Darling who was now mounted by Ripley Marsh. The bay filly looked at him with a curious eye, but was quickly focused on her rider.
Brooks watched Ripley ride away from the dappled out back of Frozen Motion. Freeze and Jabber had to be exercised or they would begin to tear the barn down. Neither horse could sit still for long even though, according to Ripley, they would not head back to the track until February at least. Justin let Hokum sniff his fingers, his eye on Hokum's large one. Mutual respect. There was plenty here. Hokum couldn't stand anyone on the ground, but in the saddle he could. He knew that Justin meant workouts and races. He was a smart horse with no place determined for him. Justin wondered if this could be Ripley's Canadian Triple Crown horse. He secretly hoped so. He loved riding in major races and this was the horse to get him there. With a bold leap from the ground, Justin planted a foot in the short stirrup and swung aboard the powerful colt.
Hokum was barely still for a second before he was bolting after Ripley's Indian Darling. The colt charged after his three year old counterpart, eyes bright with anger and irritation. Justin let out his held in breath until they reached the bay filly. He would never be able to relax aboard this colt. He just couldn't trust him to behave. Ripley raised her eyebrows at Justin, shaking her head. Keeps you on your toes, doesn't he? Justin snorted, sneaking a quick pat before Hokum pulled another mean trick. I still don't think my body has flushed out all the adrenaline from his last race.
Ripley nodded, remembering the Movember Maiden. She'd stuck Justin and Hokum in the maiden race on a whim. She hadn't minded having the three year old go into Year Thirteen a maiden. He had enough talent to break the ranks quickly. However, neither Justin nor herself nor the staff had expected such a devastating performance from the two year old. It just wasn't done. The colt had been quicker than anything out there. He'd broken a record set by a grade one performer. It just didn't happen. And he'd been under wraps. I don't think mine has either. Justin snorted, rolling his eyes. Nothing bothers the great Ripley Marsh. Ripley laughed, stuck her tongue out at him. Very few things do.
Indian Darling jogged beneath her with the confidence of a winner. She'd lost by a length to a seasoned horse in GM Halloweentown. Ripley suspected that her last race would not cause her to bounce in her first race at The Wire. The Utanali Derby, a race Fiery Touch had run in last year, would be a good starting point for the daughter of former Witch Creek stallion Native Flame. Ripley hoped to have the filly beyond ready for this next start. She deserved to get her picture taken in the winner's circle. The filly stretched her limbs out over the dirt track, head carried elegantly over her shoulders. Ripley posted easily to the smooth rhythm, soaking in all of the class. Indian Darling would have a big year ahead of her and she intended to accompany her every step of the way.
Hokum muscled his way over the dirt track, neck extended and haunches pushing him forward mightily. Physically no one beat out Hokum. He was eighteen hands of raw power with the potential to run from eight to twelve furlongs. Justin didn't even have to ride him for the colt to be great. Anyone could ride him. He was that kind of horse. Justin counted his blessings as the colt snake faced Indian Darling. The bay filly squealed and tossed her head, pinning her own ears. She was not going to be bullied today. Her butt turned out, haunches tense for a kick. Hokum nearly returned the thanks, but Justin moved him into a more rapid pace. The bay colt's ears pricked up in eagerness, all problems forgotten.
Ripley mulled over a workout as they jogged the pair of inexperienced three year olds up the backstretch. Justin and Hokum would also be entering in a race come January Week One, but theirs would be in the Ameliorate Stakes, a race which Frozen Motion had won last year. Both the Utanali and Ameliorate were nine furlong races. They would test the class of Indian Darling and Hokum briefly, but would otherwise not hinder their capabilities. She tilted her head, running a hand down her filly's black mane. How about a mile and a quarter gallop with a four furlong blow out? Just enough to catch their interest and refocus them.
Justin nodded briefly in approval. It did sound like a good plan. Hokum could run all day if he chose to. The big colt tossed his head, mane slapping against his powerful, high crested neck. He was an absolute monster, had been since his arrival. Justin quietly asked for a gallop with a flick of his fingers, still not too sure how much the horse could take. Hokum's ears pinned back briefly, but after a moment of thought he shrugged off the insult and jumped into his cruising gallop stride. Darla bounced forward into hers, the petite little deer in the woods. Ripley leaned forward, reveling in the precision that stretched out beneath her. Darla was more matured than most of the other three year olds mentally. She'd settled down and no longer spooked quite as much. Her mentality had improved leaps and bounds. Now she was constantly impressive, constantly giving and reaching the potential, at least in her workouts, that Ripley had dreamed up so long ago.
The pair of horses settled into their gallop stride, stretching their necks out and getting comfortable. Both of them knew that they had a long way to go before they ran. Indian Darling had been with Witch Creek long enough to know that most of her gallops were merely lung openers without any of the brilliant speed. Ripley patted the filly's beautiful neck, settled into her stirrups and focused ahead. The chilly spring air slipped up her sleeves and gave her goosebumps, but the goosebumps were good. She was at home where she belonged: on the back of a thoroughbred. Darla's ears flicked atop her head excitedly, listening for more cues from Ripley Marsh to go on. She pulled a few times on the bit, but was otherwise content with her gallop stride.
Hokum thundered along, his hooves striking the earth with as much intimidation as possible. Luckily, Darla was not afraid of the Goliath running beside her. She casually ignored him, which Justin supposed, only aggravated the Kore VS colt all the more. The bay horse pinned his ears into his thick black mane, lost in his tom foolery. Justin did not move to wake him up. Hokum had shown that he could settle down in his races and workouts and then turn on the after-burners. He was a gifted horse with incredible agility and a mind of his own. It was bad to allow him to play or focus on the competition rather than race, but Justin found it helped keep the colt relaxed. It was important to keep him relaxed or he'd run gate to wire on the lead. A smirk touched Justin's face. He knew Reese considered Jabberwock the most talented horse in the barn at the moment, but he figured his young colt could give the older stud a run for his money. Arrogance flitted through Justin's eyes. When Hokum got himself fully acclimated to racing, his human counterpart was almost positive that he would run any horse off of their hooves.
Ripley could sense the growing confidence that passed between Indian Darling's workmate and Justin. She felt the same sort of confidence blooming between herself and Darla. Though Ripley had less proof of her filly's raw ability for the public, Darla was nothing short of dazzling when things went her own way. The press had seen that in the bay filly's very public workout at The Wire. Ripley lowered her hands to the filly's withers, quiet in her seat and feet. Darla didn't need any encouragement to keep up with the giant beside her. She was a long striding filly herself, despite her slim 16 hands. Her tail flew out behind like a cape as she stuck to Hokum like glue. Her talent rested in her cruising ability as well, though during a race she tended to linger just behind the stalkers.
The pair cruised beneath the wire for the first time, their legs quickening briefly in excitement. Inexperienced tended to pick up on the wire just after their first race. It became a game to reach the wire first and they developed a competitive fire almost as large as their human. Ripley and Justin remained quiet on their mounts. Hokum lumbered along outside of Darla. Darla easily skipped over the dirt alongside the rail. She was a slick filly and Hokum began to sense that there was more than met the eye with her. His inside ear was pinned to her, locked on quite forcefully. He still had a neck in front, made sure to keep the distance equal no matter the stage of the workout.
Ripley could feel Indian Darling begin to tense up. Her plain brown wrapper form was puffing itself up as they cranked into the far turn. Without warning, Ripley was nearly launched over her haunches when Darla took off full-steam ahead. Her ears were hidden among her wild black tress, which Ripley now gripped for the life of her. The bay filly's eyes blazed with a horrendously terrifying fire. She stuck it to Hokum with every ounce of energy she had. Her lean figure cut a hole through the wind. She'd grown tired of Hokum's massive frame and was merely expressing her distaste.
Justin shook his head at the filly's quick turn of foot. His hands had kept Hokum locked back when the filly had surged away. The dark colt echoed his annoyance with furious snorts and a tossing head. Gradually, he'd settled back to his cruising gallop, though a little quicker than he had been going. Ripley was back in her stirrups, moving with her horse and Indian Darling was rolling along as confidently as a queen. The plain brown wrapper had grown up, thought Justin. He needed to remember that.
The wind tore at Ripley's hair as Indian Darling's sleek form traveled over the dirt track. The bay filly had agility and brilliance when she wanted to use it. Before she had gone on a forced vacation, Darla had run herself off of her own hooves. And now her blitzes were more surprising than terrifying. Ripley sometimes wondered if the Native Flame daughter had ever gotten afraid of her own speed in her morning jaunts. She kept a light touch on the filly's mouth, squinting against the cold wind. Winter was not quite forgotten just yet. Darla settled back down, her stride coming smoother and slower, though she maintained her prime energy.
Hokum tracked the bay miss into the far turn, ears pricked and tuned in to his opponent. He looked like a true race horse, brawny and tough. A monster waiting to take over the competition. Confidence had the reins going slack, allowing the horse to settle back out into his massive stride. Justin kept a watchful eye on Indian Darling and Ripley as Hokum settled back out. The pair would take off halfway down the backstretch. He had to be ready to get Hokum moving. Indian Darling was rock solid competition these days and if her recent gallops had anything to say, her next performance would be impressive. The boy leaned close to his mount's bobbing neck, lowering his goggles. He was glad he'd remembered before they'd come to the track.
Indian Darling sliced her way through the backstretch, her lean frame gobbling up the ground as if she'd been starved. Her nostrils quivered in excitement when she began to sense Ripley's adrenaline increasing. Darla's muscles were oiling up, her chest was expanding and contracting with every great stride. She was a sight to see if one liked the elegant dirt horse.
And if they approved of the brawny horses, well then Hokum went above and beyond their standards. The colt was tracking Darla closer now, his great strides effortlessly making up two lengths. His ears were lost in his mane and he was traveling well within himself. Justin felt a chill rush down his spine. This colt was beyond everything Justin had hoped to find in his beginning years as a jock. The speed was increasing quickly and Justin hadn't even moved a muscle just yet. And Darla was flying along, her own precise movements led the way into the blitz.
Ripley's mouth tightened briefly when Hokum's thundering hooves sounded just behind Indian Darling. However, Darla gave no sign of attention. Her ears flopped confidently up and down, her eyes were bright and her nose pushed out, defying Ripley's control briefly. The head trainer sighed, Hokum's coming Darla. Let's show him that he's not the only one who can pack a punch. With a chirp and a quick wriggle of the fingers, Indian Darling went from confident speed to terrifying speed. She pushed off of her rear end mightily, her body hurtling forward with rocket like speed. Ripley clung to the now whipping black mane, telling herself to breathe. She'd ridden El Sol del Mar, The Devil's Touch, Native Flame, Mastermind and Fiery Touch. But none of those possessed this kind of terrifying kick.
Justin gulped as Indian Darling bolted with a turn of foot not often seen in dirt fillies. Hokum's ears slammed back, awaiting the command to take her down. Justin shook his head, staring at the filly's beautiful bay butt. Time to go, man! Justin shook the reins, guided Hokum just outside of Indian Darling's haunches and set him up for a drive. The colt gathered himself and then launched forward, breaking the sound barrier with the roar of his oncoming hooves. His powerfully built body barreled down on Indian Darling, making up the five lengths with ease. His strides grew longer and more impressive. He was a dirt beast, a truly magnificent racehorse. And he only had two races under his belt.
Darla was not intimidated when she found herself confronted by the horse she considered to be her younger brother. She tossed her head in dismissal of the three year old beast, flicked her tail casually over her rump, and as pretty as you please spirited away to take the lead by a length. Not to be outdone, Hokum met the filly stride for stride, reaching farther and faster. He glared her down, but the blinkered filly glared back. Her eyes blazed with a competitive flame as she stared at the Kore VS son. Hokum bared his teeth and tilted his head sideways in an effort to savage the defiant filly. She snaked back and if not for Ripley and Justin, the colt and filly would have gone at it mid-run.
The bay pair hurtled up the track, side by side. Neither of them gave way and the speed was beyond scorching. There were no reporters to marvel at them as they cruised beneath the imaginary finish to their workout. No one to witness the rocking determination of Indian Darling in the face of battle. No one to see Hokum's incredible kick in order to gain his lost advantage. The track was silent as the snorting horses pulled up. Ripley's lungs drove in and out, gathering back the air that had been lost in the rein. Justin pumped a fist and looked at Ripley. I'm ready for Year Thirteen, aren't you?
Ripley smiled, bumped fists with the young jock. She leaned down and kissed Indian Darling's damp neck. Beyond ready.
Justin shaded his eyes against the bright sun, keeping still. Ripley had been agitated all week, unable to ride and only able to groom. He felt similarly, but strong physical labor in the barn and a consistent schedule of gym workouts was keeping him relatively on his toes. He had to be in order to do well on the track in his first official year as jock. And he had to be in an excellent shape for the horse he would be riding in the first workout of Year Thirteen.
The humans turned as the sound of thudding hooves drew near. Their eyes brightened up considerably and the tension visually flowed out of Ripley's figure. Justin felt the atmosphere relax considerably in terms of the human counterparts. However, the horses were the polar opposite. Their powerful muscles were loaded with tension and excitement, their eyes alight with fire that only the track could cause. A prancing step passed from one to the other like a wave. If there were any horses that were relatively fresh and relatively ready to conquer Year Thirteen racing, it was these two.
Ripley clapped her hands, with eyes only for the fluidly elegant Indian Darling. The bay miss was loaded with racing talent, her figure was dainty and beautiful. She looked glorious even after her first race in nine months last week. The Native Flame looked pumped up and eager to prove that she was back. She had come out of the Noella Derby as if she had never even run. It had been against Ripley's usual policy to get her back on the track two days after her race. Her gallops had been superb. And Ripley was happy. She had a huge task ahead of her if she was going to have Indian Darling ready to compete in the Triple Tiara. It would take such quick recoveries between races to get the lithe bay into the race.
Justin could feel the affection pour over from Ripley to Indian Darling. He could not say the same for himself and Hokum. The giant bay three year old glared him down with eyes lit up by fight. There was no affection here for the human who had guided him to impressive victory in the Movember Maiden. There was, however, a grudging respect. Justin took the reins from Reese who sat on Jabberwock. The bay stallion danced sideways the moment the forced contact was released. He too was not a big fan of the Kore VS son. Jabber nickered eagerly to Indian Darling who was now mounted by Ripley Marsh. The bay filly looked at him with a curious eye, but was quickly focused on her rider.
Brooks watched Ripley ride away from the dappled out back of Frozen Motion. Freeze and Jabber had to be exercised or they would begin to tear the barn down. Neither horse could sit still for long even though, according to Ripley, they would not head back to the track until February at least. Justin let Hokum sniff his fingers, his eye on Hokum's large one. Mutual respect. There was plenty here. Hokum couldn't stand anyone on the ground, but in the saddle he could. He knew that Justin meant workouts and races. He was a smart horse with no place determined for him. Justin wondered if this could be Ripley's Canadian Triple Crown horse. He secretly hoped so. He loved riding in major races and this was the horse to get him there. With a bold leap from the ground, Justin planted a foot in the short stirrup and swung aboard the powerful colt.
Hokum was barely still for a second before he was bolting after Ripley's Indian Darling. The colt charged after his three year old counterpart, eyes bright with anger and irritation. Justin let out his held in breath until they reached the bay filly. He would never be able to relax aboard this colt. He just couldn't trust him to behave. Ripley raised her eyebrows at Justin, shaking her head. Keeps you on your toes, doesn't he? Justin snorted, sneaking a quick pat before Hokum pulled another mean trick. I still don't think my body has flushed out all the adrenaline from his last race.
Ripley nodded, remembering the Movember Maiden. She'd stuck Justin and Hokum in the maiden race on a whim. She hadn't minded having the three year old go into Year Thirteen a maiden. He had enough talent to break the ranks quickly. However, neither Justin nor herself nor the staff had expected such a devastating performance from the two year old. It just wasn't done. The colt had been quicker than anything out there. He'd broken a record set by a grade one performer. It just didn't happen. And he'd been under wraps. I don't think mine has either. Justin snorted, rolling his eyes. Nothing bothers the great Ripley Marsh. Ripley laughed, stuck her tongue out at him. Very few things do.
Indian Darling jogged beneath her with the confidence of a winner. She'd lost by a length to a seasoned horse in GM Halloweentown. Ripley suspected that her last race would not cause her to bounce in her first race at The Wire. The Utanali Derby, a race Fiery Touch had run in last year, would be a good starting point for the daughter of former Witch Creek stallion Native Flame. Ripley hoped to have the filly beyond ready for this next start. She deserved to get her picture taken in the winner's circle. The filly stretched her limbs out over the dirt track, head carried elegantly over her shoulders. Ripley posted easily to the smooth rhythm, soaking in all of the class. Indian Darling would have a big year ahead of her and she intended to accompany her every step of the way.
Hokum muscled his way over the dirt track, neck extended and haunches pushing him forward mightily. Physically no one beat out Hokum. He was eighteen hands of raw power with the potential to run from eight to twelve furlongs. Justin didn't even have to ride him for the colt to be great. Anyone could ride him. He was that kind of horse. Justin counted his blessings as the colt snake faced Indian Darling. The bay filly squealed and tossed her head, pinning her own ears. She was not going to be bullied today. Her butt turned out, haunches tense for a kick. Hokum nearly returned the thanks, but Justin moved him into a more rapid pace. The bay colt's ears pricked up in eagerness, all problems forgotten.
Ripley mulled over a workout as they jogged the pair of inexperienced three year olds up the backstretch. Justin and Hokum would also be entering in a race come January Week One, but theirs would be in the Ameliorate Stakes, a race which Frozen Motion had won last year. Both the Utanali and Ameliorate were nine furlong races. They would test the class of Indian Darling and Hokum briefly, but would otherwise not hinder their capabilities. She tilted her head, running a hand down her filly's black mane. How about a mile and a quarter gallop with a four furlong blow out? Just enough to catch their interest and refocus them.
Justin nodded briefly in approval. It did sound like a good plan. Hokum could run all day if he chose to. The big colt tossed his head, mane slapping against his powerful, high crested neck. He was an absolute monster, had been since his arrival. Justin quietly asked for a gallop with a flick of his fingers, still not too sure how much the horse could take. Hokum's ears pinned back briefly, but after a moment of thought he shrugged off the insult and jumped into his cruising gallop stride. Darla bounced forward into hers, the petite little deer in the woods. Ripley leaned forward, reveling in the precision that stretched out beneath her. Darla was more matured than most of the other three year olds mentally. She'd settled down and no longer spooked quite as much. Her mentality had improved leaps and bounds. Now she was constantly impressive, constantly giving and reaching the potential, at least in her workouts, that Ripley had dreamed up so long ago.
The pair of horses settled into their gallop stride, stretching their necks out and getting comfortable. Both of them knew that they had a long way to go before they ran. Indian Darling had been with Witch Creek long enough to know that most of her gallops were merely lung openers without any of the brilliant speed. Ripley patted the filly's beautiful neck, settled into her stirrups and focused ahead. The chilly spring air slipped up her sleeves and gave her goosebumps, but the goosebumps were good. She was at home where she belonged: on the back of a thoroughbred. Darla's ears flicked atop her head excitedly, listening for more cues from Ripley Marsh to go on. She pulled a few times on the bit, but was otherwise content with her gallop stride.
Hokum thundered along, his hooves striking the earth with as much intimidation as possible. Luckily, Darla was not afraid of the Goliath running beside her. She casually ignored him, which Justin supposed, only aggravated the Kore VS colt all the more. The bay horse pinned his ears into his thick black mane, lost in his tom foolery. Justin did not move to wake him up. Hokum had shown that he could settle down in his races and workouts and then turn on the after-burners. He was a gifted horse with incredible agility and a mind of his own. It was bad to allow him to play or focus on the competition rather than race, but Justin found it helped keep the colt relaxed. It was important to keep him relaxed or he'd run gate to wire on the lead. A smirk touched Justin's face. He knew Reese considered Jabberwock the most talented horse in the barn at the moment, but he figured his young colt could give the older stud a run for his money. Arrogance flitted through Justin's eyes. When Hokum got himself fully acclimated to racing, his human counterpart was almost positive that he would run any horse off of their hooves.
Ripley could sense the growing confidence that passed between Indian Darling's workmate and Justin. She felt the same sort of confidence blooming between herself and Darla. Though Ripley had less proof of her filly's raw ability for the public, Darla was nothing short of dazzling when things went her own way. The press had seen that in the bay filly's very public workout at The Wire. Ripley lowered her hands to the filly's withers, quiet in her seat and feet. Darla didn't need any encouragement to keep up with the giant beside her. She was a long striding filly herself, despite her slim 16 hands. Her tail flew out behind like a cape as she stuck to Hokum like glue. Her talent rested in her cruising ability as well, though during a race she tended to linger just behind the stalkers.
The pair cruised beneath the wire for the first time, their legs quickening briefly in excitement. Inexperienced tended to pick up on the wire just after their first race. It became a game to reach the wire first and they developed a competitive fire almost as large as their human. Ripley and Justin remained quiet on their mounts. Hokum lumbered along outside of Darla. Darla easily skipped over the dirt alongside the rail. She was a slick filly and Hokum began to sense that there was more than met the eye with her. His inside ear was pinned to her, locked on quite forcefully. He still had a neck in front, made sure to keep the distance equal no matter the stage of the workout.
Ripley could feel Indian Darling begin to tense up. Her plain brown wrapper form was puffing itself up as they cranked into the far turn. Without warning, Ripley was nearly launched over her haunches when Darla took off full-steam ahead. Her ears were hidden among her wild black tress, which Ripley now gripped for the life of her. The bay filly's eyes blazed with a horrendously terrifying fire. She stuck it to Hokum with every ounce of energy she had. Her lean figure cut a hole through the wind. She'd grown tired of Hokum's massive frame and was merely expressing her distaste.
Justin shook his head at the filly's quick turn of foot. His hands had kept Hokum locked back when the filly had surged away. The dark colt echoed his annoyance with furious snorts and a tossing head. Gradually, he'd settled back to his cruising gallop, though a little quicker than he had been going. Ripley was back in her stirrups, moving with her horse and Indian Darling was rolling along as confidently as a queen. The plain brown wrapper had grown up, thought Justin. He needed to remember that.
The wind tore at Ripley's hair as Indian Darling's sleek form traveled over the dirt track. The bay filly had agility and brilliance when she wanted to use it. Before she had gone on a forced vacation, Darla had run herself off of her own hooves. And now her blitzes were more surprising than terrifying. Ripley sometimes wondered if the Native Flame daughter had ever gotten afraid of her own speed in her morning jaunts. She kept a light touch on the filly's mouth, squinting against the cold wind. Winter was not quite forgotten just yet. Darla settled back down, her stride coming smoother and slower, though she maintained her prime energy.
Hokum tracked the bay miss into the far turn, ears pricked and tuned in to his opponent. He looked like a true race horse, brawny and tough. A monster waiting to take over the competition. Confidence had the reins going slack, allowing the horse to settle back out into his massive stride. Justin kept a watchful eye on Indian Darling and Ripley as Hokum settled back out. The pair would take off halfway down the backstretch. He had to be ready to get Hokum moving. Indian Darling was rock solid competition these days and if her recent gallops had anything to say, her next performance would be impressive. The boy leaned close to his mount's bobbing neck, lowering his goggles. He was glad he'd remembered before they'd come to the track.
Indian Darling sliced her way through the backstretch, her lean frame gobbling up the ground as if she'd been starved. Her nostrils quivered in excitement when she began to sense Ripley's adrenaline increasing. Darla's muscles were oiling up, her chest was expanding and contracting with every great stride. She was a sight to see if one liked the elegant dirt horse.
And if they approved of the brawny horses, well then Hokum went above and beyond their standards. The colt was tracking Darla closer now, his great strides effortlessly making up two lengths. His ears were lost in his mane and he was traveling well within himself. Justin felt a chill rush down his spine. This colt was beyond everything Justin had hoped to find in his beginning years as a jock. The speed was increasing quickly and Justin hadn't even moved a muscle just yet. And Darla was flying along, her own precise movements led the way into the blitz.
Ripley's mouth tightened briefly when Hokum's thundering hooves sounded just behind Indian Darling. However, Darla gave no sign of attention. Her ears flopped confidently up and down, her eyes were bright and her nose pushed out, defying Ripley's control briefly. The head trainer sighed, Hokum's coming Darla. Let's show him that he's not the only one who can pack a punch. With a chirp and a quick wriggle of the fingers, Indian Darling went from confident speed to terrifying speed. She pushed off of her rear end mightily, her body hurtling forward with rocket like speed. Ripley clung to the now whipping black mane, telling herself to breathe. She'd ridden El Sol del Mar, The Devil's Touch, Native Flame, Mastermind and Fiery Touch. But none of those possessed this kind of terrifying kick.
Justin gulped as Indian Darling bolted with a turn of foot not often seen in dirt fillies. Hokum's ears slammed back, awaiting the command to take her down. Justin shook his head, staring at the filly's beautiful bay butt. Time to go, man! Justin shook the reins, guided Hokum just outside of Indian Darling's haunches and set him up for a drive. The colt gathered himself and then launched forward, breaking the sound barrier with the roar of his oncoming hooves. His powerfully built body barreled down on Indian Darling, making up the five lengths with ease. His strides grew longer and more impressive. He was a dirt beast, a truly magnificent racehorse. And he only had two races under his belt.
Darla was not intimidated when she found herself confronted by the horse she considered to be her younger brother. She tossed her head in dismissal of the three year old beast, flicked her tail casually over her rump, and as pretty as you please spirited away to take the lead by a length. Not to be outdone, Hokum met the filly stride for stride, reaching farther and faster. He glared her down, but the blinkered filly glared back. Her eyes blazed with a competitive flame as she stared at the Kore VS son. Hokum bared his teeth and tilted his head sideways in an effort to savage the defiant filly. She snaked back and if not for Ripley and Justin, the colt and filly would have gone at it mid-run.
The bay pair hurtled up the track, side by side. Neither of them gave way and the speed was beyond scorching. There were no reporters to marvel at them as they cruised beneath the imaginary finish to their workout. No one to witness the rocking determination of Indian Darling in the face of battle. No one to see Hokum's incredible kick in order to gain his lost advantage. The track was silent as the snorting horses pulled up. Ripley's lungs drove in and out, gathering back the air that had been lost in the rein. Justin pumped a fist and looked at Ripley. I'm ready for Year Thirteen, aren't you?
Ripley smiled, bumped fists with the young jock. She leaned down and kissed Indian Darling's damp neck. Beyond ready.
age before beauty
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photo.
Maggie rolled her shoulders as she leaned against the posts of the outdoor pen. Her blue eyes flickered beneath her blonde lashes and the wind played with her delicate strands of wheat-blonde hair. She finally had time to herself after all of the weeks of hard work and stress leading to the Breeders Cup. Her filly Wish Upon A Star had worked awfully hard to get up for third and it had been so relieving to see the Everyday Hero filly's fighting spirit come alive when it had counted the most. She'd had two other rides aboard Screaming Mimi and GS Royal Crown, resulting in close second and third place finishes, respectively, in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf and Older Turf. Now Mims was retired and Crow was on a mini-break from racing.
She closed her eyes, leaned further into the rail. She'd been straight for three months. It had been so tempting to ruin her spotless record after the Breeders Cup. The parties had been rumored to be excellent, but she'd been tired and drawn out. Witch Creek had taken home two stirring victories with Mastermind and Cross My Heart and the rest had not finished out of the money in any of their starts. Maggie tilted her head sideways, leaning it against the warm wood of the round pen. It had been a very good last few weeks, but Maggie was going to ease back into things. Ripley Marsh could do things on the fly. The new and improved Maggiletti Reynolds could not.
A wave of warm air washed over her bare ankles, jeans rolled up to let the sun touch her white skin. Maggie opened an eye, not even bothering to try to hide her smile. Her Year Thirteen project stared back at her with dark eyes soft and warm. Ripley Marsh had invested into a mare that Witch Creek had been a fan of for a while. When Ripley Marsh invested into something, she made sure to make due on this investment. Maggie stared at the brown eyed mare watching her with quiet eyes, taking in the maturity and strength that stood before her. This was Flawed Princess, one of hopefully many of Maggie's new projects in Year Thirteen. Flawed Princess was an absolutely stunning specimen of a horse. Her muscles bunched beneath her dappled bay hide, her black forelock stretched down her spotted blaze, parting neatly over her eyes. She was a grade three mare who had just been coming into her own when an unforeseen injury knocked her out of the races in Year Twelve.
But here she was, all 1100 pounds of her. Maggie reached out her finger's, smiling when the gorgeous bay mare stretched her neck to whuffle her lips over them. Maggie had connected so well with the older Screaming Mimi, guiding her from grade four all the way down to grade on territory, that Ripley was positive Maggie would have a connection with other horses people had given up on. Maggie was certain Ripley was crazy, but crazy was not always bad. And hey, the maturer minded animals helped balance out her own relative immaturity. Maggie owed a lot to Screaming Mimi. The black Crescential mare had gotten her on the straight path and hopefully Flawed Princess would help to keep her there.
The blonde slowly drew her feet in, careful to keep her movements calm and slow. Amira just stood there, head tilted to the side, hooves planted firmly in the ground. She knew humans weren't attackers. She eyed Maggie with a dignity that nearly shook the jock to the bone. This mare knew herself and knew herself very well. Amira lowered her head to the side, ears glued on Maggie as she slowly drew to her full height. Amira wasn't afraid in the least. Rather she was suspicious. And rightly so. She had come from the auction a week ago along with Feline Frenzy and yearling Maximum Impact. All of that moving around with odd horses would cause anyone to become suspicious. That she was holding herself so courageously was all the more impressive.
The blonde stepped up the cautious bay, hand extended and eyes looking down at the ground. Flawed Princess was going to be a top horse in Year Thirteen if Maggie had any say in it. Today would be their first workout together. Amira reached out with a soft muzzle, greeting Maggie's fingers with gentleness when they were in her range. Maggie glanced up and smiled into the eyes of the Hail To Prince mare. Amira's ears were pricked right up in full-blown curiosity. Her skin twitched out of excitement and her eyes shimmered with intelligence. It would certainly be a fun ride today. Maggie stroked the filly's dark neck, reached around the mare's muzzle and guided her over to the gate. A light racing saddle, blanket and bridle were placed across the second rail. Amira flicked an ear curiously when Maggie placed the pad and saddle on her back, but she didn't move. Her confidence and trust in humans was on full display. Maggie twined her fingers in the mare's black forelock. You're ready for some work aren't you Lady Jane?
The mare snorted, tossing her head briefly when Maggie reached for it. She wasn't a total pacifist and Maggie was glad of it. A grin worked it's way onto the woman's lips as she finally persuaded Amira to lower her head into the bridle and take the bit. She stepped back to admire the muscles and beauty of this mare. Flawed Princess was something else. She exuded an aura of calmness and dignity. She was the noble sort. They needed more of this type around the barn that was for sure. No flighty runners for Maggie.
Opening the gate, the human and equine pair stepped out of their magical enclosure and into the life of racing. Prima Donna and Paranormal Hunter were being lead from their paddock. Ripley was loading Hokum and Indian Darling into the smaller horse trailer for transport to The Wire. Clint was escorting the strong black yearling Saintly Touch and the powerful chestnut Sun King from the stallion barn to the yearling barn. His new assistant Malcolm towed two exuberant fillies along. Call Me Crooked, daughter of Royal Assault and half to Prima Donna, planted her hooves in the soil and squealed angrily at the indignity of her situation. Summer Romance, DW Flamekissed and Ashanti's beautiful daughter, simply pranced in place. Malcolm, glared through jet blue eyes at the temperamental Crook, but glanced Maggie's way and sent her an electrifying smile. Both Amira and Maggie jumped when the beautiful man transferred his hot look from yearling to older mare and human. Maggie's heart beat erratically in her chest, but she forced herself to wave when he tilted his head in confusion. Malcolm was the new yearling handler.
There was movement behind the trio of yearlings and Maggie noted the presence of the short-haired red head in tight jeans and a breezy top. She could have been looking in the mirror if the girl was blonde. Maggie's niece had come to the United States under Ripley's bidding. Laura Decomte guided the brawny Brain Trust and the sharply painted colt, Maximum Impact, after the other yearlings. At nineteen years of age, Laura was a blooming rose and Maggie's sister had feared that she would be no good if sent to college. Laura cocked an eyebrow in Maggie's direction, her green eyes full of attitude and distrust. Completely the opposite of the mare who stood quietly beside her. Shaking her head, Maggie turned and jumped onto Amira's back.
The broad chested mare dipped her head down, mouthing the bit eagerly. She forgot the charge of electricity that had passed between her human and the male, totally and completely focused on the task at hand. Maggie patted Amira's neck softly, asking for a nice jog. The bay mare flitted down the path toward the tracks, her ears pricked above her nicely shaped head. The Hail To Prince mare was definitely a looker, pure and simple. She carried herself high with her tail waving confidently over her haunches. Most of the race string was out in the paddocks and they looked up as she trotted by, but Amira never let on to their attention. Maggie posted gently in the light saddle, hands connected with the mare's mouth. Amira did not need as much light a hand on her mouth as the younger set did. She was all business and knew better than to bolt like spring chicken.
The pair moved swiftly toward the turf track, bowing off of the dirt path that lead to the swooping Witch Creek dirt track. The turf track was finally reopened after months of being swathed by winter. Amira had never worked over these hills before as she'd been galloping since her arrival over the dirt track. She noted them with the ease of experience of an older horse and continued on her way. Maggie stood in the stirrups and signaled for the looker to move into a nice and easy canter. Amira collected herself up beautifully on the way to the track. She seemed to float with every fourth stride. Her hooves skimmed over the spring grass and her head still remained slightly higher than her withers. Amira moved effortlessly in this environment, had moved effortlessly in all of her races with past stables. Maggie appreciated such consistency.
Amira snorted as they drew closer to the hills and tossed her head. It was the first sign of her fleeting pedigree. She snorted again and again, twisting her neck this way and that, large eye sweeping over the grass before her. Maggie remained quiet and focused, her baby blue eyes on the hills ahead. This would be her first true ride over these hills in Year Thirteen. The dark mare lifted her knees higher, cranked her head higher as if she were running for some jumps. Maggie clucked her tongue. This mare could have potential for steeplechasing if all worked out. But for now she was flatting. Maggie loosened the reins up, but remained perched over the mare's withers as she bounded toward the first hill.
The Hail To Prince filly dipped her head up and down in quick succession, trying to get a handle on the green mass rushing toward her. Maggie wriggled her fingers, praying that the mare wouldn't stop out of fear. There was a rising tension in the mare's muscled frame, but it relaxed quite suddenly as if someone had deflated a balloon. Flawed Princess leveled her head, stretched out her stride and took the first hill with the experience of a wild horse. Maggie kept herself a little back in the saddle, letting Amira grasp the surface without help. Her muscles propelled her up and over the hill where she temporarily hesitated at the dip. A little nudge from Maggie and she scooted down the side, hooves moving with precision and a desire to stay afoot.
The pair galloped easily between the valley, Amira taking the time to really stretch her lean racing muscles. Her blazed face turned up, showing a little sign of being rank,but not quite to the level she had been before. Her bay body leaped over the ground like a deer and she moved with confidence and strength. Maggie leaned closer as the next hill approached, her eyes between the ears of this new mount. Flawed Princess was something else. Her strong frame tackled the earth beneath her hooves with contained boldness. She didn't hesitate at the top this time and flew over the crest like a champ. The drop off was not as steep this time and Amira took the time to step on the gas pedal. Her knees flung out eagerly and her head cranked up, nostrils blowing in and out rapidly with excitement. A wide grin placed itself on Maggie's face. This mare was full of excitement and full of herself.
They touched down to the base again and Maggie released Amira. The bay mare pushed off of her hind end and took off, black mane and tail whipping out behind her. Maggie leaned close, red coming to her cheeks from the adrenaline. Her hands were wrapped in the thick long mane, becoming one with Flawed Princess. The mare could run and she handled herself extremely well. Her figure bounded across the grass with control and she hardly gave the appearance that she was trying at all. Maggie counted off the would-be furlongs in her head, timing the mare beneath her. She was moving at a rock-solid clip for tackling the hills the first time. Amira began picking up more speed across the three furlong flat, her legs flying beneath her power-house frame.
Maggie let out a hoot when the bay slowed down to tackle the hill on the other side. The mare gathered herself with the pizzazz of a seasoned pro and bounded up the hillside. Her neck was wet and damp when the reached the table top crest, but she wasn't tired. She pranced like a spring yearling, ears pricked straight up as Maggie circled her back. Her mouth attempted to snatch at the bit, but Maggie was ready for her. Even seasoned pros liked to push buttons sometimes. Maggie patted the mare's sloping neck, enjoying the power beneath her. This was a gallant mare and Year Thirteen would be her best season yet. The woman leaned down, planting a firm kiss on the mare's neck, drawing in the smell of horse. This was where she wanted to be.
She closed her eyes, leaned further into the rail. She'd been straight for three months. It had been so tempting to ruin her spotless record after the Breeders Cup. The parties had been rumored to be excellent, but she'd been tired and drawn out. Witch Creek had taken home two stirring victories with Mastermind and Cross My Heart and the rest had not finished out of the money in any of their starts. Maggie tilted her head sideways, leaning it against the warm wood of the round pen. It had been a very good last few weeks, but Maggie was going to ease back into things. Ripley Marsh could do things on the fly. The new and improved Maggiletti Reynolds could not.
A wave of warm air washed over her bare ankles, jeans rolled up to let the sun touch her white skin. Maggie opened an eye, not even bothering to try to hide her smile. Her Year Thirteen project stared back at her with dark eyes soft and warm. Ripley Marsh had invested into a mare that Witch Creek had been a fan of for a while. When Ripley Marsh invested into something, she made sure to make due on this investment. Maggie stared at the brown eyed mare watching her with quiet eyes, taking in the maturity and strength that stood before her. This was Flawed Princess, one of hopefully many of Maggie's new projects in Year Thirteen. Flawed Princess was an absolutely stunning specimen of a horse. Her muscles bunched beneath her dappled bay hide, her black forelock stretched down her spotted blaze, parting neatly over her eyes. She was a grade three mare who had just been coming into her own when an unforeseen injury knocked her out of the races in Year Twelve.
But here she was, all 1100 pounds of her. Maggie reached out her finger's, smiling when the gorgeous bay mare stretched her neck to whuffle her lips over them. Maggie had connected so well with the older Screaming Mimi, guiding her from grade four all the way down to grade on territory, that Ripley was positive Maggie would have a connection with other horses people had given up on. Maggie was certain Ripley was crazy, but crazy was not always bad. And hey, the maturer minded animals helped balance out her own relative immaturity. Maggie owed a lot to Screaming Mimi. The black Crescential mare had gotten her on the straight path and hopefully Flawed Princess would help to keep her there.
The blonde slowly drew her feet in, careful to keep her movements calm and slow. Amira just stood there, head tilted to the side, hooves planted firmly in the ground. She knew humans weren't attackers. She eyed Maggie with a dignity that nearly shook the jock to the bone. This mare knew herself and knew herself very well. Amira lowered her head to the side, ears glued on Maggie as she slowly drew to her full height. Amira wasn't afraid in the least. Rather she was suspicious. And rightly so. She had come from the auction a week ago along with Feline Frenzy and yearling Maximum Impact. All of that moving around with odd horses would cause anyone to become suspicious. That she was holding herself so courageously was all the more impressive.
The blonde stepped up the cautious bay, hand extended and eyes looking down at the ground. Flawed Princess was going to be a top horse in Year Thirteen if Maggie had any say in it. Today would be their first workout together. Amira reached out with a soft muzzle, greeting Maggie's fingers with gentleness when they were in her range. Maggie glanced up and smiled into the eyes of the Hail To Prince mare. Amira's ears were pricked right up in full-blown curiosity. Her skin twitched out of excitement and her eyes shimmered with intelligence. It would certainly be a fun ride today. Maggie stroked the filly's dark neck, reached around the mare's muzzle and guided her over to the gate. A light racing saddle, blanket and bridle were placed across the second rail. Amira flicked an ear curiously when Maggie placed the pad and saddle on her back, but she didn't move. Her confidence and trust in humans was on full display. Maggie twined her fingers in the mare's black forelock. You're ready for some work aren't you Lady Jane?
The mare snorted, tossing her head briefly when Maggie reached for it. She wasn't a total pacifist and Maggie was glad of it. A grin worked it's way onto the woman's lips as she finally persuaded Amira to lower her head into the bridle and take the bit. She stepped back to admire the muscles and beauty of this mare. Flawed Princess was something else. She exuded an aura of calmness and dignity. She was the noble sort. They needed more of this type around the barn that was for sure. No flighty runners for Maggie.
Opening the gate, the human and equine pair stepped out of their magical enclosure and into the life of racing. Prima Donna and Paranormal Hunter were being lead from their paddock. Ripley was loading Hokum and Indian Darling into the smaller horse trailer for transport to The Wire. Clint was escorting the strong black yearling Saintly Touch and the powerful chestnut Sun King from the stallion barn to the yearling barn. His new assistant Malcolm towed two exuberant fillies along. Call Me Crooked, daughter of Royal Assault and half to Prima Donna, planted her hooves in the soil and squealed angrily at the indignity of her situation. Summer Romance, DW Flamekissed and Ashanti's beautiful daughter, simply pranced in place. Malcolm, glared through jet blue eyes at the temperamental Crook, but glanced Maggie's way and sent her an electrifying smile. Both Amira and Maggie jumped when the beautiful man transferred his hot look from yearling to older mare and human. Maggie's heart beat erratically in her chest, but she forced herself to wave when he tilted his head in confusion. Malcolm was the new yearling handler.
There was movement behind the trio of yearlings and Maggie noted the presence of the short-haired red head in tight jeans and a breezy top. She could have been looking in the mirror if the girl was blonde. Maggie's niece had come to the United States under Ripley's bidding. Laura Decomte guided the brawny Brain Trust and the sharply painted colt, Maximum Impact, after the other yearlings. At nineteen years of age, Laura was a blooming rose and Maggie's sister had feared that she would be no good if sent to college. Laura cocked an eyebrow in Maggie's direction, her green eyes full of attitude and distrust. Completely the opposite of the mare who stood quietly beside her. Shaking her head, Maggie turned and jumped onto Amira's back.
The broad chested mare dipped her head down, mouthing the bit eagerly. She forgot the charge of electricity that had passed between her human and the male, totally and completely focused on the task at hand. Maggie patted Amira's neck softly, asking for a nice jog. The bay mare flitted down the path toward the tracks, her ears pricked above her nicely shaped head. The Hail To Prince mare was definitely a looker, pure and simple. She carried herself high with her tail waving confidently over her haunches. Most of the race string was out in the paddocks and they looked up as she trotted by, but Amira never let on to their attention. Maggie posted gently in the light saddle, hands connected with the mare's mouth. Amira did not need as much light a hand on her mouth as the younger set did. She was all business and knew better than to bolt like spring chicken.
The pair moved swiftly toward the turf track, bowing off of the dirt path that lead to the swooping Witch Creek dirt track. The turf track was finally reopened after months of being swathed by winter. Amira had never worked over these hills before as she'd been galloping since her arrival over the dirt track. She noted them with the ease of experience of an older horse and continued on her way. Maggie stood in the stirrups and signaled for the looker to move into a nice and easy canter. Amira collected herself up beautifully on the way to the track. She seemed to float with every fourth stride. Her hooves skimmed over the spring grass and her head still remained slightly higher than her withers. Amira moved effortlessly in this environment, had moved effortlessly in all of her races with past stables. Maggie appreciated such consistency.
Amira snorted as they drew closer to the hills and tossed her head. It was the first sign of her fleeting pedigree. She snorted again and again, twisting her neck this way and that, large eye sweeping over the grass before her. Maggie remained quiet and focused, her baby blue eyes on the hills ahead. This would be her first true ride over these hills in Year Thirteen. The dark mare lifted her knees higher, cranked her head higher as if she were running for some jumps. Maggie clucked her tongue. This mare could have potential for steeplechasing if all worked out. But for now she was flatting. Maggie loosened the reins up, but remained perched over the mare's withers as she bounded toward the first hill.
The Hail To Prince filly dipped her head up and down in quick succession, trying to get a handle on the green mass rushing toward her. Maggie wriggled her fingers, praying that the mare wouldn't stop out of fear. There was a rising tension in the mare's muscled frame, but it relaxed quite suddenly as if someone had deflated a balloon. Flawed Princess leveled her head, stretched out her stride and took the first hill with the experience of a wild horse. Maggie kept herself a little back in the saddle, letting Amira grasp the surface without help. Her muscles propelled her up and over the hill where she temporarily hesitated at the dip. A little nudge from Maggie and she scooted down the side, hooves moving with precision and a desire to stay afoot.
The pair galloped easily between the valley, Amira taking the time to really stretch her lean racing muscles. Her blazed face turned up, showing a little sign of being rank,but not quite to the level she had been before. Her bay body leaped over the ground like a deer and she moved with confidence and strength. Maggie leaned closer as the next hill approached, her eyes between the ears of this new mount. Flawed Princess was something else. Her strong frame tackled the earth beneath her hooves with contained boldness. She didn't hesitate at the top this time and flew over the crest like a champ. The drop off was not as steep this time and Amira took the time to step on the gas pedal. Her knees flung out eagerly and her head cranked up, nostrils blowing in and out rapidly with excitement. A wide grin placed itself on Maggie's face. This mare was full of excitement and full of herself.
They touched down to the base again and Maggie released Amira. The bay mare pushed off of her hind end and took off, black mane and tail whipping out behind her. Maggie leaned close, red coming to her cheeks from the adrenaline. Her hands were wrapped in the thick long mane, becoming one with Flawed Princess. The mare could run and she handled herself extremely well. Her figure bounded across the grass with control and she hardly gave the appearance that she was trying at all. Maggie counted off the would-be furlongs in her head, timing the mare beneath her. She was moving at a rock-solid clip for tackling the hills the first time. Amira began picking up more speed across the three furlong flat, her legs flying beneath her power-house frame.
Maggie let out a hoot when the bay slowed down to tackle the hill on the other side. The mare gathered herself with the pizzazz of a seasoned pro and bounded up the hillside. Her neck was wet and damp when the reached the table top crest, but she wasn't tired. She pranced like a spring yearling, ears pricked straight up as Maggie circled her back. Her mouth attempted to snatch at the bit, but Maggie was ready for her. Even seasoned pros liked to push buttons sometimes. Maggie patted the mare's sloping neck, enjoying the power beneath her. This was a gallant mare and Year Thirteen would be her best season yet. The woman leaned down, planting a firm kiss on the mare's neck, drawing in the smell of horse. This was where she wanted to be.
meet your match
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Laura leaned against the wooden slats belonging to a paddock filled with broodmares. She didn't face the horses held within, but knew where most of them were positioned. She had been on brood duty since moving the yearlings with Malcolm and she silently wished she would be able to leave. The broods just weren't her thing. Sure they were ex-performers, hall of famers, grade one winners, grade three and grade two runners, but they were just that "ex-performers." They were has-beens, shells of themselves, plump and content with being away from the racetrack. They had thrived and lived, dominated the racing scene. And now all they were was a bunch of mothers. Laura's green eyes were filled with contempt. They were useless, just like she had been. Her accidental pregnancy had ended with her controlling mother who wanted more for her niece. And now here she was at a farm in America, land of the free, home of the brave. Laura rolled her eyes, planted her hands on her hips and glared angrily at the stone and wood cabin to her left.
Ripley Marsh had called her to this place, not Maggie or her mom. But Ripley Marsh, one of the top trainers in America. God knew why and honestly, Laura didn't care. She shoved her thin fingers through her short crop of hair and defiantly stared down the house. She wanted to go home and enroll for college just like she had planned. Before things had gone south with her family, before Ripley had caught wind that Maggie's sister could ride like the Devil himself. She cursed her luck, flashed one defiant glare back at the house and turned away. El Sol del Mar and The Devil's Touch stood side by side, watching her with curious eyes. She remembered all of their races, remembered begging for The Devil to get up in both the Preakness and Belmont Stakes. Remembered crying when El Sol del Mar rolled home in the Breeders Cup Classic to top off a sensational year of racing. It was strange looking at these two plump mares and comparing them with their toned frames. Laura held out both her hands, each of which held an unwrapped peppermint. The chestnut and bay mare glanced at one another, swished their tails and then stepped forward to take the treats. Laura's eyes softened as she ran a hand down the beautiful faces that had captured her imagination for years.
I'm sorry. I came at a bad time girls. I would give you everything your hearts desired if it'd been another date in time. Just like you gave me all those dreams. Sunny tilted her head, chocolate eyes considering. She winced when her side moved. The foal had kicked. A hand settled on Laura's shoulder and sent her skyrocketing into the air. The Devil snorted, flashed snake eyes in Ripley's direction, and the two mares galloped away with their tails in the air. Laura spun around to see both Brookson Wells and Ripley Marsh facing her. The woman appraised her with quiet eyes and Brooks' gleamed with mischief. Laura turned to him, uneasy with the examination coming from Ripley. What's up?
Brooks cocked a brow, Want to go for a quick ride? Laura scowled at them, body stiffening. She had not ridden since coming here three weeks ago and had been alone at Witch Creek for one of those weeks. The staff had been gone and so had all of the horses. Breeders Cup week made the place dead as a door nail. What kind of quick ride? Ripley stepped in then, cocking her hip. The kind that involves breezing a pair of Kentucky Derby contenders. Unless you don't have any interest in speed. Laura's green eyes narrowed at the blatant challenge. Ripley was testing her mettle and Laura was not so sure she liked it. Laura cocked a hip. Brooks suppressed his laughter. God, he knew this was Maggie's niece, but the way Laura's eyes were flashing, she looked more like Ripley's niece. He grinned at Laura, Come on. I just need a hand for this one ride. Red Herring needs a partner and I was riding Van Guard, but I'm sticking with my buddy. Maggie is still working Amira and Reese won't be here for an hour. Laura glared at him, switched her sharp gaze to the pair of horses now coming down the path. She shook her head. Justin was leading the rambunctious Red Herring and the powerful looking Van Guard. Both were tacked up and Justin was carrying her black helmet. Seems I don't have much of a choice.
Ripley smiled her toothy smile Everyone has a choice, but this one is highly recommended. The woman stepped up to the fence, shifting her attention from the hostile girl to her peaceful broodmares. Laura shrugged, looked at Brooks, and then analyzed Van Guard. The dark bay son of Native Flame looked every inch the part of a future champion. He had the big body, the big chest, the grand haunches, the wide chest. Laura had seen many good looking horses and most of them resided at Witch Creek, but Van Guard was the cream of the crop. He was also a true half-brother to The Devil's Touch. He had the blood to do a lot, but hadn't been given much of a chance as a two year old. Laura stepped up to him, drawn by his beautiful large eyes. She smiled, ignoring the fact that Justin had released the reins. You know what they say about dark horses with light brown muzzles? Justin shrugged. They say that they give their hearts to you when they run. Laura ran gentle fingers down his otherwise plain face. You haven't given your heart to anyone quite yet.
Brooks stepped up to Red Herring, patting the chestnut's neck. He was smug on the inside. Ripley had said that Laura wouldn't be a good match for Van, but here she was putting the googoo eyes into the otherwise strong colt. Already it looked to be a match made in heaven. Yes or no? Laura's shoulders jerked as if coming out of a trance and glanced at Brooks. Sure. She looked at Justin who handed her the helmet and smiled. Dame ran awesome for you in the Breeders Cup Filly and Mare Turf. Pretty good for a rookie. Justin laughed before he joined Ripley at the rail. Laura pulled the helmet on and swung up into the saddle with the ease of an old pro. Brooks nodded approvingly before mounting Red Herring. The chestnut bolted beneath him to the left, nearly grazing Van Guard who backed with the speed of a reiner. Laura narrowed her eyes as the colt continued his canter, sure Brooks must signaled him. She flicked the reins, chirped and sat Van Guard after the chestnut.
Van Guard swallowed the earth without abandon, absolutely cruising over the terrain without any problem at all. Red Herring moved like a comet and Brooks was hardly touching his mouth. Laura remained poised with her hands light and reins sagging. This was a horse who moved with control and fluidity no matter the situation. Van cantered up alongside the ruby red colt, his neck bowed and eyes as wide as saucers. Brooks smiled when the girl and horse joined them. He likes you for now, but when you get him beat by my Derby colt he won't. Laura shot him a fierce look. Trust me. You won't beat him.
Brooks winked at her as they slowed to pass between the gap over the dirt track. Red Herring was snorting with all of his might, swinging his hips and puffing his chest. He had matured since the Breeders Cup and he took everyone very seriously whether it be a gallop, a breeze or soon, a race. Brooks couldn't wait to get his colt on the track again. The Derby awaited them and so did Intrepid's star filly Nightshade. She'd beaten them in the Breeders Cup Juvenile, but she could be peaking early. Red Herring was still developing and he was stronger, faster and more determined after the close defeat. Brooks patted the colt's neck as they picked up a trot. Red was the top colt in the country over classic distances, only rivaled by his own stablemate Mastermind, who would never see a classic distance. Brooks believed that Red was Witch Creek's best hope in making the Kentucky Derby. He was durable, strong and he had the stamina. Red bowed his neck, really puffing his chest and making it known that he was back on track. This would be his first workout back since the Breeders Cup.
Laura's eyes were sharp as Red Herring took the lead by five lengths. Van had a more swooping, powerful stride than the sharp chestnut colt. He was more focused and more keen on what Laura wanted. What Laura wanted was for the colt to jog with control. Van tucked his chin to his neck, emanating Red Herring's position. His thick neck gleamed in the weak light and his chest bulged with power. Laura knew that Red Herring was good, that Mastermind was good, and Hokum was going to be a budding star, but she thought that even Witch Creek's staff doubted Van. He was their lesser known three year old and though he had two more starts to his name than Hokum, he had not been as brilliant. Laura posted confidently in the saddle, feeling their combined strength flow through the leather reins. She knew from videos taken of the workouts that Van was just as brilliant as any other colt. Maybe he just needed the right rider. She let him out a notch, posting faster as Red Herring picked up a contained lope. Van mouthed the bit, ears pricked to keep an eye on Red Herring. She could be that rider for him.
Brooks glanced beneath his arm, feeling a little bit of frustration at Laura's inability to keep up with Red Herring. She looked like she was thinking, but Van Guard looked the best he had since he'd been with Witch Creek. He shrunk the reins, dug into the stirrups with his feet. Red protested with a violent toss of his head and a quick secession of rapid bucks. Brooks shook his head. The colt may have matured, but his attitude would always be present. Brooks patted the colt's warming neck. He wouldn't have it any other way.
Van swallowed the ground with his canter stride, body moving like a freight train. His hooves were loud and he was not against being physically intimidating. He approached Red Herring with his ears still pricked, his eyes still large. He was an exciting colt with power and muscle. Laura merely had to hang for the ride, but her heart said it was more than that. Van needed someone who understood how to turn him off and on. She glanced up as they drew up to Red Herring who extended his stride a little bit. The ruby colored colt pinned his ears back at the sight of the large beast, but Brooks simply turned his head to the inside. Van tilted his head to the side, knees lifting higher in curiosity. Laura patted his thick neck. We'll be galloping a mile and a quarter. A seven furlong workout should do the trick. They can gallop up to the race in three weeks. We gallop 'em sharp here. It keeps them on their toes.
Laura nodded, familiar with Witch Creek's training practices. If there was one group of horses that you could bet to make the distance, it was Witch Creek's. And they hadn't been very hidden during Breeders Cup week. Every newspaper heading and training video had been lit up with applause for Witch Creek's morning glories. It was too bad for the competition that they weren't just morning glories. They were afternoon bloomers as well. She had plans to turn Van into an afternoon bloomer. Her smile spread, her green eyes shining as they picked up the pace. The Native Flame colt spread out his stride, eating the ground up without any effort. He was a monster over the dirt, his hooves planting firmly and then pushing off without hesitation.
Brooks could feel the tension in Red Herring when Van Guard rounded up alongside him. The red chestnut colt couldn't stand having competition and especially could not stand competition that did not react to him. He pinned his ears back into his flaming mane and twisted his head to glare ferociously at Van Guard. The bay didn't react, merely flicking an ear. He was a calm one until the real running got started. Brooks leaned close to Red's neck to feel him out. He was training like a dream though he hadn't really caught much of break between the Breeders Cup and the present. His break wouldn't come until after the Belmont Stakes and hopefully, after they won a few legs of the Triple Crown. The blonde could almost see the roses wrapped around his glorious colt's neck. A chestnut had yet to win the Triple Crown. Only a bay and a black. Maybe Red Herring would be the next, but first he would face his shadowed competitor Nightshade. And if things went according to Brooks plan, Red would not face her until the Kentucky Derby at his home court.
Red Herring powered along, pressing himself into the bit, stride not quite settling. He usually ran to his competitor, but Van was lumbering along without effort and still keeping pace. Brooks narrowed his gaze, pulled back lightly on the bit and took Red Herring up. The lighter colt settled back, ears flicking in confusion. He was used to going to the lead every time, battling for what he believed was rightly his. Not this year though. This year they were going to change things. As the races got longer, Red was going to have to settle down and relax. Everything he had would have to be ready to face the competitor closing down the stretch. Brooks had managed to do this with Frozen Motion and it had worked like a dream. Red raced along similar lines though he definitely exuded more competitiveness throughout his races. Brooks was sure he could never completely back Red out of his style because of the fire that burned in him. Freeze was more controlled. Red was more energetic.
The colts galloped easily through the mile, their strides not quite quick, but consistently cruising. Van Guard now had the lead and his ears were flicking back and forth. He hadn't turned a hair when Red Herring had been pulled up, but Laura had noticed. She remained quietly cocky on her horse. Brooks thought Red Herring would beat Van Guard on any given day. Laura thought otherwise. She could feel the quality almost as if it were a tangible thing. Her hands remained silent and steadily holding his mouth. He didn't care what she did with his mouth, but if she so much as moved too far to the right Van would leap out and balance her. He was agile and swift. He stayed ahead of Red Herring without even trying.
Brooks was surprised with how easy Red Herring had accepted the control. Red still pushed his head against the force, but he didn't overly fight. He was settling into a longer stride, though his ear was still locked on the easily moving Van Guard. The Arizona colt was interested in moving up, but the hand that fed him held him back. He could not against it so openly as he did when they first started the exercise. Brooks leaned close to him, feeling the muscle that moved fluidly beneath him. Red's legs began to stretch out with ease and Van Guard began to draw away to be up by a length. Brooks considered it a massive success to be able to back Red off without much difficulty.
Laura could feel Van Guard beginning to rev up as they rolled through the final quarter mile of the gallop. His ears were still flopping back and forth over his head, but his muscles were tense. He knew what was coming up. Laura leaned close to him, green eyes narrowed as she took in what he was looking at. Wide open space, miles of it spreading out before him like a brown carpet. The overcast sky met the earth and it was the place meant for a thoroughbred to run. Laura flicked her hair back over her shoulder, eyes lightening. It was time to run. Seven furlongs would certainly be enough to test Van Guard's class, especially facing the best three year old colt in the country.
Brooks loosened the reins and allowed for Red to bound forward, knees lifting nearly as high as his chest. The colt pinned his ears as he once again shot up the rail alongside Van Guard. His muscles quivered excitedly and his eyes widened to include the whites. The chestnut colt ducked his head lower, muscling his way forward. Van was forced to move out just a bit. He wasn't intimidated by Red Herring. He simply didn't want to get into a grudge match with the chestnut hot-head. Laura was more than happy with that response. She niggled the reins, setting him off just a little to pick up speed. He poked a nose in front, but Red didn't allow that to stand for long. The red comet bolted and took back the lead by a half-length. Van tossed his head in annoyance, but settled with the calming pressure of Laura's hand on his neck.
Red Herring was full of steam, but he was controllable. He raced like a machine, trained like a machine and never quit. Brooks appreciated the strength that roared beneath the surface of the colt's hide. The blonde leaned close as they stormed up the backstretch. Red was actually making full use of his burly body where he hadn't last year. He stretched his neck, his back, his legs. He stretched anything that would help him keep the lead away from Van Guard. But Brooks already knew that if Red wanted the lead he would take it. What he didn't know was if Red would back off in the face of battle to fight instead on the backstretch. With a deep breath, Brooks pulled slightly on the reins. Red's flipped up dramatically and he pulled on the reins, jaw opening wide. Brooks spoke nonstop, calling him back. Easy Red. Come on, man! The blaze faced colt slowly began to back off, grudgingly allowing Van Guard to sweep up and take the lead.
Positions changed throughout a race and apparently it was no different here. Van bounded forward like a lion about to tackle his prey. At least physically. His ears were pricked up showing how easy it was for him to do this. Laura wanted to let him out a little and to feel the fire she had seen briefly in his races. She loosened the reins though, settling him in. They still had four furlongs to travel. Red sat just behind them now, a length behind and Laura was not sure if Brooks intended to send him up on the outside or what. She wouldn't make it easy. She listened to the steady hoof-beats to determine the timing. Van Guard went on auto-pilot as they neared the far turn, but he was a good horse and remained straight and true to his nature.
Brooks could feel Laura's cynical brain working at a rapid pace. Red Herring was calmer now, his strides becoming long motions rather than quick motions. Brooks had full intentions of going outside of Van Guard, but now, feeling the attention that Laura was giving them, he was not quite sure. She had a race rider's mind and he wondered if this was how Maggie and Ripley had been when they'd first started riding. Brooks relaxed, melting into Red, begging him to calm down. He knew Van Guard would be willing to go with them. He simply was traveling to easy for comfort.
The pair swept into the far turn, Van Guard's pace increasing rapidly as he turned on the afterburners. The bay son of Native Flame had a very quick turn of foot for such a large horse. He rocketed into the turn, but somehow managed to stay in his path. Behind them, Brooks swore. He'd been banking on Van Guard to take the turn wide. Laura dragged the inside rein down, forcing Van to close the gap. It only made him fiercer. The dark bay charged forward, tail flying out wildly behind him as he showed the first sign of aggression. He pinned his back in his curling black mane and his eyes darkened with concentration and ferocity. Laura remained still, partly lost in his whipping black mane.
Brooks cursed Laura again as she closed down the rail. Three furlongs to go and now Red was two lengths behind. The chestnut decided then on the turn that enough was enough. He ripped his head forward, neatly stealing the reins from Brooks hands and shot to Van Guard's outside in the matter of two seconds. Brooks was left reaching for the reins and getting Red under control, but Red was lost to him. He was a red demon that was filled with loathing for this one horse. The one horse he couldn't beat down in the early stages and couldn't stomp on in the homestretch. He surged up to be at Van Guard's side. Laura glanced to right, winked at Brooks and as calmly as if she was pushing a button, flicked the reins and pushed Red Herring out into the middle of the track with Van Guard's large body.
The bay colt's ears were locked in his mane as the light and dark colts now battled mightily down the middle of the homestretch. Their strides came faster, their hoofbeats louder, their riders yelling and turning the workout into more of a race than just a workout. Laura pushed heartily at Van's thick neck, knowing Red Herring wouldn't be able to take much more. Brooks called upon Red, finally dragging the reins back from beneath his massive chest. Red had a world of heart. He exploded forward, found himself well-studied when Van went with him without encouragement. The colts whipped over the dirt track, sending a cloud up in their wake.
Ripley, Maggie, Reese and Justin stared from the rail as Van and Red drove under the wire. Van's nose got down first, but Red flew by him afterword. They were just onlookers, but their hearts were beating wildly. A display of pure ferocity and speed. Ripley let out a nervous chuckle, I didn't think it'd be possible to have two Derby colts in one year... But there it is. Reese let out the breath she'd been holding as the chestnut and bay slowed to a generous gallop. Not even counting Hokum and GS Royal Crown if they go. Justin and Maggie exchanged a glance as Red and Van slowed to a trot and began to make their way toward the gap. Neither colt was happy about stopping and more than once they snapped at each other like siblings. Laura was laughing and Brooks was smiling as he stroked Red.
It was a good to start off Year Thirteen with a bomb. Or maybe two.
Ripley Marsh had called her to this place, not Maggie or her mom. But Ripley Marsh, one of the top trainers in America. God knew why and honestly, Laura didn't care. She shoved her thin fingers through her short crop of hair and defiantly stared down the house. She wanted to go home and enroll for college just like she had planned. Before things had gone south with her family, before Ripley had caught wind that Maggie's sister could ride like the Devil himself. She cursed her luck, flashed one defiant glare back at the house and turned away. El Sol del Mar and The Devil's Touch stood side by side, watching her with curious eyes. She remembered all of their races, remembered begging for The Devil to get up in both the Preakness and Belmont Stakes. Remembered crying when El Sol del Mar rolled home in the Breeders Cup Classic to top off a sensational year of racing. It was strange looking at these two plump mares and comparing them with their toned frames. Laura held out both her hands, each of which held an unwrapped peppermint. The chestnut and bay mare glanced at one another, swished their tails and then stepped forward to take the treats. Laura's eyes softened as she ran a hand down the beautiful faces that had captured her imagination for years.
I'm sorry. I came at a bad time girls. I would give you everything your hearts desired if it'd been another date in time. Just like you gave me all those dreams. Sunny tilted her head, chocolate eyes considering. She winced when her side moved. The foal had kicked. A hand settled on Laura's shoulder and sent her skyrocketing into the air. The Devil snorted, flashed snake eyes in Ripley's direction, and the two mares galloped away with their tails in the air. Laura spun around to see both Brookson Wells and Ripley Marsh facing her. The woman appraised her with quiet eyes and Brooks' gleamed with mischief. Laura turned to him, uneasy with the examination coming from Ripley. What's up?
Brooks cocked a brow, Want to go for a quick ride? Laura scowled at them, body stiffening. She had not ridden since coming here three weeks ago and had been alone at Witch Creek for one of those weeks. The staff had been gone and so had all of the horses. Breeders Cup week made the place dead as a door nail. What kind of quick ride? Ripley stepped in then, cocking her hip. The kind that involves breezing a pair of Kentucky Derby contenders. Unless you don't have any interest in speed. Laura's green eyes narrowed at the blatant challenge. Ripley was testing her mettle and Laura was not so sure she liked it. Laura cocked a hip. Brooks suppressed his laughter. God, he knew this was Maggie's niece, but the way Laura's eyes were flashing, she looked more like Ripley's niece. He grinned at Laura, Come on. I just need a hand for this one ride. Red Herring needs a partner and I was riding Van Guard, but I'm sticking with my buddy. Maggie is still working Amira and Reese won't be here for an hour. Laura glared at him, switched her sharp gaze to the pair of horses now coming down the path. She shook her head. Justin was leading the rambunctious Red Herring and the powerful looking Van Guard. Both were tacked up and Justin was carrying her black helmet. Seems I don't have much of a choice.
Ripley smiled her toothy smile Everyone has a choice, but this one is highly recommended. The woman stepped up to the fence, shifting her attention from the hostile girl to her peaceful broodmares. Laura shrugged, looked at Brooks, and then analyzed Van Guard. The dark bay son of Native Flame looked every inch the part of a future champion. He had the big body, the big chest, the grand haunches, the wide chest. Laura had seen many good looking horses and most of them resided at Witch Creek, but Van Guard was the cream of the crop. He was also a true half-brother to The Devil's Touch. He had the blood to do a lot, but hadn't been given much of a chance as a two year old. Laura stepped up to him, drawn by his beautiful large eyes. She smiled, ignoring the fact that Justin had released the reins. You know what they say about dark horses with light brown muzzles? Justin shrugged. They say that they give their hearts to you when they run. Laura ran gentle fingers down his otherwise plain face. You haven't given your heart to anyone quite yet.
Brooks stepped up to Red Herring, patting the chestnut's neck. He was smug on the inside. Ripley had said that Laura wouldn't be a good match for Van, but here she was putting the googoo eyes into the otherwise strong colt. Already it looked to be a match made in heaven. Yes or no? Laura's shoulders jerked as if coming out of a trance and glanced at Brooks. Sure. She looked at Justin who handed her the helmet and smiled. Dame ran awesome for you in the Breeders Cup Filly and Mare Turf. Pretty good for a rookie. Justin laughed before he joined Ripley at the rail. Laura pulled the helmet on and swung up into the saddle with the ease of an old pro. Brooks nodded approvingly before mounting Red Herring. The chestnut bolted beneath him to the left, nearly grazing Van Guard who backed with the speed of a reiner. Laura narrowed her eyes as the colt continued his canter, sure Brooks must signaled him. She flicked the reins, chirped and sat Van Guard after the chestnut.
Van Guard swallowed the earth without abandon, absolutely cruising over the terrain without any problem at all. Red Herring moved like a comet and Brooks was hardly touching his mouth. Laura remained poised with her hands light and reins sagging. This was a horse who moved with control and fluidity no matter the situation. Van cantered up alongside the ruby red colt, his neck bowed and eyes as wide as saucers. Brooks smiled when the girl and horse joined them. He likes you for now, but when you get him beat by my Derby colt he won't. Laura shot him a fierce look. Trust me. You won't beat him.
Brooks winked at her as they slowed to pass between the gap over the dirt track. Red Herring was snorting with all of his might, swinging his hips and puffing his chest. He had matured since the Breeders Cup and he took everyone very seriously whether it be a gallop, a breeze or soon, a race. Brooks couldn't wait to get his colt on the track again. The Derby awaited them and so did Intrepid's star filly Nightshade. She'd beaten them in the Breeders Cup Juvenile, but she could be peaking early. Red Herring was still developing and he was stronger, faster and more determined after the close defeat. Brooks patted the colt's neck as they picked up a trot. Red was the top colt in the country over classic distances, only rivaled by his own stablemate Mastermind, who would never see a classic distance. Brooks believed that Red was Witch Creek's best hope in making the Kentucky Derby. He was durable, strong and he had the stamina. Red bowed his neck, really puffing his chest and making it known that he was back on track. This would be his first workout back since the Breeders Cup.
Laura's eyes were sharp as Red Herring took the lead by five lengths. Van had a more swooping, powerful stride than the sharp chestnut colt. He was more focused and more keen on what Laura wanted. What Laura wanted was for the colt to jog with control. Van tucked his chin to his neck, emanating Red Herring's position. His thick neck gleamed in the weak light and his chest bulged with power. Laura knew that Red Herring was good, that Mastermind was good, and Hokum was going to be a budding star, but she thought that even Witch Creek's staff doubted Van. He was their lesser known three year old and though he had two more starts to his name than Hokum, he had not been as brilliant. Laura posted confidently in the saddle, feeling their combined strength flow through the leather reins. She knew from videos taken of the workouts that Van was just as brilliant as any other colt. Maybe he just needed the right rider. She let him out a notch, posting faster as Red Herring picked up a contained lope. Van mouthed the bit, ears pricked to keep an eye on Red Herring. She could be that rider for him.
Brooks glanced beneath his arm, feeling a little bit of frustration at Laura's inability to keep up with Red Herring. She looked like she was thinking, but Van Guard looked the best he had since he'd been with Witch Creek. He shrunk the reins, dug into the stirrups with his feet. Red protested with a violent toss of his head and a quick secession of rapid bucks. Brooks shook his head. The colt may have matured, but his attitude would always be present. Brooks patted the colt's warming neck. He wouldn't have it any other way.
Van swallowed the ground with his canter stride, body moving like a freight train. His hooves were loud and he was not against being physically intimidating. He approached Red Herring with his ears still pricked, his eyes still large. He was an exciting colt with power and muscle. Laura merely had to hang for the ride, but her heart said it was more than that. Van needed someone who understood how to turn him off and on. She glanced up as they drew up to Red Herring who extended his stride a little bit. The ruby colored colt pinned his ears back at the sight of the large beast, but Brooks simply turned his head to the inside. Van tilted his head to the side, knees lifting higher in curiosity. Laura patted his thick neck. We'll be galloping a mile and a quarter. A seven furlong workout should do the trick. They can gallop up to the race in three weeks. We gallop 'em sharp here. It keeps them on their toes.
Laura nodded, familiar with Witch Creek's training practices. If there was one group of horses that you could bet to make the distance, it was Witch Creek's. And they hadn't been very hidden during Breeders Cup week. Every newspaper heading and training video had been lit up with applause for Witch Creek's morning glories. It was too bad for the competition that they weren't just morning glories. They were afternoon bloomers as well. She had plans to turn Van into an afternoon bloomer. Her smile spread, her green eyes shining as they picked up the pace. The Native Flame colt spread out his stride, eating the ground up without any effort. He was a monster over the dirt, his hooves planting firmly and then pushing off without hesitation.
Brooks could feel the tension in Red Herring when Van Guard rounded up alongside him. The red chestnut colt couldn't stand having competition and especially could not stand competition that did not react to him. He pinned his ears back into his flaming mane and twisted his head to glare ferociously at Van Guard. The bay didn't react, merely flicking an ear. He was a calm one until the real running got started. Brooks leaned close to Red's neck to feel him out. He was training like a dream though he hadn't really caught much of break between the Breeders Cup and the present. His break wouldn't come until after the Belmont Stakes and hopefully, after they won a few legs of the Triple Crown. The blonde could almost see the roses wrapped around his glorious colt's neck. A chestnut had yet to win the Triple Crown. Only a bay and a black. Maybe Red Herring would be the next, but first he would face his shadowed competitor Nightshade. And if things went according to Brooks plan, Red would not face her until the Kentucky Derby at his home court.
Red Herring powered along, pressing himself into the bit, stride not quite settling. He usually ran to his competitor, but Van was lumbering along without effort and still keeping pace. Brooks narrowed his gaze, pulled back lightly on the bit and took Red Herring up. The lighter colt settled back, ears flicking in confusion. He was used to going to the lead every time, battling for what he believed was rightly his. Not this year though. This year they were going to change things. As the races got longer, Red was going to have to settle down and relax. Everything he had would have to be ready to face the competitor closing down the stretch. Brooks had managed to do this with Frozen Motion and it had worked like a dream. Red raced along similar lines though he definitely exuded more competitiveness throughout his races. Brooks was sure he could never completely back Red out of his style because of the fire that burned in him. Freeze was more controlled. Red was more energetic.
The colts galloped easily through the mile, their strides not quite quick, but consistently cruising. Van Guard now had the lead and his ears were flicking back and forth. He hadn't turned a hair when Red Herring had been pulled up, but Laura had noticed. She remained quietly cocky on her horse. Brooks thought Red Herring would beat Van Guard on any given day. Laura thought otherwise. She could feel the quality almost as if it were a tangible thing. Her hands remained silent and steadily holding his mouth. He didn't care what she did with his mouth, but if she so much as moved too far to the right Van would leap out and balance her. He was agile and swift. He stayed ahead of Red Herring without even trying.
Brooks was surprised with how easy Red Herring had accepted the control. Red still pushed his head against the force, but he didn't overly fight. He was settling into a longer stride, though his ear was still locked on the easily moving Van Guard. The Arizona colt was interested in moving up, but the hand that fed him held him back. He could not against it so openly as he did when they first started the exercise. Brooks leaned close to him, feeling the muscle that moved fluidly beneath him. Red's legs began to stretch out with ease and Van Guard began to draw away to be up by a length. Brooks considered it a massive success to be able to back Red off without much difficulty.
Laura could feel Van Guard beginning to rev up as they rolled through the final quarter mile of the gallop. His ears were still flopping back and forth over his head, but his muscles were tense. He knew what was coming up. Laura leaned close to him, green eyes narrowed as she took in what he was looking at. Wide open space, miles of it spreading out before him like a brown carpet. The overcast sky met the earth and it was the place meant for a thoroughbred to run. Laura flicked her hair back over her shoulder, eyes lightening. It was time to run. Seven furlongs would certainly be enough to test Van Guard's class, especially facing the best three year old colt in the country.
Brooks loosened the reins and allowed for Red to bound forward, knees lifting nearly as high as his chest. The colt pinned his ears as he once again shot up the rail alongside Van Guard. His muscles quivered excitedly and his eyes widened to include the whites. The chestnut colt ducked his head lower, muscling his way forward. Van was forced to move out just a bit. He wasn't intimidated by Red Herring. He simply didn't want to get into a grudge match with the chestnut hot-head. Laura was more than happy with that response. She niggled the reins, setting him off just a little to pick up speed. He poked a nose in front, but Red didn't allow that to stand for long. The red comet bolted and took back the lead by a half-length. Van tossed his head in annoyance, but settled with the calming pressure of Laura's hand on his neck.
Red Herring was full of steam, but he was controllable. He raced like a machine, trained like a machine and never quit. Brooks appreciated the strength that roared beneath the surface of the colt's hide. The blonde leaned close as they stormed up the backstretch. Red was actually making full use of his burly body where he hadn't last year. He stretched his neck, his back, his legs. He stretched anything that would help him keep the lead away from Van Guard. But Brooks already knew that if Red wanted the lead he would take it. What he didn't know was if Red would back off in the face of battle to fight instead on the backstretch. With a deep breath, Brooks pulled slightly on the reins. Red's flipped up dramatically and he pulled on the reins, jaw opening wide. Brooks spoke nonstop, calling him back. Easy Red. Come on, man! The blaze faced colt slowly began to back off, grudgingly allowing Van Guard to sweep up and take the lead.
Positions changed throughout a race and apparently it was no different here. Van bounded forward like a lion about to tackle his prey. At least physically. His ears were pricked up showing how easy it was for him to do this. Laura wanted to let him out a little and to feel the fire she had seen briefly in his races. She loosened the reins though, settling him in. They still had four furlongs to travel. Red sat just behind them now, a length behind and Laura was not sure if Brooks intended to send him up on the outside or what. She wouldn't make it easy. She listened to the steady hoof-beats to determine the timing. Van Guard went on auto-pilot as they neared the far turn, but he was a good horse and remained straight and true to his nature.
Brooks could feel Laura's cynical brain working at a rapid pace. Red Herring was calmer now, his strides becoming long motions rather than quick motions. Brooks had full intentions of going outside of Van Guard, but now, feeling the attention that Laura was giving them, he was not quite sure. She had a race rider's mind and he wondered if this was how Maggie and Ripley had been when they'd first started riding. Brooks relaxed, melting into Red, begging him to calm down. He knew Van Guard would be willing to go with them. He simply was traveling to easy for comfort.
The pair swept into the far turn, Van Guard's pace increasing rapidly as he turned on the afterburners. The bay son of Native Flame had a very quick turn of foot for such a large horse. He rocketed into the turn, but somehow managed to stay in his path. Behind them, Brooks swore. He'd been banking on Van Guard to take the turn wide. Laura dragged the inside rein down, forcing Van to close the gap. It only made him fiercer. The dark bay charged forward, tail flying out wildly behind him as he showed the first sign of aggression. He pinned his back in his curling black mane and his eyes darkened with concentration and ferocity. Laura remained still, partly lost in his whipping black mane.
Brooks cursed Laura again as she closed down the rail. Three furlongs to go and now Red was two lengths behind. The chestnut decided then on the turn that enough was enough. He ripped his head forward, neatly stealing the reins from Brooks hands and shot to Van Guard's outside in the matter of two seconds. Brooks was left reaching for the reins and getting Red under control, but Red was lost to him. He was a red demon that was filled with loathing for this one horse. The one horse he couldn't beat down in the early stages and couldn't stomp on in the homestretch. He surged up to be at Van Guard's side. Laura glanced to right, winked at Brooks and as calmly as if she was pushing a button, flicked the reins and pushed Red Herring out into the middle of the track with Van Guard's large body.
The bay colt's ears were locked in his mane as the light and dark colts now battled mightily down the middle of the homestretch. Their strides came faster, their hoofbeats louder, their riders yelling and turning the workout into more of a race than just a workout. Laura pushed heartily at Van's thick neck, knowing Red Herring wouldn't be able to take much more. Brooks called upon Red, finally dragging the reins back from beneath his massive chest. Red had a world of heart. He exploded forward, found himself well-studied when Van went with him without encouragement. The colts whipped over the dirt track, sending a cloud up in their wake.
Ripley, Maggie, Reese and Justin stared from the rail as Van and Red drove under the wire. Van's nose got down first, but Red flew by him afterword. They were just onlookers, but their hearts were beating wildly. A display of pure ferocity and speed. Ripley let out a nervous chuckle, I didn't think it'd be possible to have two Derby colts in one year... But there it is. Reese let out the breath she'd been holding as the chestnut and bay slowed to a generous gallop. Not even counting Hokum and GS Royal Crown if they go. Justin and Maggie exchanged a glance as Red and Van slowed to a trot and began to make their way toward the gap. Neither colt was happy about stopping and more than once they snapped at each other like siblings. Laura was laughing and Brooks was smiling as he stroked Red.
It was a good to start off Year Thirteen with a bomb. Or maybe two.
paranormal experience
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Brooks and Malcolm stood at the entrance to the racing barn. The blond and black haired men watched as Maggie approached aboard Flawed Princess. One had his eye on the mare and the other on the woman. Malcolm crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, taking in Maggie's form and the joy that caused the red to bloom on her cheeks. Her blue eyes sparked with life and he'd never seen a more beautiful woman. She leaned down and stroked the mare's neck, talking words that could not reach the men. Brooks loved the way Amira looked at the moment. Her eyes were bright and happy, her hide dappled with lighter coins. She had settled in beautifully though he wish he could say the same for the burly mare that was charging around the other round pen.
What do you think about her? Brooks asked softly. Malcolm cocked an eyebrow, unsure if Brooks was speaking of Maggie or a horse. The blue eyed man followed the blonde's gaze and noted the fiery mare charging around the pen. Whipped Cream, daughter of Whippet and half-sister to Flawed Princess. There was no calm in that mare. She was all fire and rage and temper. She'd come in with Amira and had yet to settle down. Her gallops had been choppy and she seemed to get along with no particular rider. But Ripley wasn't going to give up on a mare that she'd had her eye on for half a year now. Whipped Cream was not beyond reach. They simply had to find the key that unlocked the door before it shattered. She needs a rider Brooks. No doubt about it. She's the type who doesn't like switching barns. She's been off her feed because of all the excitement. Brooks nodded in agreement and worry. Whipped Cream would have to get a new rider and quick.
What about Laura? Both men startled and looked up to find Flawed Princess nearly standing on top of them. She needs a horse to ride. And she knows how to ride. Just because she has refused so far doesn't mean I can't talk her into it. Laura is the only one that hasn't ridden Rea. I'll talk to Ripley. Malcolm stared at the woman as she leaped gracefully from the back of her horse. She landed softly, smiled at both of them and then guided Amira around when neither moved. Malcolm turned to watch her hips swing, but a clearing of the throat from Brooks had the man turning to meet the eyes of a guard dog. Don't go after her unless you want to be fired.
Maggie turned sharply, eyeing Brooks. Why would Ripley fire me? Malcolm and Brooks laughed together, a tense laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Maggie glared at them, shook her head and tuned them out. Men. Malcolm walked out of the barn, hands in his pockets. He had yearlings to take care of and no time for women with baggage. So he told himself anyway. Brooks watched him go with protective blue eyes, but switched his gaze back to Maggie. Para and Prima are next. Ripley wants a mile and a quarter gallop with a three furlong breeze. They're farther along than Moose and Siri. I'll get Justin from the house. Maggie nodded, watched the man leave. Connor stepped out of the tack rooms, arms layered with pads, saddles and a pair of bridles. The boy was efficient that was for sure. He settled the polished tack on the racks outside of Paranormal Hunter and Prima Donna's stalls. He walked over to Amira, stroked her blazed face. I'll take care of this lady for you. You can deal with the wild ones.
Maggie smiled, watched Flawed Princess walk out of the barn for her bath. She was a real good mare. Time would tell. Maggie rolled her shoulders and turned to the stall to her right. Paranormal Hunter, daughter of Flash Limit's, stared back with the most critical eyes that could possibly belong to an equine. Her ears were turned to the sides as if she weren't sure if she was going to be mean to Maggie or welcome her. Para was the head honcho in the two year old ranks, the top Gorgon, Medusa herself. She had a don't-mess-with-me attitude that could be backed up with her freight train body. Weighing in at 1,150 pounds, Para was no feather weight. She was the bulkiest filly that Maggie had seen and most of it came from her eating. She had to wear a grass muzzle out in the paddock and was given the least amount of grain out of all of the horses at Witch Creek. However, the weight didn't hamper her in a workout and most likely would not impact her race running either.
Para pinned her ears at the examination, baring her teeth and glaring into the shadows of her stall. Paranormal Hunter was the heftiest two year old and the most grumpy. Luckily, what she lacked in personality she made up for in her swift closing talent. Maggie could not wait for the filly to hit the track. Paranormal Hunter had talent to show and her debut would be one of Maggie's most anticipated mount debuts yet. The blonde stepped up to the filly, meeting her defiant gaze. You're going to work whether or not you want to. Might as well give in. Para lifted her long head, ears pinned in her mane. She was a fierce one, but Maggie wasn't phased. I've worked with horses like Touch Up my dear. You will not be a problem. The filly snorted, backing when Maggie invaded the stall with a light rope halter.
Justin grinned as he bounded into the barn. Maggie's voice had carried from the barn all the way to Ripley's stone house. The woman was a riot, pure and simple. He ran a hand across his forehead, dark eyes brightening when his future star turf filly stretched her head and neck over the stall door. Her angular features latched right on to him, Arab ears pricked with such curiosity Justin could not help but smile. Where Para was round, Prima Donna was absolutely lean. The bay miss was an absolute stunner with exotic features for a thoroughbred. She knew it and her arrogance was reflected from her whiskers to her eyes. She was an athlete even in the beginning of her two year old training and had been showing signs of racing talent the moment she began her gallops. Today would be their first time picking up the speed.
He moved to the stall, slipped the rope halter on over her delicately shaped head and grinned when the filly chest-butted her way through the wooden door. Patience was not within Prima Donna's forte. The filly shook like a big dog when she stepped into the main hall of the breezy barn, wisps of hay fell from her mane and body. She yawned hugely, eyes rolling in pure contentment and flicked her black tail. Justin ran a hand down her sleek nearly blood bay neck, grinning. Dazzling Dame was his lady and Prima was his princess. She sidestepped, eyes flashing with her usual defiance. Prima was a character alright. She loved affection at some moments and then hated it with a passion the next.
Maggie and Justin set to grooming their mounts, not backing off when either filly decided to turn into a monster. Para pinned her ears the whole time, angry eyes rolling constantly. However, she didn't move, simply stood with grumpy practically stamped across her forehead. Prima danced like a ballerina between her cross-ties and it was nearly funny the way Justin danced around her. They looked like partners in a very dangerous dance. Prima would flash her teeth every time reached under her girth and her tail would swing, but she never turned to deal a punishing blow. She knew the rules around Witch Creek. Her mama, Royal Assault, had taught her well.
They stepped outside of the barn all tacked up and polished. The horses lifted their heads, eyes sweeping the land as a breeze came to play with their black manes. Prima Donna and Paranormal Hunter were very different in their body types, but both of them had a look in their eyes that screamed "RACEHORSE." The riders mounted up quickly, eyes brightening dramatically. They loved the exercise almost as much as the horses. They began to walk toward the track when Ripley stepped out of the stallion barn aboard DW Flamekissed. The bay stud called lovingly to the fillies, but did nothing but trot in the other direction. Ripley would meet them in a roundabout way at the turf track. Her studs needed to get their exercise as well.
Prima and Para moved into a trot. Para's was a little more slow and without effort. She simply hated to work. Maggie posted up and down lightly, finding it hard to settle in with the half-hearted stride. Prima Donna stretched herself out enthusiastically, knees lifting high, tail swinging over her rump. She was loaded with energy and she danced on her toes like the ballerina she was. Justin moved easily aboard the filly. Prima did not need any encouragement whatsoever. She was downright incredible in movement. She didn't even have to try to impress. Attention was attracted to her like flies to honey. Her beautiful legs covered the ground with strength and fluidity. She didn't even have to try.
Maggie nudged Paranormal Hunter forward a little, receiving a good whack from a sharp tail between her shoulder blades. Para did not step out any quicker as they drew closer to the rolling turf track. She watched Prima Donna trot away without a care in the world. Competition was not a problem here. Maggie shook her head, gritting her teeth in frustration. This filly would be an absolute cow to train when she was a mare if Maggie didn't figure her out. Justin was ahead of them by about fifty yards, Prima dancing on her toes and still swallowing the turf like it was her day job.
Justin flicked the reins from hand to hand, dark eyes darkening briefly. It was time to get her moving. He leaned forward, loosened his hands and signaled for the filly to canter-gallop. Prima's ears shot straight up and down, her body tensed and with a swift kick, the bay filly shot forward. Prepared, Justin simply leaned into the rushing movement. He let her settle into stride, careful not to urge her any faster or take her up when it wasn't necessary. Prima Donna stretched her athletic greyhound body out, eyes firing up with eagerness. But she settled down, relaxed and briefly collected herself. The hill was coming closer and this was her first workout.
Para's ears were lost in her wild Medusa curls and her body was stiffening with every sign of urging that Maggie gave her. She just wasn't interested in doing what her human wanted today. Prima was galloping gracefully over the turf and Para was slothing it a ways back. Maggie shook her head and stopped the urging. The filly simply was not going to cooperate. Her bulldog frame was hard to work with and though the intelligence screamed in her eyes that shew knew what Maggie wanted, Para did not budge an inch. Maggie let the filly to a flat walk, regretting latching on to the grumpy Flash Limit's filly.
Justin slowed Prima down to a light jog as they drew up to the base of the turf hills. He glanced back to see Paranormal Hunter hoofing it their way, but not very quickly. Maggie was done asking for her to move and Para was not in any hurry. Justin circled Prima Donna in tight circles, keeping her legs loose and limber. This was good. It would prepare her for any delays at the start of a race. Sluggish horses would ultimately slow down the process of gating anyway. He glanced back up, narrowing his gaze when Para's head flew up quite suddenly.
Maggie pulled back just in time to avoid getting clocked in the face and found herself scrabbling to grip Para's mane as she lurched forward. Her hulking form went from zero to forty in no time. Her stride extended out magnificently and her body leveled low to the ground. Her hooves beat wildly as she charged toward the hillside. Maggie leaned close, squinting against the chilly spring wind. Para could move when she wanted to and Maggie had to remember that it had to be Para's idea in the beginning. They galloped quickly to meet up with Prima who was dancing like a stallion in her little circle's. Her ears were like little towers above her angled head. She'd been eyeing Para for sometime now. And her she was, a worthy competitor.
Justin leaned forward, bracing for the moment that Para suddenly became level with them. He counted strides and then released Prima. The bay athlete rocketed up the hillside, muscles going from relaxed to full tension. She pushed mightily off of the turf and launched up the grass, trying to speed up to keep Paranormal Hunter at bay. The pair galloped with unconcealed strength, tackling their first ever hillside together. Para's ears were still locked back in her mane while Prima's were pricked and indicative of lack of effort. Justin was relaxed, Maggie was trying to be.
They reached the level in the top of the hill and Para began to settle back. Her stride became looser and more controlled and she wasn't trying to steamroll her partner in crime any longer. Maggie leaned back, breathing coming easily. This freight train of a filly had a strong turn of foot. There was no doubt about it. But now that she was settled, Maggie could really appreciate the power that moved the bay filly. She wasn't wild or sluggish at the moment. She was focused and listening, not quite tuned to Prima Donna's every move. She would snap to it the moment Maggie focused. She'd done so in every gallop they'd had since November last year.
Prima begged to be let out, to sprint Paranormal Hunter off of her feet. Both fillies were quick, but Prima just had this kick that made you take notice of her. Her muscles were oiled up and her hide was warming. She loved to workout and wanted to beat Para desperately. Competitive fire was not a problem with Prima. It boiled beneath the surface. She gradually settled under Justin's gentle command, doing as she would in a race. Her neck leveled out, her movements became more efficient as they tackled three more hills together. She did not rush in the valleys like some horses did and took care to be precise with her hooves.
Paranormal Hunter was more thunderous and heavy in her movement, but she was in control of herself. She snorted softly and still had her grumpiness on full display. Maggie was quiet, breathing in and out as they galloped through the warm up. A mile and a quarter was all it took to get the horses warmed and ready. Ripley would be waiting at the three furlong field. She would catch the breeze between Prima and Para and would most likely be impressed with what she saw. The turf fillies were extremely efficient movers. It was something to be proud of in horses so young. It indicated good things for the two year old and three year old classics.
The pair rushed up the final hill, becoming more willful in the grabbing of their bits. They wanted to go right now. Maggie and Justin bided their time, hoping the fillies wouldn't just decide to take off without command. The crest arrived and the gentlest hill on the circuit met them. Green stretched before them and it practically begged the horses to gallop over it. Maggie grinned as Prima stormed down the hill, her strides flying and fluid, her eyes bright and eager. Para was slower to go, falling two lengths behind her more eager stablemate. Her breath was flying in and out of her nostrils, her only sign of eagerness at the moment.
Prima touched down at the base of the hill and leaped like a cougar, flying over the spongy turf. Justin barely moved. He didn't breathe. Para was moving fantastically and she was still NOT trying. He shook his head as she charged across the field. All on her own and not even at her best speed. His hands remained quiet. They certainly did not ask for more otherwise that would defeat the purpose of the breeze.
Para lumbered along, ears pricking up for the first time. Maggie was waiting to time the rush and for the first time Paranormal Hunter was listening. The dark bay filly had settled back for her and now she was ready to roll. A furlong passed by and that was when Maggie dropped her reins. Para dropped down into second gear the moment the reins were released. Her dark body suddenly lurched forward, legs instantly expanding to their fullest, chest taking in the last of the air necessary to complete this rush. She swallowed the ground up emphatically, making up two then three then four lengths on Prima Donna. Her head was level with the other filly's haunches, her eyes becoming fiercer. Prima's ears flicked back, eyes blazing with dislike. She thought she had buried her rival.
The angular filly's head jolted forward, angling up when she found no slack in the reins. Justin gritted his teeth. Poor gal. He wanted to run just as much as she did, to test the competitive fires, but it wasn't meant to be today. The third furlong passed with both fillies dying for more ground and more speed. Ripley's smile was huge as the pair canter-galloped up and over the last hill. That had been one of the best workouts she'd seen from a two year old pair. She patted DW Flamekissed's curled neck, reining the stallion in when he attempted to bolt after them. He had not forgotten his racing days. Sorry boss. It's time for a new group to reign.
What do you think about her? Brooks asked softly. Malcolm cocked an eyebrow, unsure if Brooks was speaking of Maggie or a horse. The blue eyed man followed the blonde's gaze and noted the fiery mare charging around the pen. Whipped Cream, daughter of Whippet and half-sister to Flawed Princess. There was no calm in that mare. She was all fire and rage and temper. She'd come in with Amira and had yet to settle down. Her gallops had been choppy and she seemed to get along with no particular rider. But Ripley wasn't going to give up on a mare that she'd had her eye on for half a year now. Whipped Cream was not beyond reach. They simply had to find the key that unlocked the door before it shattered. She needs a rider Brooks. No doubt about it. She's the type who doesn't like switching barns. She's been off her feed because of all the excitement. Brooks nodded in agreement and worry. Whipped Cream would have to get a new rider and quick.
What about Laura? Both men startled and looked up to find Flawed Princess nearly standing on top of them. She needs a horse to ride. And she knows how to ride. Just because she has refused so far doesn't mean I can't talk her into it. Laura is the only one that hasn't ridden Rea. I'll talk to Ripley. Malcolm stared at the woman as she leaped gracefully from the back of her horse. She landed softly, smiled at both of them and then guided Amira around when neither moved. Malcolm turned to watch her hips swing, but a clearing of the throat from Brooks had the man turning to meet the eyes of a guard dog. Don't go after her unless you want to be fired.
Maggie turned sharply, eyeing Brooks. Why would Ripley fire me? Malcolm and Brooks laughed together, a tense laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. Maggie glared at them, shook her head and tuned them out. Men. Malcolm walked out of the barn, hands in his pockets. He had yearlings to take care of and no time for women with baggage. So he told himself anyway. Brooks watched him go with protective blue eyes, but switched his gaze back to Maggie. Para and Prima are next. Ripley wants a mile and a quarter gallop with a three furlong breeze. They're farther along than Moose and Siri. I'll get Justin from the house. Maggie nodded, watched the man leave. Connor stepped out of the tack rooms, arms layered with pads, saddles and a pair of bridles. The boy was efficient that was for sure. He settled the polished tack on the racks outside of Paranormal Hunter and Prima Donna's stalls. He walked over to Amira, stroked her blazed face. I'll take care of this lady for you. You can deal with the wild ones.
Maggie smiled, watched Flawed Princess walk out of the barn for her bath. She was a real good mare. Time would tell. Maggie rolled her shoulders and turned to the stall to her right. Paranormal Hunter, daughter of Flash Limit's, stared back with the most critical eyes that could possibly belong to an equine. Her ears were turned to the sides as if she weren't sure if she was going to be mean to Maggie or welcome her. Para was the head honcho in the two year old ranks, the top Gorgon, Medusa herself. She had a don't-mess-with-me attitude that could be backed up with her freight train body. Weighing in at 1,150 pounds, Para was no feather weight. She was the bulkiest filly that Maggie had seen and most of it came from her eating. She had to wear a grass muzzle out in the paddock and was given the least amount of grain out of all of the horses at Witch Creek. However, the weight didn't hamper her in a workout and most likely would not impact her race running either.
Para pinned her ears at the examination, baring her teeth and glaring into the shadows of her stall. Paranormal Hunter was the heftiest two year old and the most grumpy. Luckily, what she lacked in personality she made up for in her swift closing talent. Maggie could not wait for the filly to hit the track. Paranormal Hunter had talent to show and her debut would be one of Maggie's most anticipated mount debuts yet. The blonde stepped up to the filly, meeting her defiant gaze. You're going to work whether or not you want to. Might as well give in. Para lifted her long head, ears pinned in her mane. She was a fierce one, but Maggie wasn't phased. I've worked with horses like Touch Up my dear. You will not be a problem. The filly snorted, backing when Maggie invaded the stall with a light rope halter.
Justin grinned as he bounded into the barn. Maggie's voice had carried from the barn all the way to Ripley's stone house. The woman was a riot, pure and simple. He ran a hand across his forehead, dark eyes brightening when his future star turf filly stretched her head and neck over the stall door. Her angular features latched right on to him, Arab ears pricked with such curiosity Justin could not help but smile. Where Para was round, Prima Donna was absolutely lean. The bay miss was an absolute stunner with exotic features for a thoroughbred. She knew it and her arrogance was reflected from her whiskers to her eyes. She was an athlete even in the beginning of her two year old training and had been showing signs of racing talent the moment she began her gallops. Today would be their first time picking up the speed.
He moved to the stall, slipped the rope halter on over her delicately shaped head and grinned when the filly chest-butted her way through the wooden door. Patience was not within Prima Donna's forte. The filly shook like a big dog when she stepped into the main hall of the breezy barn, wisps of hay fell from her mane and body. She yawned hugely, eyes rolling in pure contentment and flicked her black tail. Justin ran a hand down her sleek nearly blood bay neck, grinning. Dazzling Dame was his lady and Prima was his princess. She sidestepped, eyes flashing with her usual defiance. Prima was a character alright. She loved affection at some moments and then hated it with a passion the next.
Maggie and Justin set to grooming their mounts, not backing off when either filly decided to turn into a monster. Para pinned her ears the whole time, angry eyes rolling constantly. However, she didn't move, simply stood with grumpy practically stamped across her forehead. Prima danced like a ballerina between her cross-ties and it was nearly funny the way Justin danced around her. They looked like partners in a very dangerous dance. Prima would flash her teeth every time reached under her girth and her tail would swing, but she never turned to deal a punishing blow. She knew the rules around Witch Creek. Her mama, Royal Assault, had taught her well.
They stepped outside of the barn all tacked up and polished. The horses lifted their heads, eyes sweeping the land as a breeze came to play with their black manes. Prima Donna and Paranormal Hunter were very different in their body types, but both of them had a look in their eyes that screamed "RACEHORSE." The riders mounted up quickly, eyes brightening dramatically. They loved the exercise almost as much as the horses. They began to walk toward the track when Ripley stepped out of the stallion barn aboard DW Flamekissed. The bay stud called lovingly to the fillies, but did nothing but trot in the other direction. Ripley would meet them in a roundabout way at the turf track. Her studs needed to get their exercise as well.
Prima and Para moved into a trot. Para's was a little more slow and without effort. She simply hated to work. Maggie posted up and down lightly, finding it hard to settle in with the half-hearted stride. Prima Donna stretched herself out enthusiastically, knees lifting high, tail swinging over her rump. She was loaded with energy and she danced on her toes like the ballerina she was. Justin moved easily aboard the filly. Prima did not need any encouragement whatsoever. She was downright incredible in movement. She didn't even have to try to impress. Attention was attracted to her like flies to honey. Her beautiful legs covered the ground with strength and fluidity. She didn't even have to try.
Maggie nudged Paranormal Hunter forward a little, receiving a good whack from a sharp tail between her shoulder blades. Para did not step out any quicker as they drew closer to the rolling turf track. She watched Prima Donna trot away without a care in the world. Competition was not a problem here. Maggie shook her head, gritting her teeth in frustration. This filly would be an absolute cow to train when she was a mare if Maggie didn't figure her out. Justin was ahead of them by about fifty yards, Prima dancing on her toes and still swallowing the turf like it was her day job.
Justin flicked the reins from hand to hand, dark eyes darkening briefly. It was time to get her moving. He leaned forward, loosened his hands and signaled for the filly to canter-gallop. Prima's ears shot straight up and down, her body tensed and with a swift kick, the bay filly shot forward. Prepared, Justin simply leaned into the rushing movement. He let her settle into stride, careful not to urge her any faster or take her up when it wasn't necessary. Prima Donna stretched her athletic greyhound body out, eyes firing up with eagerness. But she settled down, relaxed and briefly collected herself. The hill was coming closer and this was her first workout.
Para's ears were lost in her wild Medusa curls and her body was stiffening with every sign of urging that Maggie gave her. She just wasn't interested in doing what her human wanted today. Prima was galloping gracefully over the turf and Para was slothing it a ways back. Maggie shook her head and stopped the urging. The filly simply was not going to cooperate. Her bulldog frame was hard to work with and though the intelligence screamed in her eyes that shew knew what Maggie wanted, Para did not budge an inch. Maggie let the filly to a flat walk, regretting latching on to the grumpy Flash Limit's filly.
Justin slowed Prima down to a light jog as they drew up to the base of the turf hills. He glanced back to see Paranormal Hunter hoofing it their way, but not very quickly. Maggie was done asking for her to move and Para was not in any hurry. Justin circled Prima Donna in tight circles, keeping her legs loose and limber. This was good. It would prepare her for any delays at the start of a race. Sluggish horses would ultimately slow down the process of gating anyway. He glanced back up, narrowing his gaze when Para's head flew up quite suddenly.
Maggie pulled back just in time to avoid getting clocked in the face and found herself scrabbling to grip Para's mane as she lurched forward. Her hulking form went from zero to forty in no time. Her stride extended out magnificently and her body leveled low to the ground. Her hooves beat wildly as she charged toward the hillside. Maggie leaned close, squinting against the chilly spring wind. Para could move when she wanted to and Maggie had to remember that it had to be Para's idea in the beginning. They galloped quickly to meet up with Prima who was dancing like a stallion in her little circle's. Her ears were like little towers above her angled head. She'd been eyeing Para for sometime now. And her she was, a worthy competitor.
Justin leaned forward, bracing for the moment that Para suddenly became level with them. He counted strides and then released Prima. The bay athlete rocketed up the hillside, muscles going from relaxed to full tension. She pushed mightily off of the turf and launched up the grass, trying to speed up to keep Paranormal Hunter at bay. The pair galloped with unconcealed strength, tackling their first ever hillside together. Para's ears were still locked back in her mane while Prima's were pricked and indicative of lack of effort. Justin was relaxed, Maggie was trying to be.
They reached the level in the top of the hill and Para began to settle back. Her stride became looser and more controlled and she wasn't trying to steamroll her partner in crime any longer. Maggie leaned back, breathing coming easily. This freight train of a filly had a strong turn of foot. There was no doubt about it. But now that she was settled, Maggie could really appreciate the power that moved the bay filly. She wasn't wild or sluggish at the moment. She was focused and listening, not quite tuned to Prima Donna's every move. She would snap to it the moment Maggie focused. She'd done so in every gallop they'd had since November last year.
Prima begged to be let out, to sprint Paranormal Hunter off of her feet. Both fillies were quick, but Prima just had this kick that made you take notice of her. Her muscles were oiled up and her hide was warming. She loved to workout and wanted to beat Para desperately. Competitive fire was not a problem with Prima. It boiled beneath the surface. She gradually settled under Justin's gentle command, doing as she would in a race. Her neck leveled out, her movements became more efficient as they tackled three more hills together. She did not rush in the valleys like some horses did and took care to be precise with her hooves.
Paranormal Hunter was more thunderous and heavy in her movement, but she was in control of herself. She snorted softly and still had her grumpiness on full display. Maggie was quiet, breathing in and out as they galloped through the warm up. A mile and a quarter was all it took to get the horses warmed and ready. Ripley would be waiting at the three furlong field. She would catch the breeze between Prima and Para and would most likely be impressed with what she saw. The turf fillies were extremely efficient movers. It was something to be proud of in horses so young. It indicated good things for the two year old and three year old classics.
The pair rushed up the final hill, becoming more willful in the grabbing of their bits. They wanted to go right now. Maggie and Justin bided their time, hoping the fillies wouldn't just decide to take off without command. The crest arrived and the gentlest hill on the circuit met them. Green stretched before them and it practically begged the horses to gallop over it. Maggie grinned as Prima stormed down the hill, her strides flying and fluid, her eyes bright and eager. Para was slower to go, falling two lengths behind her more eager stablemate. Her breath was flying in and out of her nostrils, her only sign of eagerness at the moment.
Prima touched down at the base of the hill and leaped like a cougar, flying over the spongy turf. Justin barely moved. He didn't breathe. Para was moving fantastically and she was still NOT trying. He shook his head as she charged across the field. All on her own and not even at her best speed. His hands remained quiet. They certainly did not ask for more otherwise that would defeat the purpose of the breeze.
Para lumbered along, ears pricking up for the first time. Maggie was waiting to time the rush and for the first time Paranormal Hunter was listening. The dark bay filly had settled back for her and now she was ready to roll. A furlong passed by and that was when Maggie dropped her reins. Para dropped down into second gear the moment the reins were released. Her dark body suddenly lurched forward, legs instantly expanding to their fullest, chest taking in the last of the air necessary to complete this rush. She swallowed the ground up emphatically, making up two then three then four lengths on Prima Donna. Her head was level with the other filly's haunches, her eyes becoming fiercer. Prima's ears flicked back, eyes blazing with dislike. She thought she had buried her rival.
The angular filly's head jolted forward, angling up when she found no slack in the reins. Justin gritted his teeth. Poor gal. He wanted to run just as much as she did, to test the competitive fires, but it wasn't meant to be today. The third furlong passed with both fillies dying for more ground and more speed. Ripley's smile was huge as the pair canter-galloped up and over the last hill. That had been one of the best workouts she'd seen from a two year old pair. She patted DW Flamekissed's curled neck, reining the stallion in when he attempted to bolt after them. He had not forgotten his racing days. Sorry boss. It's time for a new group to reign.
naturally flashy
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Reese and Brooks rolled their shoulders as they stepped back into the barn and out of the chilly spring air. Van Guard and Red Herring were romping about in the outside paddocks beneath the watchful eye of Connor, Justin's brother, and Clint, Brooks' uncle. It was the first time they had been released since the fall. Winter restriction had been in place for quite sometime with only exercise on the track for the colts. The winter had been especially bitter and had broken Ripley's policy of letting horses be horses right into. Their thin coats had been simply too light to allow them to go out, even with the addition of blankets.
Reese brushed a hand over her caramel cheek, noting the dryness with a look of disgust. United State's winters were not making her miss her home in South America at all. She glared irritably, forcibly returning her hand to her side and walked to the filly in the second pair of cross-ties. Supernatural, daughter of Dylan Himself, stood at full attention between the cross-ties. Her silver white body gleamed and her mixed-gray mane settled softly around her light face. Siri was a looker and the class beauty. Her body was becoming finer with all of her recent workouts and her excitable attitude was calming down minutely with more exercise. Reese stroked the filly's satin neck, pleased that her mount was at least soft and in prime condition. The lean filly playfully nosed Reese's coat pocket, eyes bright with joy and contentment. She was easily the most expressive horse in the barn. And very well liked.
But she wasn't the only well liked two year old in this bunch. Brooks wrapped Flashpoint's dark brown legs up in blue bandages, noting the power within his legs. Flashpoint, the son of Flash Limits, a true half to grade three Fiery Touch, leaned down with eyes so soft that it could melt even the coldest heart. He watched Brooks with kind, searching eyes and begged for attention. His rider looked up, cocking an eyebrow at him. Moose was something else. The handsome bay colt had a wonderful disposition and really got along with any human he met. The kindness did not necessarily extend to his crop mates. He wasn't a big fan of Prima Donna, but he still remained at the top of the class. He was ready for more work on the track and this would be his first breeze before his race expected start February Week One. The dark colt had been turning in gallops that were beyond expectations and was giving signs of being ready to run. Breezes would be given out in order to keep everyone on their toes until their first start. Ripley did not want to face the early onslaught of two year olds that would be running in January Week One and January Week Two.
Reese adjusted the filly's tack, tightening the girth and then went to run a finger down her face. Siri was a kind-hearted filly with the attitude of a champ. Similar to Flashpoint, Siri had become much more focused in her workouts. The white-gray filly had zigzagged like a rabbit in her first gallops, but now she was running straighter and getting the hang of her lead changes. Her first start would be in January Week Three in the Coming Home Maiden. She was throwing signs that she would need to be entered in races in order to truly begin to grasp the concept of running. Reese was excited for the filly's first start, positive that Siri had more talent than the staff was giving her credit for. While she was not outwardly impressive like Hourglass, Flashpoint or Alucard, no horse had the kind of internal fraction capabilities like Siri. She was clocked in every gallop and every furlong in those gallop was clocked nearly a second faster. She just didn't seem to get tired. It was actually quite bewildering.
Ripley stepped into the barn, tucking her hands into her pockets. Justin and Maggie walked in behind her, eyes bright with shock from the cold. She lifted her eyebrows at them when they dove into the barn with exaggeration. Their pair, Para and Prima, would be the next set of horses to go out. She'd managed to coax them out of Reese's apartment with promises of her grandma's secret hot chocolate recipe at the staff meeting later on. Of course it had worked. She looked over Moose and Siri, noted their readiness and their muscles. They were fabulous looking two year olds. All of them were honestly. She couldn't remember being in possession of such an even group of two year olds before. Today would be everyone's first breeze and she looked forward to it immensely. The auburn haired woman smiled. Good thing we're all here. I won't have to speak twice. This is just a breeze, okay? I'm hoping to fit in a workout for Supernatural and Prima Donna before January Week Three. If they don't have it, it's really not that big a deal. We're not breaking them out early like we did last year. We want them to last, particularly Prima. I want a controlled racing gallop. We all know what it feels like. No sprints please. Think preservation and the Breeders Cup at the end of Year Thirteen. Everyone let out a soft laugh. Without realizing it, everyone's eyes turned toward a single stall at the end of the row. It held the bay filly, Indian Darling, who had been electrifying in all of her recent workouts. An injury had ended her two year old career early causing her to miss the Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies. It was one of Ripley's top regrets when it came to handling her horses.
Reese and Brooks broke away from the rest of the humans and joined their mounts. Siri's muscles tightened up excitedly, her eyes brightening. She knew what tack and Reese meant. It meant the opportunity to gallop. Brooks swung the ever focused Flashpoint around and casually walked the prancing colt out of the barn. Moose carried himself with his neck bowed and his knees lifting high. He was an arrogant son of a gun for a colt with one-sided top notch breeding. But his arrogance was easily dealt with. Not like some horses Brooks had met in his lifetime. The man swung aboard the muscled two year old, appreciating the fire that licked just beneath the colt's skin. Moose dipped his head as he walked casually to the track, stretching out and acting as if he was awaking from a slumber.
Siri whinnied longingly after Flashpoint, dancing in place quite violently. Ripley stepped up to hold her light colored head, nodding to Reese to mount. The woman leaped aboard her parade animal and grinned down at her boss. Ripley's green eyes reflected irritation at Siri's antics, but beneath the irritation was the love of a horsewoman. There was just no resisting the playful, dramatic daughter of Dylan Himself. Reese stroked the filly's tense neck as she pace-walked after her more controlled stable mate. She had the energy of a two year old toddler. Siri tossed her head, finally managed to rid her head of Ripley's hand and bolted away. Reese grinned back at Ripley when the filly cantered right to Flashpoint. The bay colt dipped his head and analyzed Siri with cautious eyes. He glanced back down the track at Ripley's solo figure, paused and then flicked his tail. He turned away with a calm air of dismissal and waited for the signal from Brooks.
The male rider shook his head, blue eyes lit up with intrigue. Moose was something else that was for sure. Brooks nodded to Reese before nudging his mount into a controllable canter-gallop. Moose stretched out his neck, moving with power and force. The blond rider merely perched above the colt's withers, content as can be with the pace. Siri, however, was not. The light colored filly bolted from her stand still into a quick silver gallop. Her lean figure covered tremendous ground and she looked like the figurative greyhound. Reese stood in the stirrups, fingers light on the reins. Siri was full of herself as was her given right. The caramel colored woman was merely along for the ride.
The wind played with the riders' hair under the helmets, creating a whipping roar in their ears. Moose and Siri covered the ground easily. Siri had settled a little, but she still maintained a nose advantage. Her strides were longer than Moose who was more in control of his compact body. The pair galloped comfortably down the backstretch, ears bobbing up and down over their heads. Moose was a little more focused on Supernatural than the filly was on him. Neither really had an interest in being competitive. It was something that came later when the real running occurred. And frankly, Reese was happy with that. A two year old maiden that was uber competitive in the beginning could be a danger to their humans.
Siri danced over the ground, her strides flowing and classic. It was like floating on a cloud. A cloud with ADD that is. The Dylan Himself gal tossed her head, ears flicking back and forth with curiosity. She twisted a little to note the activity along the backstretch. A very pregnant El Sol del Mar, Glorious Storm and The Devil's Touch were being led to their paddocks. The Devil would give birth to a SOPS colt or filly at Witch Creek. Ripley hadn't felt safe enough leaving the temperamental mare in the hands of people who couldn't read her body language to the fullest. Reese tapped the reins against Siri's neck, drawing her attention away from the interesting trio. In response, Siri put on a burst of speed to be in front of Flashpoint. Reese held her quiet and down, easing her back down from rank to calm. She was a quick little minx though usually she ran with a gradual increase of speed.
Brooks admired the level-headedness of the Flash Limit's colt. It hadn't been something he'd expected to come with the colt. But Moose remained quiet and compact even when Siri burst ahead of him. Her firecracker nature did not infect him in any sort of way and Brooks could not have been more pleased. He appreciated level-headed horses almost as much as Ripley appreciated her hot-headed monsters. Brooks patted the colt's neck as they journeyed into the far turn. Moose's ears pinned back for a split-second, gauging his rider. A calm word and the colt was traveling confidently around the turn. He stayed close to rail, cornering nicely because of his overall compact frame.
Supernatural wheeled out into the two path, her lean, long-legged body carried by centrifugal force. Reese leaned close to her neck, trying to stay as balanced with the filly as possible. Siri was a gangly thing, but she was impressive. She snapped up her correct lead going into the homestretch, remembering the game they'd had to play in order for her to learn. Her ears bobbed, looking for praise. Reese stroked her finger's through her mane, smiling. This filly was an absolute charm to ride and be apart of.
Flashpoint and Siri was level now thanks to the gray filly's loss of ground. The compact colt had his ears locked on her, eyes widening to saucers. He was definitely interested. Brooks could feel the tension rising beneath him. The confident colt had a lion hiding in those veins of his. Siri was still playing alongside of Moose, not at all competitive with him. She didn't notice his intensity. It wasn't in her nature just yet. Reese, however, did. She tapped the rein's and drew Siri's mind back. If Siri didn't take note of the competition, she would simply have to be more aware of her rider.
The pair cranked it up a little down the homestretch, strides reaching for more ground. The pair were well in control and their riders didn't have to move in order to get the increase in speed. Moose was stretching his frame out, becoming more comfortable with the track and less with Siri. The thin filly played alongside him and he was quickly becoming irritated with her antics. Reese and Brooks remained quiet, letting the drama play out between their horses. Or with only Moose. Siri could have cared less what her partner was doing at the moment.
They traveled into the far turn, their speed increasing gradually. Moose was becoming frustrated with Siri's never ending presence. The gray filly stuck to him like a burr. No matter the pace he implemented, Siri just would not fade. Brooks kept contact with the bay colt's mouth, feeling the fire making itself known. This colt would be a blast to ride in the future. He just knew the game in a way that most two year olds took a while to even grasp. Flashpoint cornered sharply again, legs blurring beneath his body. He was moving quicker now, but still controlled. Just as Ripley wanted. The bay son of Flash Limit's lowered his head and body, simply cruising over the track he'd been galloping over.
Supernatural flew alongside of him, her more graceful side coming to life. Reese perched lightly over her wither's, a smile touching her lips. Moose was running like a born-racer, but Siri was merely playing just yet. Her ears were flicking about, but she was still able to keep up with the more intense pace. She galloped with her head turned toward Flash, eyes dancing. She was finally becoming aware of the Flash Limit's colt's irritation. And if Reese was correct, Siri was mocking him now. Flashpoint snorted violently, ears pinning as they charged up the stretch.
The two year olds covered plenty of ground in a short span of time, impressing Ripley with the ease of their movement in proportion to their speed. Neither of them looked tired as they headed back into the far turn. She smiled. Both of them were beautiful movers. She looked down at her watch as Moose demonstrated his affinity for the turns and Siri demonstrated her dancing gait. Rock-solid time for a breeze. She wrote it down on her pad, noted the dates for their first races. A workout would not be necessary if they kept breezing like this. Her green eyes followed them as they galloped through the wire one last time. The riders stood up, patted the necks of their mounts with wide grins on their faces. The horses snorted eagerly, eyes bright. They were nearly ready to take on their first challenges. All that was left was the race itself.
Reese brushed a hand over her caramel cheek, noting the dryness with a look of disgust. United State's winters were not making her miss her home in South America at all. She glared irritably, forcibly returning her hand to her side and walked to the filly in the second pair of cross-ties. Supernatural, daughter of Dylan Himself, stood at full attention between the cross-ties. Her silver white body gleamed and her mixed-gray mane settled softly around her light face. Siri was a looker and the class beauty. Her body was becoming finer with all of her recent workouts and her excitable attitude was calming down minutely with more exercise. Reese stroked the filly's satin neck, pleased that her mount was at least soft and in prime condition. The lean filly playfully nosed Reese's coat pocket, eyes bright with joy and contentment. She was easily the most expressive horse in the barn. And very well liked.
But she wasn't the only well liked two year old in this bunch. Brooks wrapped Flashpoint's dark brown legs up in blue bandages, noting the power within his legs. Flashpoint, the son of Flash Limits, a true half to grade three Fiery Touch, leaned down with eyes so soft that it could melt even the coldest heart. He watched Brooks with kind, searching eyes and begged for attention. His rider looked up, cocking an eyebrow at him. Moose was something else. The handsome bay colt had a wonderful disposition and really got along with any human he met. The kindness did not necessarily extend to his crop mates. He wasn't a big fan of Prima Donna, but he still remained at the top of the class. He was ready for more work on the track and this would be his first breeze before his race expected start February Week One. The dark colt had been turning in gallops that were beyond expectations and was giving signs of being ready to run. Breezes would be given out in order to keep everyone on their toes until their first start. Ripley did not want to face the early onslaught of two year olds that would be running in January Week One and January Week Two.
Reese adjusted the filly's tack, tightening the girth and then went to run a finger down her face. Siri was a kind-hearted filly with the attitude of a champ. Similar to Flashpoint, Siri had become much more focused in her workouts. The white-gray filly had zigzagged like a rabbit in her first gallops, but now she was running straighter and getting the hang of her lead changes. Her first start would be in January Week Three in the Coming Home Maiden. She was throwing signs that she would need to be entered in races in order to truly begin to grasp the concept of running. Reese was excited for the filly's first start, positive that Siri had more talent than the staff was giving her credit for. While she was not outwardly impressive like Hourglass, Flashpoint or Alucard, no horse had the kind of internal fraction capabilities like Siri. She was clocked in every gallop and every furlong in those gallop was clocked nearly a second faster. She just didn't seem to get tired. It was actually quite bewildering.
Ripley stepped into the barn, tucking her hands into her pockets. Justin and Maggie walked in behind her, eyes bright with shock from the cold. She lifted her eyebrows at them when they dove into the barn with exaggeration. Their pair, Para and Prima, would be the next set of horses to go out. She'd managed to coax them out of Reese's apartment with promises of her grandma's secret hot chocolate recipe at the staff meeting later on. Of course it had worked. She looked over Moose and Siri, noted their readiness and their muscles. They were fabulous looking two year olds. All of them were honestly. She couldn't remember being in possession of such an even group of two year olds before. Today would be everyone's first breeze and she looked forward to it immensely. The auburn haired woman smiled. Good thing we're all here. I won't have to speak twice. This is just a breeze, okay? I'm hoping to fit in a workout for Supernatural and Prima Donna before January Week Three. If they don't have it, it's really not that big a deal. We're not breaking them out early like we did last year. We want them to last, particularly Prima. I want a controlled racing gallop. We all know what it feels like. No sprints please. Think preservation and the Breeders Cup at the end of Year Thirteen. Everyone let out a soft laugh. Without realizing it, everyone's eyes turned toward a single stall at the end of the row. It held the bay filly, Indian Darling, who had been electrifying in all of her recent workouts. An injury had ended her two year old career early causing her to miss the Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies. It was one of Ripley's top regrets when it came to handling her horses.
Reese and Brooks broke away from the rest of the humans and joined their mounts. Siri's muscles tightened up excitedly, her eyes brightening. She knew what tack and Reese meant. It meant the opportunity to gallop. Brooks swung the ever focused Flashpoint around and casually walked the prancing colt out of the barn. Moose carried himself with his neck bowed and his knees lifting high. He was an arrogant son of a gun for a colt with one-sided top notch breeding. But his arrogance was easily dealt with. Not like some horses Brooks had met in his lifetime. The man swung aboard the muscled two year old, appreciating the fire that licked just beneath the colt's skin. Moose dipped his head as he walked casually to the track, stretching out and acting as if he was awaking from a slumber.
Siri whinnied longingly after Flashpoint, dancing in place quite violently. Ripley stepped up to hold her light colored head, nodding to Reese to mount. The woman leaped aboard her parade animal and grinned down at her boss. Ripley's green eyes reflected irritation at Siri's antics, but beneath the irritation was the love of a horsewoman. There was just no resisting the playful, dramatic daughter of Dylan Himself. Reese stroked the filly's tense neck as she pace-walked after her more controlled stable mate. She had the energy of a two year old toddler. Siri tossed her head, finally managed to rid her head of Ripley's hand and bolted away. Reese grinned back at Ripley when the filly cantered right to Flashpoint. The bay colt dipped his head and analyzed Siri with cautious eyes. He glanced back down the track at Ripley's solo figure, paused and then flicked his tail. He turned away with a calm air of dismissal and waited for the signal from Brooks.
The male rider shook his head, blue eyes lit up with intrigue. Moose was something else that was for sure. Brooks nodded to Reese before nudging his mount into a controllable canter-gallop. Moose stretched out his neck, moving with power and force. The blond rider merely perched above the colt's withers, content as can be with the pace. Siri, however, was not. The light colored filly bolted from her stand still into a quick silver gallop. Her lean figure covered tremendous ground and she looked like the figurative greyhound. Reese stood in the stirrups, fingers light on the reins. Siri was full of herself as was her given right. The caramel colored woman was merely along for the ride.
The wind played with the riders' hair under the helmets, creating a whipping roar in their ears. Moose and Siri covered the ground easily. Siri had settled a little, but she still maintained a nose advantage. Her strides were longer than Moose who was more in control of his compact body. The pair galloped comfortably down the backstretch, ears bobbing up and down over their heads. Moose was a little more focused on Supernatural than the filly was on him. Neither really had an interest in being competitive. It was something that came later when the real running occurred. And frankly, Reese was happy with that. A two year old maiden that was uber competitive in the beginning could be a danger to their humans.
Siri danced over the ground, her strides flowing and classic. It was like floating on a cloud. A cloud with ADD that is. The Dylan Himself gal tossed her head, ears flicking back and forth with curiosity. She twisted a little to note the activity along the backstretch. A very pregnant El Sol del Mar, Glorious Storm and The Devil's Touch were being led to their paddocks. The Devil would give birth to a SOPS colt or filly at Witch Creek. Ripley hadn't felt safe enough leaving the temperamental mare in the hands of people who couldn't read her body language to the fullest. Reese tapped the reins against Siri's neck, drawing her attention away from the interesting trio. In response, Siri put on a burst of speed to be in front of Flashpoint. Reese held her quiet and down, easing her back down from rank to calm. She was a quick little minx though usually she ran with a gradual increase of speed.
Brooks admired the level-headedness of the Flash Limit's colt. It hadn't been something he'd expected to come with the colt. But Moose remained quiet and compact even when Siri burst ahead of him. Her firecracker nature did not infect him in any sort of way and Brooks could not have been more pleased. He appreciated level-headed horses almost as much as Ripley appreciated her hot-headed monsters. Brooks patted the colt's neck as they journeyed into the far turn. Moose's ears pinned back for a split-second, gauging his rider. A calm word and the colt was traveling confidently around the turn. He stayed close to rail, cornering nicely because of his overall compact frame.
Supernatural wheeled out into the two path, her lean, long-legged body carried by centrifugal force. Reese leaned close to her neck, trying to stay as balanced with the filly as possible. Siri was a gangly thing, but she was impressive. She snapped up her correct lead going into the homestretch, remembering the game they'd had to play in order for her to learn. Her ears bobbed, looking for praise. Reese stroked her finger's through her mane, smiling. This filly was an absolute charm to ride and be apart of.
Flashpoint and Siri was level now thanks to the gray filly's loss of ground. The compact colt had his ears locked on her, eyes widening to saucers. He was definitely interested. Brooks could feel the tension rising beneath him. The confident colt had a lion hiding in those veins of his. Siri was still playing alongside of Moose, not at all competitive with him. She didn't notice his intensity. It wasn't in her nature just yet. Reese, however, did. She tapped the rein's and drew Siri's mind back. If Siri didn't take note of the competition, she would simply have to be more aware of her rider.
The pair cranked it up a little down the homestretch, strides reaching for more ground. The pair were well in control and their riders didn't have to move in order to get the increase in speed. Moose was stretching his frame out, becoming more comfortable with the track and less with Siri. The thin filly played alongside him and he was quickly becoming irritated with her antics. Reese and Brooks remained quiet, letting the drama play out between their horses. Or with only Moose. Siri could have cared less what her partner was doing at the moment.
They traveled into the far turn, their speed increasing gradually. Moose was becoming frustrated with Siri's never ending presence. The gray filly stuck to him like a burr. No matter the pace he implemented, Siri just would not fade. Brooks kept contact with the bay colt's mouth, feeling the fire making itself known. This colt would be a blast to ride in the future. He just knew the game in a way that most two year olds took a while to even grasp. Flashpoint cornered sharply again, legs blurring beneath his body. He was moving quicker now, but still controlled. Just as Ripley wanted. The bay son of Flash Limit's lowered his head and body, simply cruising over the track he'd been galloping over.
Supernatural flew alongside of him, her more graceful side coming to life. Reese perched lightly over her wither's, a smile touching her lips. Moose was running like a born-racer, but Siri was merely playing just yet. Her ears were flicking about, but she was still able to keep up with the more intense pace. She galloped with her head turned toward Flash, eyes dancing. She was finally becoming aware of the Flash Limit's colt's irritation. And if Reese was correct, Siri was mocking him now. Flashpoint snorted violently, ears pinning as they charged up the stretch.
The two year olds covered plenty of ground in a short span of time, impressing Ripley with the ease of their movement in proportion to their speed. Neither of them looked tired as they headed back into the far turn. She smiled. Both of them were beautiful movers. She looked down at her watch as Moose demonstrated his affinity for the turns and Siri demonstrated her dancing gait. Rock-solid time for a breeze. She wrote it down on her pad, noted the dates for their first races. A workout would not be necessary if they kept breezing like this. Her green eyes followed them as they galloped through the wire one last time. The riders stood up, patted the necks of their mounts with wide grins on their faces. The horses snorted eagerly, eyes bright. They were nearly ready to take on their first challenges. All that was left was the race itself.
time is ticking
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley did not bother waiting around for Brooks and Maggie. She nudged DW Flamekissed into a gallop, feeling the strength blister beneath his darkened hide. His daughter Wild Kiss had proven that he was not a failure at stud. And his next three, out of grade one winners and a hall of famer, would do this as well. But most of the public lost its chance in getting a full with his bloodlines. They hadn't believed in him and they were going to pay the price. Ripley patted the stallion's neck. She'd believed in him, had named a high price for him. The stallion was amazing to say the least. She was proud to have had a hand in his development from his racing career to his stud career. She leaped from his back at the entrance to stallion barn and called for Connor. The boy she had known in the beginning of Year Twelve had grown into a man. His twenty year old frame exuded confidence and contentment. He had once hated Witch Creek, but now he loved it just as much as everyone else. He grinned at her, patted DW's face. Don't mind if I do. Ripley smiled, nodded at the strong stallion. You can take him for a trail ride since he's already tacked up.
Connor smiled excitedly at her and promptly led the Fire 'N' Ice stallion into the barn. He snorted, cast a look over his shoulder in exasperation. He'd thought he was done. Ripley smiled at the look, turned and sprinted for the barn. Excitement bubbled beneath her skin. Brooks had ridden his two year old mount already, formerly Ripley's. She was getting on his old mount and was beyond excited. The Devil's Touch, one of the most exciting fillies on the circuit during her day, had dropped a bomb for her first pregnancy. The bomb was double edged, sweet on once side and nearly as explosive as her dam on the other. She'd scared the daylights of out Brooks, but she wasn't scaring Ripley off quite yet. Her gallops had been impressive the last few days and her development had skyrocketed in the months that Ripley had taken over. Today would be her first breeze and today would be the start of a new dynasty.
The auburn haired woman burst into the stable, green eyes sweeping over the few stalls that were filled. Only two stalls were filled. One occupied by The Devil's Hourglass, mirror image of her mother, and the other Alucard, nearly as coveted for his popular lines as Hourglass. They would be the last pair to be worked today. The rest were either still on rest or had already gotten their morning exercise in. Maggie would be joining her for this workout. Ripley stepped up to Hourglass' stall, taking in the sweet-eyed before her. This filly was not made by feminine strength. She was made by male. Her body was burly, her legs thick, her head savage. She had strong haunches and a broad chest. She was all of her dam. She bowed her head, nickering enthusiastically in Ripley's direction. Her forelock bobbed over her star as she rapidly approached the stall door. It was like looking in a mirror dated seven years back. Ripley rubbed the filly's face, snagged her tongue when it forcefully escaped Hourglass' mouth. Her body was coated with dapples and she looked every inch the talented racehorse that she was destined to be.
Ripley guided the filly's head into a rope halter, smiling when Hourglass didn't even give any trouble. She'd been so much the trouble maker before. And now she was just a hot-headed banshee mess under saddle. Nothing Ripley hadn't handled before with The Devil's Touch. The woman lead Hourglass out of the stall, facing her, and admired the stocky frame. She appreciated these kinds of builds immensely. These ones promised strength and talent and the ability to remain stable over many years. She rubbed the filly's thick shoulder after guiding her between the cross-ties and set to work grooming her. Hourglass and most of Witch Creek's yearlings would be starting later in the season. Not quite late, but allowing time for other horses to break rank. Ripley had no doubt that her two year olds would be up to the first time out task, but the mad rush for races in the beginning just was not for Witch Creek this year. There were plenty of opportunities now that Green Horse Fields had expanded its calendar for the year.
Justin, Brooks and Maggie stepped into the barn. Prima and Para were still breathing excitedly, but not heavily. They had looked insanely impressive coming through the three furlong stretch. Ripley had big plans for her turf fillies in the coming years. None of them would fail to impress if Ripley had any say in it. She smiled at them over her shoulder while she picked out Hourglass' hooves. Maggie handed Paranormal Hunter's reins to Brooks who was promptly given snake eyes by the Flash Limit's filly. Maggie grinned, patted the grump's shoulder and walked to the stall containing Alucard. The bay colt was a sixteen point three hand mass of the chill factor. He had a savage head, short ears, and the coldest eyes you've ever seen on a horse. He had a deep chest, powerful sloping shoulders and the most beautiful backend. He was nothing short of impressive. Maggie felt the thud of her heart when she looked at this monster, the son of Finale Slew, dam of the powerful Crescential. He could match that black stallion in the looks department. Finale Slew was known for throwing lookers. Maggie stared into his cold eyes, wishing some sort of warmth would touch them. He was a quiet horse, patient and without any sort of energy in the stall. Annoyed with the quiet that surrounded him, Maggie immediately pulled him from the stall.
The large colt leaped sideways like a cat, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. His shoed hooves thudded sharply over the rubber mats and he nearly bumped into Hourglass' rear. Ripley moved the filly up before she decided to retaliate to what she considered an attack. Hourglass settled in her new set of cross-ties glaring evilly in the direction of her abuser. Alucard stood tall and proper in Hourglass' former set of cross-ties, icy gaze flickering over her frame without a glimmer of anger. Maggie shook her head, patted his shoulder and ignored the stiffness. The colt had been raised without any sort of affection and he should have been more stallion like than he was due to the lack of handling. He just wasn't. He didn't have it in his nature to be so openly irritable and hard to handle. He was more dangerous because of his nature.
The yearlings stood quietly in the cross-ties, the only noise the sound of brushing and creaking leather. The women were content to work in silence, though Hourglass was less than happy. She danced softly in the cross-ties and continually turned to Ripley for reassurance. It struck Ripley how different the filly was when she was under tack with a human aboard. So different that she could be another horse entirely. Ripley patted the filly's neck, admiring her beautiful qualities and ignoring the dangerous ones that would come later. Both of the horses in this set had a tendency to be dangerous. It would make things all the more interesting.
Even though Alu is going to be running on the dirt in his first race, I think he'll be best served running on the turf. He needs a good muscle build up and Hourglass will give it to him, along with the hills. Teach them both some patience. We've still got a while so most of his gallops after the breeze today will be on the dirt. He should be in fine shape- Maggie help a hand, eyebrows raised. Ripley, I don't need an explanation. You're the boss. Ripley sighed, patted Hourglass' shimmering neck. We work as a team Maggie. Especially now that I'm giving you a promotion.
Maggie's hands fell to her sides in shock. You're what? Ripley grinned at her stunned look. Giving you a promotion. Listen, I know you went through tough times last year, but you dragged yourself out of it. You made a champion out of a mare that shouldn't have been able to step back into training. You healed each other, even if the affection wasn't totally there. I'm putting you in charge of our older horse division. That means everyone: Fie, Freeze, Jabber, Amira, Ri and Rea are under your immediate care. You'll be training them. You'll still have to report to me and Brooks, but you have full say in what they do next. Handle their entries, vet care and transport. Basically, figure out the jockey situation and do the exercise. Maggie's grin went from shocked to tom-cat satisfied.
You mean it Ripley? The head trainer nodded, eyes rolling. I don't say things unless they mean something. Now as first recommendation for your newest projects: Ri and Rea, I want you to put Laura on one of them. She's got an attitude to match the mare and she's the only one of us who hasn't gotten on the mare. It says something when a horse bucks everyone off that gets on her. Laura may be the key. Maggie stared at Ripley who cocked an eyebrow. Yes?
Nothing I was just wondering when you developed mind-reading skills. Ripley laughed heartily, took Hourglass' reins in her hand and smiled. If I had I would have won the lottery right now and we'd be training for fun. Maggie smiled, forgot herself and patted Alu's neck. The bay colt flinched briefly, unaccustomed to such affection. Maggie shook her head, smile dimming considerably. At least they had a type of connection in the saddle.
The women led the horses out of the barn, eyes brightening when they saw that the sun had finally come out to play. It had been overcast all morning, but now everything green glowed like an emerald, chestnuts shone like ruby diamonds, blacks glowed with the essence of obsidian. Witch Creek was beautiful in the spring and even more so in early summer. Maggie sighed, I could never think of leaving this place. Ripley smiled, We wouldn't want you to.
Hourglass danced playfully beside Ripley, eyes glowing as enthusiastically as her human's. Ripley gathered the reins and stepped back. It was then that all happy emotion drained out of Hourglass. The dark bay filly pinned her ears and cocked a rear hoof. Her eyes darkened to pits of coal. She was not a nice filly when anyone went to mount and all of the pure love that had gone to Ripley before no longer was in existence. Ripley calmly spoke to the filly, noting the tension in her muscles and the way her ears slanted back. Her tail swished about sharply and she looked more the part of an angry wasp than a happy-go-lucky filly. Ripley did not delay any further and swung up into the saddle, making sure to land lightly in the saddle. She would have to expect this kind of mood change every time she rode. It was only sad because she expected it to be different, to feel a partnership and loyalty. But this was not The Devil's Touch. Hourglass was her own filly.
Maggie could feel the difference in the atmosphere when Ripley mounted up. She could feel the excitement coming in waves from Alucard. He still did not move, still remained as hard as stone, but his muscles were twitching, his nostrils were quivering with excitement. Maggie grinned, ran a light hand down his black mane and promptly leapt into the light racing saddle. Alucard bowed his neck, legs shifting in an immediate prance and warmth came into his eyes. Mood changes were common, but these two horses had them in spades. Maggie settled into the jolting movement, feeling him out. Alu was a good horse, a freight train in the making. Maggie had extremely high hopes for her boy and thought he deserved every accolade in the world for what he had already accomplished. He'd been an unsocialized yearling and he was turning into dynamite in the training hours. She could not wait for his first start.
Alucard stepped into a swift jog, attempting to put some distance between himself and the growing black cloud that hovered over Hourglass. Ripley could see why Brooks had been intimidated by Hourglass. She had a different kind of nature, a more dangerous, crackling attitude. It was a meanness that Brooks wasn't used to and for the most neither had Ripley. But Hourglass' speed and talent were the real deal. She had gifts that could possibly surpass her mother's on the turf. Her attitude was a bump that they would overcome. The dark bay filly trotted after Alucard, swinging her tail around nonstep and snatching at the bit quite violently. Her back muscles were tense, threatening a buck when Ripley least expected it. Ripley's heart pounded a little faster than it normally did with a horse, but she kept her movements consistent and steady. Hourglass needed consistency and steadiness. Ripley had plenty of those herself.
Maggie posted confidently in the saddle. Alu was a large striding colt with a ton of power. He carried himself with pride, nose sticking out and ears pricked forward. He was a tough nut, but required very little rein-work. He mouthed the bit softly as he jogged toward the turf course, but was relatively quiet. She appreciated him all the more. He was everything a classic colt would need to be. He had a confidence, though icy at times, that was impressive and beyond what most two year old horses showed. Even Mastermind had been nervous running with more horses. Sure Alucard had to race, but Maggie felt confident that he would be impressive when the day came.
Ripley was beginning to think the same of Hourglass. For all of her mulish attitude, the filly was an absolutely spectacular mover. She was bit different then her dam who typically was more lumbering even on a good day. She was quick and agile on her feet, her hooves skimmed the turf even in the boggier parts. Her nostrils flared in and out taking in all of her air. Her eyes still glimmered with pure loathing, but she had halted her obnoxious tail swishing. Ripley patted the filly's neck, forgetting herself. She was rewarded with a power-punch of a buck that nearly sent her launching over the head. She clutched the filly's black mane, twining it around her fingers. Ripley's eyed blazed momentarily with annoyance at the disrespect. She quickly jabbed backward with the reins, not giving the time for the filly to stop. Hourglass' ears pinned back at the pressure on her tongue, but she started backing quickly. Her legs curled under, pushing mightily off the ground in reverse. Ripley kept up the tapping pressure until Hourglass began to focus on participating the exercise and less on being outright nasty.
The auburn haired woman leaned forward rapidly, dropping her hands to the filly's next and sending her rocketing after Alucard. Alucard tensed up immediately upon hearing the hoofbeats. Maggie glanced under her armpit to watch the freight train close in on her. Ripley didn't seem to be too worried, but usually Hourglass ran off with her riders. Maggie turned back, blue eyes flickering over the hills. Alu was close enough to begin his gallop, which was probably why Hourglass had been sent for the hills. Maggie flicked the fingers, noting immediately the instant uptake of space. The leather whipped between her fingers as Alucard plunged forward. He pushed off with his rear, scrabbled over the earth and bounded into action. Hourglass was at Alu's rump quicker than Maggie could blink. The filly was quick on the grass surface. She was quick on dirt too and that wasn't even going to be her specialty.
The power that surged through Hourglass was stunning. She felt unbelievably quick, flashy, wildly fast. Ripley wasn't even tapping on the gas. The pair of two year olds bounded up the hillside, black manes and tails flying behind them. Maggie was euphoric with the strength that roared within Alucard. He was magnificent, blistering and classic. She took him up at the top of the hillside, as did Ripley with Hourglass. The Scripture's Sapphire colt and Sand Storm filly settled into a strong canter-gallop down the hillside. Both had a good strong hold of the turf. Maggie was pleased that Alucard was in possession of the versatility to run on both turf and dirt. The bay colt was well in hand as they hit the base of the hill.
Hourglass got the first jump on Alucard, her smaller stride covering the odd angle with ease. Alucard was forced to shorten up. Ripley crouched low over the filly's neck, green eyes sharp as she galloped across the valley. This was a filly that the competition should be afraid of. She had the lines to do some serious damage and her own personality was absolutely dominating. Her eyes blazed with two fires: hatred of having a person on her back and hatred of the colt running alongside of her. Her compact body whipped over the ground, angling sideways toward Alucard. The bay colt straightened up, letting the filly come into his rock solid shoulder. Hourglass pinned her ears, squealing angrily when he pushed her off so easily. Ripley straightened her. Well that didn't work. It was good to know. Alu was not to be intimidated.
Maggie's face parted in a broad grin. She patted the horse's neck, blue eyes sparkling. Atta Boy! She leaned closer, hands quiet as they rushed up and over the next hill. Hourglass settled back near Alu's muscled haunches, a little off put, but not determined. Ripley held her there back down the hill, not allowing her to gain the edge back on Finale Slew's son. He was a tough competitor and to take him on all the way would tire them both out. Instead, Ripley kept calm, letting the filly float over the turf track. Her stride was easy to manipulate and soon Alucard was cantering by himself a ways ahead of the darker bay filly. She settled down, not even questioning the restraint, and settled into a high cruising four beat gallop. Ripley was content with this pace. This was exactly what a good wake-up breeze called for. The horses were moving with ease. Ripley nodded to herself, counting off the time as they marched through the three furlong flat.
Alucard touched his chin nearly to his thick chest, galloping with all of the strength in the world. Maggie stood up a little, easing him back into a consistent gallop. Hourglass did not attempt to rush his hip again. She had to admit that she was impressed with the little freight train of a filly. She could hold her own, but knew when to back off. Alucard stretched back out when Hourglass was half-way up his barrel. His ears flicked back into his mane and his gaze hardened. But Hourglass was not going to test him. She had found a neutral spot with Ripley that she hadn't found with Brooks. She settled, ears flicking back and forth, tuned though to Ripley's hands and voice. A dangerous alliance had been forged between both horses and their riders.
The two year olds pulled up, hoof beats becoming more quick and sharp. Hourglass galloped out beyond Alucard, her tail whipping over her haunches arrogantly as she passed him. She had some stamina left in reserve and was not being modest about it. Alu tossed his head up as she passed, eyes angry, but Maggie was able to calm him down. He went from being hot-blooded to the silent, quietly excited animal. His eyes became less fiery and more cold. But she had him for a time. There was affection between them when they were partnered in full flight. She did not pat him this time as they headed back to the barn. She simply smiled remembering the pats and strokes she'd threw in mid-flight.
Hourglass pranced energetically, switching moods once again. She always calmed down after a workout. There was a glimmer of irritation reflected in her large eye, but none of the hatred. A compromise had been forged. She could be a demon all she wanted in the lead up to the work, but she would have to buckle down and do what Ripley wanted come workout and race time. That had to be good enough. Ripley patted the filly's powerful neck. She knew the filly was ready to tackle her first task as a racehorse. More than ready.
Connor smiled excitedly at her and promptly led the Fire 'N' Ice stallion into the barn. He snorted, cast a look over his shoulder in exasperation. He'd thought he was done. Ripley smiled at the look, turned and sprinted for the barn. Excitement bubbled beneath her skin. Brooks had ridden his two year old mount already, formerly Ripley's. She was getting on his old mount and was beyond excited. The Devil's Touch, one of the most exciting fillies on the circuit during her day, had dropped a bomb for her first pregnancy. The bomb was double edged, sweet on once side and nearly as explosive as her dam on the other. She'd scared the daylights of out Brooks, but she wasn't scaring Ripley off quite yet. Her gallops had been impressive the last few days and her development had skyrocketed in the months that Ripley had taken over. Today would be her first breeze and today would be the start of a new dynasty.
The auburn haired woman burst into the stable, green eyes sweeping over the few stalls that were filled. Only two stalls were filled. One occupied by The Devil's Hourglass, mirror image of her mother, and the other Alucard, nearly as coveted for his popular lines as Hourglass. They would be the last pair to be worked today. The rest were either still on rest or had already gotten their morning exercise in. Maggie would be joining her for this workout. Ripley stepped up to Hourglass' stall, taking in the sweet-eyed before her. This filly was not made by feminine strength. She was made by male. Her body was burly, her legs thick, her head savage. She had strong haunches and a broad chest. She was all of her dam. She bowed her head, nickering enthusiastically in Ripley's direction. Her forelock bobbed over her star as she rapidly approached the stall door. It was like looking in a mirror dated seven years back. Ripley rubbed the filly's face, snagged her tongue when it forcefully escaped Hourglass' mouth. Her body was coated with dapples and she looked every inch the talented racehorse that she was destined to be.
Ripley guided the filly's head into a rope halter, smiling when Hourglass didn't even give any trouble. She'd been so much the trouble maker before. And now she was just a hot-headed banshee mess under saddle. Nothing Ripley hadn't handled before with The Devil's Touch. The woman lead Hourglass out of the stall, facing her, and admired the stocky frame. She appreciated these kinds of builds immensely. These ones promised strength and talent and the ability to remain stable over many years. She rubbed the filly's thick shoulder after guiding her between the cross-ties and set to work grooming her. Hourglass and most of Witch Creek's yearlings would be starting later in the season. Not quite late, but allowing time for other horses to break rank. Ripley had no doubt that her two year olds would be up to the first time out task, but the mad rush for races in the beginning just was not for Witch Creek this year. There were plenty of opportunities now that Green Horse Fields had expanded its calendar for the year.
Justin, Brooks and Maggie stepped into the barn. Prima and Para were still breathing excitedly, but not heavily. They had looked insanely impressive coming through the three furlong stretch. Ripley had big plans for her turf fillies in the coming years. None of them would fail to impress if Ripley had any say in it. She smiled at them over her shoulder while she picked out Hourglass' hooves. Maggie handed Paranormal Hunter's reins to Brooks who was promptly given snake eyes by the Flash Limit's filly. Maggie grinned, patted the grump's shoulder and walked to the stall containing Alucard. The bay colt was a sixteen point three hand mass of the chill factor. He had a savage head, short ears, and the coldest eyes you've ever seen on a horse. He had a deep chest, powerful sloping shoulders and the most beautiful backend. He was nothing short of impressive. Maggie felt the thud of her heart when she looked at this monster, the son of Finale Slew, dam of the powerful Crescential. He could match that black stallion in the looks department. Finale Slew was known for throwing lookers. Maggie stared into his cold eyes, wishing some sort of warmth would touch them. He was a quiet horse, patient and without any sort of energy in the stall. Annoyed with the quiet that surrounded him, Maggie immediately pulled him from the stall.
The large colt leaped sideways like a cat, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. His shoed hooves thudded sharply over the rubber mats and he nearly bumped into Hourglass' rear. Ripley moved the filly up before she decided to retaliate to what she considered an attack. Hourglass settled in her new set of cross-ties glaring evilly in the direction of her abuser. Alucard stood tall and proper in Hourglass' former set of cross-ties, icy gaze flickering over her frame without a glimmer of anger. Maggie shook her head, patted his shoulder and ignored the stiffness. The colt had been raised without any sort of affection and he should have been more stallion like than he was due to the lack of handling. He just wasn't. He didn't have it in his nature to be so openly irritable and hard to handle. He was more dangerous because of his nature.
The yearlings stood quietly in the cross-ties, the only noise the sound of brushing and creaking leather. The women were content to work in silence, though Hourglass was less than happy. She danced softly in the cross-ties and continually turned to Ripley for reassurance. It struck Ripley how different the filly was when she was under tack with a human aboard. So different that she could be another horse entirely. Ripley patted the filly's neck, admiring her beautiful qualities and ignoring the dangerous ones that would come later. Both of the horses in this set had a tendency to be dangerous. It would make things all the more interesting.
Even though Alu is going to be running on the dirt in his first race, I think he'll be best served running on the turf. He needs a good muscle build up and Hourglass will give it to him, along with the hills. Teach them both some patience. We've still got a while so most of his gallops after the breeze today will be on the dirt. He should be in fine shape- Maggie help a hand, eyebrows raised. Ripley, I don't need an explanation. You're the boss. Ripley sighed, patted Hourglass' shimmering neck. We work as a team Maggie. Especially now that I'm giving you a promotion.
Maggie's hands fell to her sides in shock. You're what? Ripley grinned at her stunned look. Giving you a promotion. Listen, I know you went through tough times last year, but you dragged yourself out of it. You made a champion out of a mare that shouldn't have been able to step back into training. You healed each other, even if the affection wasn't totally there. I'm putting you in charge of our older horse division. That means everyone: Fie, Freeze, Jabber, Amira, Ri and Rea are under your immediate care. You'll be training them. You'll still have to report to me and Brooks, but you have full say in what they do next. Handle their entries, vet care and transport. Basically, figure out the jockey situation and do the exercise. Maggie's grin went from shocked to tom-cat satisfied.
You mean it Ripley? The head trainer nodded, eyes rolling. I don't say things unless they mean something. Now as first recommendation for your newest projects: Ri and Rea, I want you to put Laura on one of them. She's got an attitude to match the mare and she's the only one of us who hasn't gotten on the mare. It says something when a horse bucks everyone off that gets on her. Laura may be the key. Maggie stared at Ripley who cocked an eyebrow. Yes?
Nothing I was just wondering when you developed mind-reading skills. Ripley laughed heartily, took Hourglass' reins in her hand and smiled. If I had I would have won the lottery right now and we'd be training for fun. Maggie smiled, forgot herself and patted Alu's neck. The bay colt flinched briefly, unaccustomed to such affection. Maggie shook her head, smile dimming considerably. At least they had a type of connection in the saddle.
The women led the horses out of the barn, eyes brightening when they saw that the sun had finally come out to play. It had been overcast all morning, but now everything green glowed like an emerald, chestnuts shone like ruby diamonds, blacks glowed with the essence of obsidian. Witch Creek was beautiful in the spring and even more so in early summer. Maggie sighed, I could never think of leaving this place. Ripley smiled, We wouldn't want you to.
Hourglass danced playfully beside Ripley, eyes glowing as enthusiastically as her human's. Ripley gathered the reins and stepped back. It was then that all happy emotion drained out of Hourglass. The dark bay filly pinned her ears and cocked a rear hoof. Her eyes darkened to pits of coal. She was not a nice filly when anyone went to mount and all of the pure love that had gone to Ripley before no longer was in existence. Ripley calmly spoke to the filly, noting the tension in her muscles and the way her ears slanted back. Her tail swished about sharply and she looked more the part of an angry wasp than a happy-go-lucky filly. Ripley did not delay any further and swung up into the saddle, making sure to land lightly in the saddle. She would have to expect this kind of mood change every time she rode. It was only sad because she expected it to be different, to feel a partnership and loyalty. But this was not The Devil's Touch. Hourglass was her own filly.
Maggie could feel the difference in the atmosphere when Ripley mounted up. She could feel the excitement coming in waves from Alucard. He still did not move, still remained as hard as stone, but his muscles were twitching, his nostrils were quivering with excitement. Maggie grinned, ran a light hand down his black mane and promptly leapt into the light racing saddle. Alucard bowed his neck, legs shifting in an immediate prance and warmth came into his eyes. Mood changes were common, but these two horses had them in spades. Maggie settled into the jolting movement, feeling him out. Alu was a good horse, a freight train in the making. Maggie had extremely high hopes for her boy and thought he deserved every accolade in the world for what he had already accomplished. He'd been an unsocialized yearling and he was turning into dynamite in the training hours. She could not wait for his first start.
Alucard stepped into a swift jog, attempting to put some distance between himself and the growing black cloud that hovered over Hourglass. Ripley could see why Brooks had been intimidated by Hourglass. She had a different kind of nature, a more dangerous, crackling attitude. It was a meanness that Brooks wasn't used to and for the most neither had Ripley. But Hourglass' speed and talent were the real deal. She had gifts that could possibly surpass her mother's on the turf. Her attitude was a bump that they would overcome. The dark bay filly trotted after Alucard, swinging her tail around nonstep and snatching at the bit quite violently. Her back muscles were tense, threatening a buck when Ripley least expected it. Ripley's heart pounded a little faster than it normally did with a horse, but she kept her movements consistent and steady. Hourglass needed consistency and steadiness. Ripley had plenty of those herself.
Maggie posted confidently in the saddle. Alu was a large striding colt with a ton of power. He carried himself with pride, nose sticking out and ears pricked forward. He was a tough nut, but required very little rein-work. He mouthed the bit softly as he jogged toward the turf course, but was relatively quiet. She appreciated him all the more. He was everything a classic colt would need to be. He had a confidence, though icy at times, that was impressive and beyond what most two year old horses showed. Even Mastermind had been nervous running with more horses. Sure Alucard had to race, but Maggie felt confident that he would be impressive when the day came.
Ripley was beginning to think the same of Hourglass. For all of her mulish attitude, the filly was an absolutely spectacular mover. She was bit different then her dam who typically was more lumbering even on a good day. She was quick and agile on her feet, her hooves skimmed the turf even in the boggier parts. Her nostrils flared in and out taking in all of her air. Her eyes still glimmered with pure loathing, but she had halted her obnoxious tail swishing. Ripley patted the filly's neck, forgetting herself. She was rewarded with a power-punch of a buck that nearly sent her launching over the head. She clutched the filly's black mane, twining it around her fingers. Ripley's eyed blazed momentarily with annoyance at the disrespect. She quickly jabbed backward with the reins, not giving the time for the filly to stop. Hourglass' ears pinned back at the pressure on her tongue, but she started backing quickly. Her legs curled under, pushing mightily off the ground in reverse. Ripley kept up the tapping pressure until Hourglass began to focus on participating the exercise and less on being outright nasty.
The auburn haired woman leaned forward rapidly, dropping her hands to the filly's next and sending her rocketing after Alucard. Alucard tensed up immediately upon hearing the hoofbeats. Maggie glanced under her armpit to watch the freight train close in on her. Ripley didn't seem to be too worried, but usually Hourglass ran off with her riders. Maggie turned back, blue eyes flickering over the hills. Alu was close enough to begin his gallop, which was probably why Hourglass had been sent for the hills. Maggie flicked the fingers, noting immediately the instant uptake of space. The leather whipped between her fingers as Alucard plunged forward. He pushed off with his rear, scrabbled over the earth and bounded into action. Hourglass was at Alu's rump quicker than Maggie could blink. The filly was quick on the grass surface. She was quick on dirt too and that wasn't even going to be her specialty.
The power that surged through Hourglass was stunning. She felt unbelievably quick, flashy, wildly fast. Ripley wasn't even tapping on the gas. The pair of two year olds bounded up the hillside, black manes and tails flying behind them. Maggie was euphoric with the strength that roared within Alucard. He was magnificent, blistering and classic. She took him up at the top of the hillside, as did Ripley with Hourglass. The Scripture's Sapphire colt and Sand Storm filly settled into a strong canter-gallop down the hillside. Both had a good strong hold of the turf. Maggie was pleased that Alucard was in possession of the versatility to run on both turf and dirt. The bay colt was well in hand as they hit the base of the hill.
Hourglass got the first jump on Alucard, her smaller stride covering the odd angle with ease. Alucard was forced to shorten up. Ripley crouched low over the filly's neck, green eyes sharp as she galloped across the valley. This was a filly that the competition should be afraid of. She had the lines to do some serious damage and her own personality was absolutely dominating. Her eyes blazed with two fires: hatred of having a person on her back and hatred of the colt running alongside of her. Her compact body whipped over the ground, angling sideways toward Alucard. The bay colt straightened up, letting the filly come into his rock solid shoulder. Hourglass pinned her ears, squealing angrily when he pushed her off so easily. Ripley straightened her. Well that didn't work. It was good to know. Alu was not to be intimidated.
Maggie's face parted in a broad grin. She patted the horse's neck, blue eyes sparkling. Atta Boy! She leaned closer, hands quiet as they rushed up and over the next hill. Hourglass settled back near Alu's muscled haunches, a little off put, but not determined. Ripley held her there back down the hill, not allowing her to gain the edge back on Finale Slew's son. He was a tough competitor and to take him on all the way would tire them both out. Instead, Ripley kept calm, letting the filly float over the turf track. Her stride was easy to manipulate and soon Alucard was cantering by himself a ways ahead of the darker bay filly. She settled down, not even questioning the restraint, and settled into a high cruising four beat gallop. Ripley was content with this pace. This was exactly what a good wake-up breeze called for. The horses were moving with ease. Ripley nodded to herself, counting off the time as they marched through the three furlong flat.
Alucard touched his chin nearly to his thick chest, galloping with all of the strength in the world. Maggie stood up a little, easing him back into a consistent gallop. Hourglass did not attempt to rush his hip again. She had to admit that she was impressed with the little freight train of a filly. She could hold her own, but knew when to back off. Alucard stretched back out when Hourglass was half-way up his barrel. His ears flicked back into his mane and his gaze hardened. But Hourglass was not going to test him. She had found a neutral spot with Ripley that she hadn't found with Brooks. She settled, ears flicking back and forth, tuned though to Ripley's hands and voice. A dangerous alliance had been forged between both horses and their riders.
The two year olds pulled up, hoof beats becoming more quick and sharp. Hourglass galloped out beyond Alucard, her tail whipping over her haunches arrogantly as she passed him. She had some stamina left in reserve and was not being modest about it. Alu tossed his head up as she passed, eyes angry, but Maggie was able to calm him down. He went from being hot-blooded to the silent, quietly excited animal. His eyes became less fiery and more cold. But she had him for a time. There was affection between them when they were partnered in full flight. She did not pat him this time as they headed back to the barn. She simply smiled remembering the pats and strokes she'd threw in mid-flight.
Hourglass pranced energetically, switching moods once again. She always calmed down after a workout. There was a glimmer of irritation reflected in her large eye, but none of the hatred. A compromise had been forged. She could be a demon all she wanted in the lead up to the work, but she would have to buckle down and do what Ripley wanted come workout and race time. That had to be good enough. Ripley patted the filly's powerful neck. She knew the filly was ready to tackle her first task as a racehorse. More than ready.