January Week Two Workouts: Scroll For Individuals
Bella Luna& Wish Upon A Star. Jabberwock& GS Royal Crown.
Fleet Majesty& Cross My Heart. The Rising& Whipped Cream. Mastermind& Feline Frenzy.
Ashes to Ashes& Fiery Touch. Dazzling Dame& Frozen Motion.
Fleet Majesty& Cross My Heart. The Rising& Whipped Cream. Mastermind& Feline Frenzy.
Ashes to Ashes& Fiery Touch. Dazzling Dame& Frozen Motion.
midnight dreams
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Reese and Maggie smiled as they walked into the barn, arms slung around each others shoulder. Their smiles were wide and the chests vibrated with hilarity. The crew to build the indoor turf track had arrived and was made up of the most handsome men imaginable. Even Ripley was affected by their gorgeousness and she could be quite cold against the male race. So they marched into the barn, eyes full of lust and brains flying down the gutter. It was a companionable friendship, one that had crossed oceans and brought support in the toughest times. It would continue to endure just has Maggie and Ripley's relationship had endured. Witch Creek was finally coming together. Only a few strangers had been welcomed into the fold this year. An Irish knight and a prickly girl. But they too would be welcomed at the end of Year Thirteen.
The barn was chock full of good horses this morning. The two year olds were stabled at Green Horse Fields temporarily. Indian Darling and Hokum still remained at The Wire. And yet they were loaded. Maggie smiled when Wish and Bella stuck their kind heads out of the stall, nostrils twitching in gentle greeting. The prettiest two year olds had developed into the most beautiful three year olds imaginable. Their chests had filled out, muscles had developed and both of them looked about as racefit as when they'd left the track at the end of the Breeders Cup. Maggie stroked Wish Upon A Star's nose, looking into the bright, infectious eyes. She had muscled her way to a third in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies and she had done so against a bias. The Everyday Hero filly would have her day on the track and maybe Year Thirteen would be her breakout year. Maggie certainly hoped so. She wanted a good filly. Wish had a variety of possibilities before her. She could go to the Turf Triple Crown, the Tiara, the Turf Tiara or wait until the Canadian Triple Crown and compete in all legs. Wish had a bright future and plenty of time to make up her mind as to where she wanted to run. Maggie would merely be co-pilot until such a decision occurred.
Bella Luna was a different story. Her second place finish in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf had been beyond impressive. There had been so many other horses that could have beaten her and to be such a clear second place finisher had been beyond welcoming for the barn. Bella Luna would go to the Turf Triple Crown. There would be no Tiara for her. Ripley wanted the big one for the moon-struck filly. And so did Reese. The partnership had been extremely fruitful with Bella not having finished out of the top two since she had taken over. The woman stroked her filly's cheek, eyes gleaming with ambition while Bella's gleamed with trust. It was a clear definition of their partnership. Reese kissed the filly's neck, smiling when Bella began to lick her hand. What a sweet girl.
The women groomed and tacked the fillies up swiftly, eyes brightening even more as they drew closer to the workout. It would be over the turf track which sprawled around most of Witch Creek's land. The track separated paddocks, ran over a bridge across the creek, passed between old ruins from previous barns. It was a masterpiece in itself. Photographers from the media appreciated coming by, drawn not just by the horses the lurked these parts, but the territory itself. Ripley was already settled next to the turf track, awaiting them. Her sharp bottle-green eyes whipped over the fillies with such interest. She was an intimidating woman who worked harder than most owners in the game. She sat aboard Positively Precious. Her chestnut stallion pranced in place, ears flicking side to side as he took in Bella and Wish. He'd been honored with three mares last season and those three had produced absolutely gorgeous foals. Ripley patted his neck, turning him in circles for a distraction while her gaze maintained a lock on the gray and bay.
Wish moved as smooth as glass beneath Maggie. Her head was up, her ears pricked and her quietly excited eyes zoomed in on Positively Precious. Her classic body zigzagged over the ground at a jog while her attention was on him. Maggie posted easily, keeping contact with the filly's mouth in case she bolted. There was no horse that moved quite like Wish and no horse that was so quickly gaining her heart and affection. Reese was in a similar state, though Bella was more uptight about the sight of Positively Precious. She pranced with her knees eyes, her silver dapples gleaming over her body. She was a marble sculpture with a halo wrapped around her head. Bella whinnied loudly, drawing Precious into a rear. Ripley flung her body forward forcing the copper stud to the ground and cantered him away briefly.
The fillies moved into a light gallop toward the first hill, their bodies covering the ground with a brilliant swiftness. Their riders perched lightly over their withers, eyes locked on the rising and lowering hills ahead. Bella remained in front with her higher cruising speed. Wish lagged now a length behind, stride coming with efficiency. Maggie admired the way that the Everyday Hero filly could stretch out. She covered the ground so impressively and beautifully. She had an understated air of quality than most. It kindled where some horses at Witch Creek sparked. Maggie ran her hands through the flapping dark mane as they bounded through the first mile with ease. Up and over. Up and over.
Reese remained silent on Bella. The marbled filly just glided over the turf as if she owned it. She was so much more the confident horse than she had been that it was truly impressive. She was light on the bit and quick to move her feet. Her long strides swept over the track and she was the effervescent phantom of Witch Creek. Her aura had improved so much since she'd joined up with Reese. Confidence. Ambition. Talent. It was undeniably there. Reese niggled the reins a little as they leaped into the quarter mile portion of the gallop. Bella stretched out, legs ghosting across the springy terrain. Wish moved up to their haunches, nostrils flaring and contracting with every stride. Maggie was still, impressed with Wish's interest in maintaining contact with Bella Luna. It was something she hadn't quite learned as a two year old.
The pair hit the three furlong flat after the sliding gallop down the hillside. Their ears slammed back into the light and dark manes without any indication from their riders that it was time to move. Bella and Wish took off as one, bodies spreading over the ground like cheetahs as they rocketed forward. The speed was so impressive that it forced the riders to pull their goggles down against the onrush of wind. Maggie leaned close to Wish's neck, not urging her horse or pulling her up. The filly flew over the grass, joining Bella on the lead in the third furlong. Bella retaliated with a swift kick, knocking Wish down a peg, but only under Reese's urging. Wish didn't pull up or signal defeat, instead she got lost in her own speed. A light call from Maggie had the filly charging back up Bella's outside, gaining the length and a half of lost time. Now running nose to nose, the pair bolted together under the invisible wire. Ripley watched from the rail and as she had with her boys, Red and Van, acknowledged that her turf filly division might be a tad stronger than media gave her credit for.
Reese and Maggie slapped hands then stroked their mounts' damp necks. Wish and Bella relaxed a little though both remained on their toes, hyper as deer after a chase. Year Thirteen would certainly be interesting. That was for sure.
The barn was chock full of good horses this morning. The two year olds were stabled at Green Horse Fields temporarily. Indian Darling and Hokum still remained at The Wire. And yet they were loaded. Maggie smiled when Wish and Bella stuck their kind heads out of the stall, nostrils twitching in gentle greeting. The prettiest two year olds had developed into the most beautiful three year olds imaginable. Their chests had filled out, muscles had developed and both of them looked about as racefit as when they'd left the track at the end of the Breeders Cup. Maggie stroked Wish Upon A Star's nose, looking into the bright, infectious eyes. She had muscled her way to a third in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies and she had done so against a bias. The Everyday Hero filly would have her day on the track and maybe Year Thirteen would be her breakout year. Maggie certainly hoped so. She wanted a good filly. Wish had a variety of possibilities before her. She could go to the Turf Triple Crown, the Tiara, the Turf Tiara or wait until the Canadian Triple Crown and compete in all legs. Wish had a bright future and plenty of time to make up her mind as to where she wanted to run. Maggie would merely be co-pilot until such a decision occurred.
Bella Luna was a different story. Her second place finish in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf had been beyond impressive. There had been so many other horses that could have beaten her and to be such a clear second place finisher had been beyond welcoming for the barn. Bella Luna would go to the Turf Triple Crown. There would be no Tiara for her. Ripley wanted the big one for the moon-struck filly. And so did Reese. The partnership had been extremely fruitful with Bella not having finished out of the top two since she had taken over. The woman stroked her filly's cheek, eyes gleaming with ambition while Bella's gleamed with trust. It was a clear definition of their partnership. Reese kissed the filly's neck, smiling when Bella began to lick her hand. What a sweet girl.
The women groomed and tacked the fillies up swiftly, eyes brightening even more as they drew closer to the workout. It would be over the turf track which sprawled around most of Witch Creek's land. The track separated paddocks, ran over a bridge across the creek, passed between old ruins from previous barns. It was a masterpiece in itself. Photographers from the media appreciated coming by, drawn not just by the horses the lurked these parts, but the territory itself. Ripley was already settled next to the turf track, awaiting them. Her sharp bottle-green eyes whipped over the fillies with such interest. She was an intimidating woman who worked harder than most owners in the game. She sat aboard Positively Precious. Her chestnut stallion pranced in place, ears flicking side to side as he took in Bella and Wish. He'd been honored with three mares last season and those three had produced absolutely gorgeous foals. Ripley patted his neck, turning him in circles for a distraction while her gaze maintained a lock on the gray and bay.
Wish moved as smooth as glass beneath Maggie. Her head was up, her ears pricked and her quietly excited eyes zoomed in on Positively Precious. Her classic body zigzagged over the ground at a jog while her attention was on him. Maggie posted easily, keeping contact with the filly's mouth in case she bolted. There was no horse that moved quite like Wish and no horse that was so quickly gaining her heart and affection. Reese was in a similar state, though Bella was more uptight about the sight of Positively Precious. She pranced with her knees eyes, her silver dapples gleaming over her body. She was a marble sculpture with a halo wrapped around her head. Bella whinnied loudly, drawing Precious into a rear. Ripley flung her body forward forcing the copper stud to the ground and cantered him away briefly.
The fillies moved into a light gallop toward the first hill, their bodies covering the ground with a brilliant swiftness. Their riders perched lightly over their withers, eyes locked on the rising and lowering hills ahead. Bella remained in front with her higher cruising speed. Wish lagged now a length behind, stride coming with efficiency. Maggie admired the way that the Everyday Hero filly could stretch out. She covered the ground so impressively and beautifully. She had an understated air of quality than most. It kindled where some horses at Witch Creek sparked. Maggie ran her hands through the flapping dark mane as they bounded through the first mile with ease. Up and over. Up and over.
Reese remained silent on Bella. The marbled filly just glided over the turf as if she owned it. She was so much more the confident horse than she had been that it was truly impressive. She was light on the bit and quick to move her feet. Her long strides swept over the track and she was the effervescent phantom of Witch Creek. Her aura had improved so much since she'd joined up with Reese. Confidence. Ambition. Talent. It was undeniably there. Reese niggled the reins a little as they leaped into the quarter mile portion of the gallop. Bella stretched out, legs ghosting across the springy terrain. Wish moved up to their haunches, nostrils flaring and contracting with every stride. Maggie was still, impressed with Wish's interest in maintaining contact with Bella Luna. It was something she hadn't quite learned as a two year old.
The pair hit the three furlong flat after the sliding gallop down the hillside. Their ears slammed back into the light and dark manes without any indication from their riders that it was time to move. Bella and Wish took off as one, bodies spreading over the ground like cheetahs as they rocketed forward. The speed was so impressive that it forced the riders to pull their goggles down against the onrush of wind. Maggie leaned close to Wish's neck, not urging her horse or pulling her up. The filly flew over the grass, joining Bella on the lead in the third furlong. Bella retaliated with a swift kick, knocking Wish down a peg, but only under Reese's urging. Wish didn't pull up or signal defeat, instead she got lost in her own speed. A light call from Maggie had the filly charging back up Bella's outside, gaining the length and a half of lost time. Now running nose to nose, the pair bolted together under the invisible wire. Ripley watched from the rail and as she had with her boys, Red and Van, acknowledged that her turf filly division might be a tad stronger than media gave her credit for.
Reese and Maggie slapped hands then stroked their mounts' damp necks. Wish and Bella relaxed a little though both remained on their toes, hyper as deer after a chase. Year Thirteen would certainly be interesting. That was for sure.
royal jab
Courtesy of C.H. Photography.
Brooks and Justin trotted a pair of horses out of the barn, blue and brown eyes excited. Ripley had come galloping back aboard the glorious stallion Positively Precious to announce that Jabberwock and GS Royal Crown needed to be ready within ten minutes. The hurry was only necessary do to the amount of horses that were fitting in workouts this week. The two year olds and improving three year olds got their own week and the steady three year olds and four year olds got the next. It just so happened that the larger week was their older horse division. It was a first for Witch Creek Stable to house so many familiar horses past their third year. But this time they had Jabberwock, Frozen Motion, Dazzling Dame, The Rising, Whipped Cream, Flawed Princess, Feline Frenzy and Fiery Touch. All of them would work out today with the remaining three year old workouts tossed in.
Jabberwock tossed his head at the end of the reins, his magnificent bay body lit up so that all of his good points shone. He was brilliant to look at and incredibly built. He had started his three year old season late and technically was on a win streak of two. His partner in crime Reese could not have higher hopes for him and was positive that he would be a standout by the end of Year Thirteen. GS Royal Crown had lightened up a little since his two year old season. He was more dappled out and his head was lighter in color. He stood silently at the end of the lead rope for once. His ears were pricked at some unknown sight. Crow was a relatively unknown horse himself at the moment. He didn't have a specific place in the barn. His race in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf had been a spotless third, but Maggie was sure that he had a nicer race ahead of him. His dirt race at Akita Rose Stables versus Fiery Touch's rival Midnight Thriller had told Maggie that the colt had other plans. He needed a wake up call and a new position on the team. He would get one facing off with the towering 17 hand monster that was Jabberwock. Justin patted the mottled gray's shoulder, admiring the muscle the stood out beneath. Crow was a handsome colt and he would be top of the line come the end of Year Thirteen. It was just a matter of getting there.
Justin and Brooks walked the tense colt and stallion around in front of the barn. Horses nickered curiously inside and one, Dazzling Dame, demanded for Justin to come greet her. The dark bay mare was Justin's pride and joy, but she would get her attention later. A dust cloud kicked up from the turf track as Maggie and Reese rode in Wish and Bella. The men lurched into the action the second the pair reached them. The women leaped from the backs of the fillies, to the ground and then were back up in the saddles of their respective horses. Jabber nickered longingly at the fillies, but a nudge from Reese had him walking down the path. The bay colt flexed his neck muscles impressively, but by that time Wish and Bella had disappeared. Reese stroked his shimmering neck, feeling at home aboard the monstrosity that was her pride and joy. Maggie followed along more slowly with Crow doing his ever familiar dance steps. The gray colt danced sideways, crow-hopped, tossed his head. He had not lost his two year old spunk, but if his recent gallops were not lying, Crow had indeed focused a lot more. His effort in the Breeders Cup had not been a surprise for Maggie. She'd expected him to show up and prove his fine consistency. It was only a shame that the consistency was second and third place finishes and not victories.
Jabberwock bowed his neck as he strutted down the path. His large eyes were locked on the paddocks lining the path. Broodmares filled them, some with foals, others heavy with their pregnancy. Witch Creek was full of life in the springtime, almost crazily so. Reese clucked her tongue and nudged Jabber into a stiffer walk. Her stud horse could get distracted, but at least not in the times that counted. He was proving to be quite the powerhouse on the track and she had no doubt that it would carry over into his four year old performances. She patted the stallion's neck. Together they would attempt to do the impossible. Together, they would try and win the Breeders Cup Classic in December. Jabber had quite the long way to go, but she believed in him. His talents made her believe in the impossible. The stallion marched down the path now, focused when the mares were long behind him. He paid no mind to the mottled gray colt traveling in his wake. Crow was not a competitor like Fiery Touch or Hokum.
Maggie narrowed her eyes as Jabberwock stepped hoof on the racetrack. Reese believed this workout would be cake. Maggie was going to prove her otherwise. GS Royal Crown had the versatility to run on turf and dirt. He could run seven to twelve furlongs and had the versatile running style of a much older horse. He had experience where Jabber was missing his two year old and early three year old background. No Crow was going to show both Reese and Ripley, who would be coming to the track in a matter of minutes, that he was not just the average Joe. Maggie patted his dappled neck as they joined Jabberwock on the track.
The stallion and colt picked up a ground covering jog around the outside of the track. Witch Creek's dirt track was relatively empty for the moment. Most of the horses that would be running on the turf. It was not because Witch Creek was lacking in the true dirt horse, but workout partners demanded the ability to either run on the grass or the dirt. It was a symbiotic relationship. Many of the horses were versatile enough to do both surfaces and in the winter they were forced to do the dirt track. The turf horses were relishing in the use of their beloved hills. But Jabberwock was the king of the dirt track. He bounded over the dirt, kicking up clouds of it in his violently playful strides. He bowed his neck, his tail perked over his haunches. He looked like the monster his sire had been. Jabber's massive chest and shoulders stole the most attention and his presence was dominating and intimidating. Reese patted his neck, talking in a soft voice. She loved this stallion and considered him her major ticket to the big time in the dirt world.
Maggie bounced along on Crow's jack hammer stride, used to the jerky way of movement. Crow was the champ at his gallops though. He covered tons of ground for a relatively average sized horse. He stretched out his stride as he jogged and Maggie gave up on posting as they tracked Jabber into the backstretch. Reese glanced under her armpit back at Maggie, wriggled her dark brows and sent Jabber into a beautiful gallop. Not to be outdone, Crow took off without even an indication from Maggie. His splashy gray legs soared across the dirt track, showing off his unique talent of handling both surfaces. Maggie leaned close to his neck, blue eyes glittering as Crow closed in on his older counterpart.
Jabber's ears flicked back when Crow darted up to join him down on the rail. The dappled colt stayed a neck behind, his dark eyes fired up. Jabber merely flicked his ears, lifted his head higher and dared Crow to move with him. Reese kept the reins slack. Jabberwock could not be encouraged to move faster at the moment or he simply would blow the doors off of GS Royal Crown. Reese leaned close, hands light and eyes forward but not fierce. Jabber could pick up on the simplest of emotions and a relaxed Reese resulted in a relaxed Jabberwock. Maggie, however, wanted fierceness from her beloved Seabiscuit colt. Let the rest believe that he was no good, but Maggie knew differently. Crow was not leveling out. He was going to increase in talent, in speed, and every other category belonging to the equine athlete.
The pair galloped mightily through the mile and a quarter portion, strides coming quicker at the end then when they'd first started. Jabber's bay body was beginning to get heavy on Reese's hands. The stallion wanted to move now. He was tired of being accompanied by the steely gray on the rail. He bowed his neck, mouth agape in his battle with the bit. He'd stalked and cruised long enough. It was time to crush the mosquito. Reese tapped the reins lightly against the bay's neck, feeling the sudden rush as Jabber took the hint. The Native Flame stallion went from fighting to flight. His head and tail remained high as he galloped, throwing up a tornado of wind in his wake. Reese clung to the whipping black locks as he flew into the far turn. Jabberwock had more speed than any horse she had ever ridden.
Crow stuttered briefly in response to the massive onslaught of speed. Jabber pulled away to lead by five lengths going into the far turn. Maggie gritted her teeth, flung her reins down at her gray's neck and yelled. Crow's ears swept back into his charcoal gray mane and the switch was officially flicked on. The dark dappled gray locked his teeth around the steal bit, leveled out and surged forward impressively. His body became that of a greyhounds when he cut the corner tightly, making up two lengths on the monster that was Jabberwock. Maggie pulled her goggles down as GS Royal Crown whipped straight in the homestretch, his haunches nearly pulled out from under him by centrifugal force. The gray colt righted himself, locked onto Jabberwock and flew as if he had wings.
Reese heard the whirlwind of wild hoofbeats a second before she turned to find GS Royal Crown bearing down on Jabber's inside. She swore loudly into the roaring wind. She'd forgotten to close the hole down. She turned to the front, latched on to Jabberwock's mane and sent him rocketing forward. However, Crow had momentum going for him. Maggie screeched from the effort of pushing her runaway train on as they streaked to the wire. Reese pushed forward with her hands, drawing in and exploiting all of the strength and speed that Jabberwock was in possession of. But it was too late. Crow stormed under the wire a head in front, momentum carrying him like a personal escort.
Ripley shook her head as the time flashed on her watch, but she kept her eyes on Jabberwock and GS Royal Crown. The four year old and three year old were galloping out with all of the power in the world. As if the last two furlongs of the workout hadn't been brutal. Her green eyes sparked when Crow maintained his now neck advantage, bolstered with his first victory in a long time. When the pair pulled up to a swift trot she finally looked down to acknowledge her watch. 11.5. The closing time for both horses, though Crow's would nearly be at 11 flat having come from out of it. She raked her hands through her auburn hair taking in the sight of both horses, chests pumping, but neither was breathing heavy due to tiredness.
Crow eyed her with defiance and excitement. Ripley could have sworn she heard: Take that!
Jabberwock tossed his head at the end of the reins, his magnificent bay body lit up so that all of his good points shone. He was brilliant to look at and incredibly built. He had started his three year old season late and technically was on a win streak of two. His partner in crime Reese could not have higher hopes for him and was positive that he would be a standout by the end of Year Thirteen. GS Royal Crown had lightened up a little since his two year old season. He was more dappled out and his head was lighter in color. He stood silently at the end of the lead rope for once. His ears were pricked at some unknown sight. Crow was a relatively unknown horse himself at the moment. He didn't have a specific place in the barn. His race in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf had been a spotless third, but Maggie was sure that he had a nicer race ahead of him. His dirt race at Akita Rose Stables versus Fiery Touch's rival Midnight Thriller had told Maggie that the colt had other plans. He needed a wake up call and a new position on the team. He would get one facing off with the towering 17 hand monster that was Jabberwock. Justin patted the mottled gray's shoulder, admiring the muscle the stood out beneath. Crow was a handsome colt and he would be top of the line come the end of Year Thirteen. It was just a matter of getting there.
Justin and Brooks walked the tense colt and stallion around in front of the barn. Horses nickered curiously inside and one, Dazzling Dame, demanded for Justin to come greet her. The dark bay mare was Justin's pride and joy, but she would get her attention later. A dust cloud kicked up from the turf track as Maggie and Reese rode in Wish and Bella. The men lurched into the action the second the pair reached them. The women leaped from the backs of the fillies, to the ground and then were back up in the saddles of their respective horses. Jabber nickered longingly at the fillies, but a nudge from Reese had him walking down the path. The bay colt flexed his neck muscles impressively, but by that time Wish and Bella had disappeared. Reese stroked his shimmering neck, feeling at home aboard the monstrosity that was her pride and joy. Maggie followed along more slowly with Crow doing his ever familiar dance steps. The gray colt danced sideways, crow-hopped, tossed his head. He had not lost his two year old spunk, but if his recent gallops were not lying, Crow had indeed focused a lot more. His effort in the Breeders Cup had not been a surprise for Maggie. She'd expected him to show up and prove his fine consistency. It was only a shame that the consistency was second and third place finishes and not victories.
Jabberwock bowed his neck as he strutted down the path. His large eyes were locked on the paddocks lining the path. Broodmares filled them, some with foals, others heavy with their pregnancy. Witch Creek was full of life in the springtime, almost crazily so. Reese clucked her tongue and nudged Jabber into a stiffer walk. Her stud horse could get distracted, but at least not in the times that counted. He was proving to be quite the powerhouse on the track and she had no doubt that it would carry over into his four year old performances. She patted the stallion's neck. Together they would attempt to do the impossible. Together, they would try and win the Breeders Cup Classic in December. Jabber had quite the long way to go, but she believed in him. His talents made her believe in the impossible. The stallion marched down the path now, focused when the mares were long behind him. He paid no mind to the mottled gray colt traveling in his wake. Crow was not a competitor like Fiery Touch or Hokum.
Maggie narrowed her eyes as Jabberwock stepped hoof on the racetrack. Reese believed this workout would be cake. Maggie was going to prove her otherwise. GS Royal Crown had the versatility to run on turf and dirt. He could run seven to twelve furlongs and had the versatile running style of a much older horse. He had experience where Jabber was missing his two year old and early three year old background. No Crow was going to show both Reese and Ripley, who would be coming to the track in a matter of minutes, that he was not just the average Joe. Maggie patted his dappled neck as they joined Jabberwock on the track.
The stallion and colt picked up a ground covering jog around the outside of the track. Witch Creek's dirt track was relatively empty for the moment. Most of the horses that would be running on the turf. It was not because Witch Creek was lacking in the true dirt horse, but workout partners demanded the ability to either run on the grass or the dirt. It was a symbiotic relationship. Many of the horses were versatile enough to do both surfaces and in the winter they were forced to do the dirt track. The turf horses were relishing in the use of their beloved hills. But Jabberwock was the king of the dirt track. He bounded over the dirt, kicking up clouds of it in his violently playful strides. He bowed his neck, his tail perked over his haunches. He looked like the monster his sire had been. Jabber's massive chest and shoulders stole the most attention and his presence was dominating and intimidating. Reese patted his neck, talking in a soft voice. She loved this stallion and considered him her major ticket to the big time in the dirt world.
Maggie bounced along on Crow's jack hammer stride, used to the jerky way of movement. Crow was the champ at his gallops though. He covered tons of ground for a relatively average sized horse. He stretched out his stride as he jogged and Maggie gave up on posting as they tracked Jabber into the backstretch. Reese glanced under her armpit back at Maggie, wriggled her dark brows and sent Jabber into a beautiful gallop. Not to be outdone, Crow took off without even an indication from Maggie. His splashy gray legs soared across the dirt track, showing off his unique talent of handling both surfaces. Maggie leaned close to his neck, blue eyes glittering as Crow closed in on his older counterpart.
Jabber's ears flicked back when Crow darted up to join him down on the rail. The dappled colt stayed a neck behind, his dark eyes fired up. Jabber merely flicked his ears, lifted his head higher and dared Crow to move with him. Reese kept the reins slack. Jabberwock could not be encouraged to move faster at the moment or he simply would blow the doors off of GS Royal Crown. Reese leaned close, hands light and eyes forward but not fierce. Jabber could pick up on the simplest of emotions and a relaxed Reese resulted in a relaxed Jabberwock. Maggie, however, wanted fierceness from her beloved Seabiscuit colt. Let the rest believe that he was no good, but Maggie knew differently. Crow was not leveling out. He was going to increase in talent, in speed, and every other category belonging to the equine athlete.
The pair galloped mightily through the mile and a quarter portion, strides coming quicker at the end then when they'd first started. Jabber's bay body was beginning to get heavy on Reese's hands. The stallion wanted to move now. He was tired of being accompanied by the steely gray on the rail. He bowed his neck, mouth agape in his battle with the bit. He'd stalked and cruised long enough. It was time to crush the mosquito. Reese tapped the reins lightly against the bay's neck, feeling the sudden rush as Jabber took the hint. The Native Flame stallion went from fighting to flight. His head and tail remained high as he galloped, throwing up a tornado of wind in his wake. Reese clung to the whipping black locks as he flew into the far turn. Jabberwock had more speed than any horse she had ever ridden.
Crow stuttered briefly in response to the massive onslaught of speed. Jabber pulled away to lead by five lengths going into the far turn. Maggie gritted her teeth, flung her reins down at her gray's neck and yelled. Crow's ears swept back into his charcoal gray mane and the switch was officially flicked on. The dark dappled gray locked his teeth around the steal bit, leveled out and surged forward impressively. His body became that of a greyhounds when he cut the corner tightly, making up two lengths on the monster that was Jabberwock. Maggie pulled her goggles down as GS Royal Crown whipped straight in the homestretch, his haunches nearly pulled out from under him by centrifugal force. The gray colt righted himself, locked onto Jabberwock and flew as if he had wings.
Reese heard the whirlwind of wild hoofbeats a second before she turned to find GS Royal Crown bearing down on Jabber's inside. She swore loudly into the roaring wind. She'd forgotten to close the hole down. She turned to the front, latched on to Jabberwock's mane and sent him rocketing forward. However, Crow had momentum going for him. Maggie screeched from the effort of pushing her runaway train on as they streaked to the wire. Reese pushed forward with her hands, drawing in and exploiting all of the strength and speed that Jabberwock was in possession of. But it was too late. Crow stormed under the wire a head in front, momentum carrying him like a personal escort.
Ripley shook her head as the time flashed on her watch, but she kept her eyes on Jabberwock and GS Royal Crown. The four year old and three year old were galloping out with all of the power in the world. As if the last two furlongs of the workout hadn't been brutal. Her green eyes sparked when Crow maintained his now neck advantage, bolstered with his first victory in a long time. When the pair pulled up to a swift trot she finally looked down to acknowledge her watch. 11.5. The closing time for both horses, though Crow's would nearly be at 11 flat having come from out of it. She raked her hands through her auburn hair taking in the sight of both horses, chests pumping, but neither was breathing heavy due to tiredness.
Crow eyed her with defiance and excitement. Ripley could have sworn she heard: Take that!
fleeter than thou
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Filled with adrenaline and excitement, Ripley practically bounded up the hillside toward the barn. God she couldn't wait to get on a horse. Had to get on a thoroughbred and feel that wild pulse of a ride. She knew just the horse that could give it to her and coincidentally that horse was in the next set. She yanked her auburn back into a low bun, snagged her helmet that perched on a rack outside of the barn door and stepped inside. Two gorgeous fillies awaited her. A black and a dark grey with a near bone white face. Ripley rubbed her hands together even as Cross My Heart called for her. The black filly with the gorgeous facial mark expressed her love, prancing between cross-ties. A light race saddle sat like a crown aboard her excellently built back. Ripley grinned and stepped up to her, nodding to Brooks.
Brooks grinned as Fleet Majesty nickered softly, her throat vibrating. The fillies were complete opposites in their careers and personalities. Mage was outgoing. The first to the door when visitors came and the last to leave when released in the paddock. Cross was temperamental and just recently turning a new leaf with the men at Witch Creek. She was a proven champion. A winner of a Breeders Cup race and one of the top sprinters going into the new year. She bowed her neck like a knight's horse and flexed the muscle that came with her confidence. Fleet Majesty nuzzled Brooks' hand with all of the love in the world. She was a winner of one race in her short career and had ended her Year Twelve season in a consistent effort at The Wire. She was not in possession of a single mean bone. She was kind-hearted, willing and exactly where Bella Luna had been pre-transformation. Brooks patted the filly. The only difference between her and Bella would be that Mage was his for keeps. He ran a hand down her sleek side, taking advantage of the sweet spot just behind his shoulder. She turned her head, flapping her lips back and forth and was the picture of pure equine ecstasy.
Ripley laughed, patted Cross who by no means found Mage funny. Her dark eyes were fired up and critical. She stomped a hoof, blowing through her nostrils and glared. Cross was a no-nonsense kind of mare. Just Ripley's exact type. They had blown the clockers away in the final time of the Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf Sprint and Ripley hoped to continue their mind-blowing ways in Year Thirteen. Cross' first start would hopefully come at The Wire and she would likely stay there until mid-season at Green Horse Fields. Let the other top fillies take on the elders too early in the season. Cross had enough talent to blow them away. Ripley could not imagine how she had gotten so lucky to be training, owning and riding the top two sprinter/milers the racing industry would see. Between Cross and Mastermind, Ripley was busy shoving the press off as to when their first starts would be. What the press didn't know was that Mastermind or Cross could show up on the Triple Crown or Tiara trail in the future. Not that they would race in the big ones themselves, but give the competition a taste for what met them after those fierce early season trials.
Brooks could practically feel Ripley plotting as she adjusted Cross' front wraps. It bounced off of her like an echo. He was a regular schemer himself, but God he only had to scheme for a few horses. Ripley had a whole barn to think about even with her splitting up the divisions the way she had. Brooks patted Mage's soft nose, blue eyes sparkling with affection. This filly was a kind one. So different from the Masterminds, Hokums, and GS Royal Crowns of the racing world. She was special and maybe she would start proving it this year. Brooks turned the filly around, admiring her dual colored tail as it swung out behind her. Her angled nose tilted up and nickered excitedly as they moved out of the barn.
A few horses called after her, eyes full of disdain. Ripley did not feel so bad and neither did Cross. The calls rolled right off her shoulders and she didn't even seem as if she'd heard. Her slims ears were locked on the bigger filly trotting out before her. Mage was full of dramatic movement and Cross moved with purpose. Her fiery attitude had not dimmed in the least, but they weren't at the track yet and it didn't show. The riders swung up on the backs of their mounts, settled into the saddles and tried to ease them into a canter. Cross, of course, took it the wrong way and kicked up clods of grass as she blasted off in the direction of the turf track. Not one to be left behind, Mage squealed, kicked up her heels and dashed after the black filly.
Ripley let Cross go for a little while at the quick pace, but gradually brought her in with plenty of rejections. Cross was known for going right to the lead. There would never be any doubt where the tornado would be in the races. She was on the front end. Always. Pure and simple. Light hands talked the bit out of the mouth of her filly, teeth gritted when Mage nearly steamrolled cross, passing within inches. Cross' head flew up angrily and her mouth gaped allowing saliva to drip down the side. She hated being passed or taken up. However, Brooks calmed Mage down and the gray-roan filly was back to her playful self. She cruised over the grass, lean greyhound body gliding over the surface as if she'd been born to do so.
Brooks leaned close to her neck, stroking it and calming her down. The quarter mile of a gallop to the turf track had been demolished. It would be the same with Cross and Mage as it had been with the others. Show me you can listen, only then will you get to run. A mile and a quarter. Three furlong sprint. Ripley guided Cross a little ways away from Mage. Cross stretched her head out, delicate nostrils flaring and constricting quickly. She was excited to get back to work. Her chest pumped in and out with the rhythm of her stride as they cruised over the first hill. She gradually settled though her head remained high. She was a short strided filly, but her strides were swift and Mage did not get quite the advantage as one would expect.
The fillies dashed over the hills in such a high cruising speed that it felt nearly like the race rather than just the workout. Cross remained in hand, but poked her nose in front, eyes daring Mage to retaliate. Mage's ears flopped on her head without any sign of eagerness. Her strides were extended nicely as they cantered up the last hill before the three furlong flat. Brooks talked her back in, lifting the bit gently in her mouth. Mage settled back nicely on her haunches, sliding almost down the hillside. Ripley found it a little bit of a struggle to get Cross to totally come back. The moment she hit the less steep slope, Cross was gone. Ripley gripped the whipping black tresses, her green eyes lit with a fire that was only matched by Cross'. Brooks swore, shook the reins mightily when Mage reached the bottom and felt her floor it. The gray filly's strides whipped across the grass. The game was over before it had begun, but Mage kept going. Her ears were lost in her gray mane and her tail flew out like a mast to a ship. She was not waving the white flag of surrender just yet.
The pair flew over the flat, strides coming and quicker. Mage's lengthened while Cross did the impossible. Fleet Majesty swallowed the ground up with her tremendous strides and closed the gap between Cross as the black streaked into the final furlong. Brooks remained quiet now. She was doing this all on her own and it was quite the impressive move. At the end of the third furlong, Cross did not pull up and Mage was now at her haunches. The gray filly had flown to catch the demonic black. Brooks stroked her sweated neck, crooning to her with pleasant tones. She hadn't gotten the chance to challenge Cross eye to eye, but Brooks was satisfied. Too many horses had their hearts broken by challenging Ripley's filly and he wanted Fleet Majesty ready to roll this year. Ripley stroked Cross as the filly threw her typical tantrum. It didn't phase the woman in the least. Her mind was traveling in the same direction as Brooks. Cross would be ready to roll. She hadn't even shown the elite her best yet.
Brooks grinned as Fleet Majesty nickered softly, her throat vibrating. The fillies were complete opposites in their careers and personalities. Mage was outgoing. The first to the door when visitors came and the last to leave when released in the paddock. Cross was temperamental and just recently turning a new leaf with the men at Witch Creek. She was a proven champion. A winner of a Breeders Cup race and one of the top sprinters going into the new year. She bowed her neck like a knight's horse and flexed the muscle that came with her confidence. Fleet Majesty nuzzled Brooks' hand with all of the love in the world. She was a winner of one race in her short career and had ended her Year Twelve season in a consistent effort at The Wire. She was not in possession of a single mean bone. She was kind-hearted, willing and exactly where Bella Luna had been pre-transformation. Brooks patted the filly. The only difference between her and Bella would be that Mage was his for keeps. He ran a hand down her sleek side, taking advantage of the sweet spot just behind his shoulder. She turned her head, flapping her lips back and forth and was the picture of pure equine ecstasy.
Ripley laughed, patted Cross who by no means found Mage funny. Her dark eyes were fired up and critical. She stomped a hoof, blowing through her nostrils and glared. Cross was a no-nonsense kind of mare. Just Ripley's exact type. They had blown the clockers away in the final time of the Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf Sprint and Ripley hoped to continue their mind-blowing ways in Year Thirteen. Cross' first start would hopefully come at The Wire and she would likely stay there until mid-season at Green Horse Fields. Let the other top fillies take on the elders too early in the season. Cross had enough talent to blow them away. Ripley could not imagine how she had gotten so lucky to be training, owning and riding the top two sprinter/milers the racing industry would see. Between Cross and Mastermind, Ripley was busy shoving the press off as to when their first starts would be. What the press didn't know was that Mastermind or Cross could show up on the Triple Crown or Tiara trail in the future. Not that they would race in the big ones themselves, but give the competition a taste for what met them after those fierce early season trials.
Brooks could practically feel Ripley plotting as she adjusted Cross' front wraps. It bounced off of her like an echo. He was a regular schemer himself, but God he only had to scheme for a few horses. Ripley had a whole barn to think about even with her splitting up the divisions the way she had. Brooks patted Mage's soft nose, blue eyes sparkling with affection. This filly was a kind one. So different from the Masterminds, Hokums, and GS Royal Crowns of the racing world. She was special and maybe she would start proving it this year. Brooks turned the filly around, admiring her dual colored tail as it swung out behind her. Her angled nose tilted up and nickered excitedly as they moved out of the barn.
A few horses called after her, eyes full of disdain. Ripley did not feel so bad and neither did Cross. The calls rolled right off her shoulders and she didn't even seem as if she'd heard. Her slims ears were locked on the bigger filly trotting out before her. Mage was full of dramatic movement and Cross moved with purpose. Her fiery attitude had not dimmed in the least, but they weren't at the track yet and it didn't show. The riders swung up on the backs of their mounts, settled into the saddles and tried to ease them into a canter. Cross, of course, took it the wrong way and kicked up clods of grass as she blasted off in the direction of the turf track. Not one to be left behind, Mage squealed, kicked up her heels and dashed after the black filly.
Ripley let Cross go for a little while at the quick pace, but gradually brought her in with plenty of rejections. Cross was known for going right to the lead. There would never be any doubt where the tornado would be in the races. She was on the front end. Always. Pure and simple. Light hands talked the bit out of the mouth of her filly, teeth gritted when Mage nearly steamrolled cross, passing within inches. Cross' head flew up angrily and her mouth gaped allowing saliva to drip down the side. She hated being passed or taken up. However, Brooks calmed Mage down and the gray-roan filly was back to her playful self. She cruised over the grass, lean greyhound body gliding over the surface as if she'd been born to do so.
Brooks leaned close to her neck, stroking it and calming her down. The quarter mile of a gallop to the turf track had been demolished. It would be the same with Cross and Mage as it had been with the others. Show me you can listen, only then will you get to run. A mile and a quarter. Three furlong sprint. Ripley guided Cross a little ways away from Mage. Cross stretched her head out, delicate nostrils flaring and constricting quickly. She was excited to get back to work. Her chest pumped in and out with the rhythm of her stride as they cruised over the first hill. She gradually settled though her head remained high. She was a short strided filly, but her strides were swift and Mage did not get quite the advantage as one would expect.
The fillies dashed over the hills in such a high cruising speed that it felt nearly like the race rather than just the workout. Cross remained in hand, but poked her nose in front, eyes daring Mage to retaliate. Mage's ears flopped on her head without any sign of eagerness. Her strides were extended nicely as they cantered up the last hill before the three furlong flat. Brooks talked her back in, lifting the bit gently in her mouth. Mage settled back nicely on her haunches, sliding almost down the hillside. Ripley found it a little bit of a struggle to get Cross to totally come back. The moment she hit the less steep slope, Cross was gone. Ripley gripped the whipping black tresses, her green eyes lit with a fire that was only matched by Cross'. Brooks swore, shook the reins mightily when Mage reached the bottom and felt her floor it. The gray filly's strides whipped across the grass. The game was over before it had begun, but Mage kept going. Her ears were lost in her gray mane and her tail flew out like a mast to a ship. She was not waving the white flag of surrender just yet.
The pair flew over the flat, strides coming and quicker. Mage's lengthened while Cross did the impossible. Fleet Majesty swallowed the ground up with her tremendous strides and closed the gap between Cross as the black streaked into the final furlong. Brooks remained quiet now. She was doing this all on her own and it was quite the impressive move. At the end of the third furlong, Cross did not pull up and Mage was now at her haunches. The gray filly had flown to catch the demonic black. Brooks stroked her sweated neck, crooning to her with pleasant tones. She hadn't gotten the chance to challenge Cross eye to eye, but Brooks was satisfied. Too many horses had their hearts broken by challenging Ripley's filly and he wanted Fleet Majesty ready to roll this year. Ripley stroked Cross as the filly threw her typical tantrum. It didn't phase the woman in the least. Her mind was traveling in the same direction as Brooks. Cross would be ready to roll. She hadn't even shown the elite her best yet.
rise and shine
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
I didn't think the reason I was coming to the U.S. was for my death sentence... Laura snarled fiercely as she looked into the boarded up round pen. Maggie nearly laughed beside her prickly niece, feeling the electricity and heat pouring off of her. Laura DeComte was not a nice girl, but she was one hell of a rider. Ripley had noted it and quickly prompted Maggie to bring her here, despite all attempts otherwise. She shook her blonde hair out, catching glimpses of the flying angry horse inside the pen. Laura was leaning against the panels, green eyes slitted as she watched the near black mare torment the earth beneath her. Whipped Cream, daughter of Whippet and Perfection, making her a half to Flawed Princess, was in no mood to be nice. She had not been in a nice mood ever since coming to Witch Creek Stable. She'd bucked every rider off that had gotten on her broad back... Except for Laura whom was likely to be the next victim.
Laura pulled the rope halter up onto her shoulder as Rea reared on her hind legs, pawing the air. Her nostrils were flared and her eyes rimmed with red. She looked like a horse who wanted to exercise and escape her place of residence. Laura could relate. She'd felt the same since coming to Witch Creek as well. We didn't bring you here to kill you. Just to exploit your equine capabilities. Maggie responded, tone cold with snoot. Laura's English voice brought it out in her. Maggie rolled her eyes, slapped her hands on the wooden fence, setting off Whipped Cream. The heavy set mare spun on her heels and once again charged her round pen like a trapped lion. Maggie shook her head and marched off. She had better things to do then watch Laura work her magic, which would ultimately happen. There was a stallion waiting for her in the barn anyway.
She stepped into the barn, stopped at the first stall to pet Ashes' nose. A horse down the row poked his head out. The Rising, a son of Hall of Fame champion the Natural and half to two Hall of Fame mares, looked at her with the most perfect face belonging to a horse. His chocolate eyes swept over her with eagerness and his throat vibrated in greeting. He was an old hat kind of horse and he didn't butt against his horse now like Mastermind did. He stood calmly and politely though his ears were glued to her as she approached. Ri could feel the excitement. He'd been galloping since his arrival unlike Rea who simply would not tolerate anyone at WCS. His body gleamed like oak and he had several dapples spread all over his back. A light racing saddle was perched at his withers. Maggie patted his neck, looped the halter rope around his neck and led him out.
The complete opposite of Rea, Ri stood in the hallway with very little touch to tell him he could not move. He dipped his head, politely accepting the bit and was pure class as Maggie fussed with him some more. Ri was intelligent like most thoroughbreds. However, unlike most thoroughbreds, Ri acted with intelligence. She patted and rubbed him, adjusted the wraps even as Laura led the ill-tempered Whipped Cream into the barn. Dazzling Dame bared her teeth and charged the door aggressively while Fiery Touch nickered in the greeting belonging to pals. Rea ignored both greetings and planted herself firmly between the cross-ties. Though Ri was bigger than Rea, Rea looked larger. Her chest was massive, her legs sturdy, her back compact. Her banged tail hung neatly at her hocks and her braided mane and forelock gave her the appearance of a Trojan horse.
Laura moved precisely and efficiently, hurrying through the grooming process, but not missing any trick. Rea was on the edge of her tolerance and had not been easy to coax into behaving. She was like a lioness and even in possession of that beast's temper. She stood angrily, rear hoof cocked as the saddle was tossed onto her back. Laura had not watched American racing while in England, had not liked it very much. She'd been told enough to know that both mare and stallion in this set were grade five with one win to their names. Not good for such well bred horses, but coming from such a large barn with these types of personalities would not have worked.
Maggie cocked her hip, watching as Laura bribed Whipped Cream into dropping her head for the bit. Rea's white mark shown brightly from all the dark and her eyes contrasted with the light coloring. She was a fierce mare and Maggie was the one to suggest a match. Good things came from Laura when matched with a particular type of horse. Maggie patted Ri's shoulder. The lighter bay stallion was eyeing Whipped Cream with caution, but he acknowledged the pat with a nudge. He wanted to be on his way.
The women made their way to the turf track aboard the horses. The Rising trotted along like the pro he was, knees lifting high as he made his way over the grass. He was a powerful stallion despite being gentle in nature and relatively light in the build. He was tall and lean, the perfect thoroughbred. He had been given a solid year of racing by Star Thoroughbreds as a three year old, but nothing spectacular had been tossed his way. It was Witch Creek's hope that he had saved his best performances for his last years. Ri tossed his head, bobbling the bit in his mouth as they reached the rolling hills of the turf track. He danced sideways, tail flicking wildly over his rump, his first display of excitement.
Rea was not to be outdone by the dancing display. She reared in the air, pawing with her powerful forelegs and attempted to throw Laura off. The redhead stuck like a burr, wrapping her long legs around the barrel of the beast. Rea stood straight, refusing to go down to earth. Laura leaned back in the precarious position, glanced at Maggie, nodded and then drilled her feet into the Whippet mare's side. She took off like a bat out of hell up the first hill, nostrils flaring and blowing. If it had been winter she would have looked like a dragon. The Rising, fleet on his own feet, set off after in a more controlled gallop up the hill. The Rising floated over the track, glided and was so smooth it was like riding a boat on a flat-glassed lake. Maggie stayed quiet as he navigated the sloping down-hill. The Rising's ears were pinned back in his black mane as he tackled the obstacle. He paid no mind to the runaway train before them and that, Maggie thought, was a show of his good taste.
Laura's breath was trapped in her lungs as Whipped Cream stormed between the valleys, charged up hills, skidded down with her tail dragging behind. She was swift and strong with a temper that bit back. Her ears were lost in her black mane and her tail flew out straight behind her like a rudder. She powered over the grass, strides mighty and long. Laura had no control and was content with it. This was a mare that just wanted to run and gun for the moment. And Laura couldn't blame her. Her red locks mingled with the black as they stormed toward the three furlong flat. The smoother, controllable gallops would come later with this one. Right now, though, Laura was caught up in the same storm.
The Rising glided over the hills, content to move at his own pace even though Rea was ahead by seven to eight lengths. Ri stretched his limbs out, took them back in and focused on the rhythm. Maggie let her hands slide down the warm leather as they bounded up the last hill. Rea was obviously on the down-slope by now, but Ri wasn't worried about her or so Maggie thought. The bay stallion reached the top, ears pricked. Maggie felt the power surge before Ri exploited it. With the agility of a rabbit the bay stallion went from stand still to all out flight. Maggie leaned closer, hunkering down even as the terrifying speed engulfed them. The Natural stallion could not have gone any quicker than his first furlong. He flew across the grass when he reached the flat, spreading his long, lean body out. Rea was well ahead though the gap was shrinking with every grand stride that The Rising took.
Rea flicked her ears back and if Laura had ears such as Rea did, hers would have flicked back to. The redhead glanced under her armpit to see The Rising's muscled frame gunning them down. She had no idea how the stallion could have made such a tremendous move on Whipped Cream, but there was no time to ponder. They had company. Now. Laura grabbed at the reins, shouted and sent the solid mare flying. She punished the earth brutally with her heavy steps and though ponderous, she was like Pegasus. The Rising was on her tail, then at her barrel and nearly to her flexing shoulder when they crossed the three furlong marker. Laura took her up immediately while Maggie allowed Ri to glide his way through the gallop out.
Rea was puffing and huffing, but her eyes gleamed with happiness. The hills had woken her up. Laura brought her to a pulsing trot alongside the track, toward the paddocks. Rea bowed her neck, prancing as she moved. The four year old had just gotten started. Maggie leaned down, kissed Ri's neck as he came to a peppy walk. Similar thoughts to Laura's passed through her head. They had not seen the best of either horse yet.
Laura pulled the rope halter up onto her shoulder as Rea reared on her hind legs, pawing the air. Her nostrils were flared and her eyes rimmed with red. She looked like a horse who wanted to exercise and escape her place of residence. Laura could relate. She'd felt the same since coming to Witch Creek as well. We didn't bring you here to kill you. Just to exploit your equine capabilities. Maggie responded, tone cold with snoot. Laura's English voice brought it out in her. Maggie rolled her eyes, slapped her hands on the wooden fence, setting off Whipped Cream. The heavy set mare spun on her heels and once again charged her round pen like a trapped lion. Maggie shook her head and marched off. She had better things to do then watch Laura work her magic, which would ultimately happen. There was a stallion waiting for her in the barn anyway.
She stepped into the barn, stopped at the first stall to pet Ashes' nose. A horse down the row poked his head out. The Rising, a son of Hall of Fame champion the Natural and half to two Hall of Fame mares, looked at her with the most perfect face belonging to a horse. His chocolate eyes swept over her with eagerness and his throat vibrated in greeting. He was an old hat kind of horse and he didn't butt against his horse now like Mastermind did. He stood calmly and politely though his ears were glued to her as she approached. Ri could feel the excitement. He'd been galloping since his arrival unlike Rea who simply would not tolerate anyone at WCS. His body gleamed like oak and he had several dapples spread all over his back. A light racing saddle was perched at his withers. Maggie patted his neck, looped the halter rope around his neck and led him out.
The complete opposite of Rea, Ri stood in the hallway with very little touch to tell him he could not move. He dipped his head, politely accepting the bit and was pure class as Maggie fussed with him some more. Ri was intelligent like most thoroughbreds. However, unlike most thoroughbreds, Ri acted with intelligence. She patted and rubbed him, adjusted the wraps even as Laura led the ill-tempered Whipped Cream into the barn. Dazzling Dame bared her teeth and charged the door aggressively while Fiery Touch nickered in the greeting belonging to pals. Rea ignored both greetings and planted herself firmly between the cross-ties. Though Ri was bigger than Rea, Rea looked larger. Her chest was massive, her legs sturdy, her back compact. Her banged tail hung neatly at her hocks and her braided mane and forelock gave her the appearance of a Trojan horse.
Laura moved precisely and efficiently, hurrying through the grooming process, but not missing any trick. Rea was on the edge of her tolerance and had not been easy to coax into behaving. She was like a lioness and even in possession of that beast's temper. She stood angrily, rear hoof cocked as the saddle was tossed onto her back. Laura had not watched American racing while in England, had not liked it very much. She'd been told enough to know that both mare and stallion in this set were grade five with one win to their names. Not good for such well bred horses, but coming from such a large barn with these types of personalities would not have worked.
Maggie cocked her hip, watching as Laura bribed Whipped Cream into dropping her head for the bit. Rea's white mark shown brightly from all the dark and her eyes contrasted with the light coloring. She was a fierce mare and Maggie was the one to suggest a match. Good things came from Laura when matched with a particular type of horse. Maggie patted Ri's shoulder. The lighter bay stallion was eyeing Whipped Cream with caution, but he acknowledged the pat with a nudge. He wanted to be on his way.
The women made their way to the turf track aboard the horses. The Rising trotted along like the pro he was, knees lifting high as he made his way over the grass. He was a powerful stallion despite being gentle in nature and relatively light in the build. He was tall and lean, the perfect thoroughbred. He had been given a solid year of racing by Star Thoroughbreds as a three year old, but nothing spectacular had been tossed his way. It was Witch Creek's hope that he had saved his best performances for his last years. Ri tossed his head, bobbling the bit in his mouth as they reached the rolling hills of the turf track. He danced sideways, tail flicking wildly over his rump, his first display of excitement.
Rea was not to be outdone by the dancing display. She reared in the air, pawing with her powerful forelegs and attempted to throw Laura off. The redhead stuck like a burr, wrapping her long legs around the barrel of the beast. Rea stood straight, refusing to go down to earth. Laura leaned back in the precarious position, glanced at Maggie, nodded and then drilled her feet into the Whippet mare's side. She took off like a bat out of hell up the first hill, nostrils flaring and blowing. If it had been winter she would have looked like a dragon. The Rising, fleet on his own feet, set off after in a more controlled gallop up the hill. The Rising floated over the track, glided and was so smooth it was like riding a boat on a flat-glassed lake. Maggie stayed quiet as he navigated the sloping down-hill. The Rising's ears were pinned back in his black mane as he tackled the obstacle. He paid no mind to the runaway train before them and that, Maggie thought, was a show of his good taste.
Laura's breath was trapped in her lungs as Whipped Cream stormed between the valleys, charged up hills, skidded down with her tail dragging behind. She was swift and strong with a temper that bit back. Her ears were lost in her black mane and her tail flew out straight behind her like a rudder. She powered over the grass, strides mighty and long. Laura had no control and was content with it. This was a mare that just wanted to run and gun for the moment. And Laura couldn't blame her. Her red locks mingled with the black as they stormed toward the three furlong flat. The smoother, controllable gallops would come later with this one. Right now, though, Laura was caught up in the same storm.
The Rising glided over the hills, content to move at his own pace even though Rea was ahead by seven to eight lengths. Ri stretched his limbs out, took them back in and focused on the rhythm. Maggie let her hands slide down the warm leather as they bounded up the last hill. Rea was obviously on the down-slope by now, but Ri wasn't worried about her or so Maggie thought. The bay stallion reached the top, ears pricked. Maggie felt the power surge before Ri exploited it. With the agility of a rabbit the bay stallion went from stand still to all out flight. Maggie leaned closer, hunkering down even as the terrifying speed engulfed them. The Natural stallion could not have gone any quicker than his first furlong. He flew across the grass when he reached the flat, spreading his long, lean body out. Rea was well ahead though the gap was shrinking with every grand stride that The Rising took.
Rea flicked her ears back and if Laura had ears such as Rea did, hers would have flicked back to. The redhead glanced under her armpit to see The Rising's muscled frame gunning them down. She had no idea how the stallion could have made such a tremendous move on Whipped Cream, but there was no time to ponder. They had company. Now. Laura grabbed at the reins, shouted and sent the solid mare flying. She punished the earth brutally with her heavy steps and though ponderous, she was like Pegasus. The Rising was on her tail, then at her barrel and nearly to her flexing shoulder when they crossed the three furlong marker. Laura took her up immediately while Maggie allowed Ri to glide his way through the gallop out.
Rea was puffing and huffing, but her eyes gleamed with happiness. The hills had woken her up. Laura brought her to a pulsing trot alongside the track, toward the paddocks. Rea bowed her neck, prancing as she moved. The four year old had just gotten started. Maggie leaned down, kissed Ri's neck as he came to a peppy walk. Similar thoughts to Laura's passed through her head. They had not seen the best of either horse yet.
meeting of the minds
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Laura and Ripley leaned against the wall in the barn, wiping the dirt and sweat off their faces. DW Flamekissed and Mr. Hat and Clogs had managed to escape their respective paddocks and like typically stallions had only two things on their, competition and females. After a forceful intervention the stallions were now placed on opposite ends of them. Ripley felt frustration invade her system. She couldn't imagine where Clint had gone off to. They were his stallions to take care of and it was clearly stated in the contract. Her sharp green eyes whipped across Laura before settling on the property. Now they were behind... Again. She ran her hands up and down her arms in order to settle the goosebumps that had popped up. They always popped up when fury was raging within her.
The thin redhead beside Ripley rolled her shoulders and for once, remained quiet. Ripley was a scary woman when angry and Laura could relate. But that also meant she had to let the woman rage before speaking again. She stepped up to the workout board, saw her name attached to Feline Frenzy's. What a complete turn around this would be. Laura slipped down the hall of the barn on silent feet toward the end stall. A plain brown wrapper poked a delicate nose out of her stall. Fee was the newest member of the racing barn literally and figuratively. She'd traveled many times between the broodmare and racing barn since she'd arrived until it was finally declared that Fee would indeed race. Laura placed a hand on her nose, glancing in the stall to admire the beautiful black stockings that ended five inches above her hocks and knees. Fee was a looker, not quite flashy like the rest of Witch Creek's stock, but a pretty mare. At four years old she was looking to surpass her grade five ranking and rise just as Screaming Mimi had the year before.
Ripley turned back, hands on her hips to see the gentle looks pass between Fee and Laura. The prickly cactus had made a friend with the most gentle horse in the barn. She pulled her dark auburn hair back in a tight bun, still revved up. A call from the stall beside her softened her gaze. Mastermind wanted his attention for the day. She stepped over the stall, admiring the copper colt she had loved on first sight. It was incredible to know that her affections were being returned. She ran a hand down his forehead, admiring the star and his elegant frame. He'd grown a little, but he'd filled out incredibly well. His shoulders were powerful, his haunches strong, his chest broader than it had been. Mastermind was on the same level as the prized art sculpture David at Witch Creek. He was the son of two hall of famers and well on his way to making his name separate from theirs. Big things awaited the gorgeous animal and Ripley was so happy to be apart of it.
The women led their respective horses out of the stalls, tying them in the cross-ties and set to work. It was basically touch and go for these two. There were not many important sprinter-miler races in the early season unless one counted the Unicorn Horn. Ripley curled her lips. She would not be sending Mastermind into that fray just yet. She didn't get sending horses into the big races without a prep. It only worked for some. Even Frozen Motion wouldn't be in attendance for the Unicorn Horn Classic. He would instead be racing at his home track The Wire, just like she planned for the rest of her stock, with a few exceptions. Maybe you'll go next year big guy. But not this time around. This time around you're just going to take it up a notch. We'll let them see the real star in Year Fourteen and Fifteen. Mastermind dipped his head, whuffled his lips in her hands. Love bloomed in both of their eyes, born of a partnership that had faced hard times and a trust that could not be touched by any other.
Laura ran her hands over Fee's smooth back. She was at most 15.2 hands. Tiny for a racehorse and possibly the smallest around here. Indian Darling, Laura had been told, had been a similar size, but the bay daughter of Native Flame had shot up like a weed in her time off. But Fee was full-grown and she would remain this size. Her muscles were not quite pronounced as others, but she screamed of efficiency and speed. Her body was made for short distances and most of her races had been run on the front end. Fee nickered softly, brown eyes melting the iciness within Laura. My pretty girl. Laura kissed the mare's delicate nose, picked up the reins and raised her sharp eyebrows at Ripley. The woman nodded, picked up her own reins and led the developed Mastermind into the spring sunlight.
They mounted up without much trouble. Mastermind was a pro even at this early three year old stage and Feline Frenzy was a bit of an old hat. The colt and mare traveled with their necks level, the only excitement betrayed by the constant moving of the bits. Laura appreciated the way Fee moved toward the track, full of dignity and will. She didn't know she was a small fish in a big pond and Laura thought better of her for it. Mastermind was the complete opposite. He moved like an executioner, powerful, but a sea of calm in the midst of chaos. Ripley sat loosely, feet hanging out of the stirrups. He took advantage of not wearing the blinker hood, glancing around, taking it all in. Mastermind didn't need blinkers for the workout, just for the race where he could often be intimidated in close quarters.
They reached the edge of the turf track aboard the gems of the barn. Mastermind snorted and his whole body seemed to light up like a flame. He remembered this place though it had been a while. The riders signaled for the horses to gallop, letting them travel over the ground efficiently and at their own pace. Fee spread herself out, head cranked up to watch where she was going. Mastermind collected himself, bowing his neck with every contraction of his legs. Ripley leaned close to the fiery mane, feeling the power surge beneath her. He was a completely different animal this season even though it had been only a few weeks since the Breeders Cup where he had thoroughly dominated. She loosened the reins, letting him relax into a cruising gallop. He allowed Fee to man the helm. The little bay mare was quick on her shorter legs, her eyes were filled with joy and Laura could feel it spreading into her.
Fee bounded down the hillside, quick and sure while Mastermind took a few cautious strides before getting back up to speed. Laura reveled in the fleetness of the mare. She could really move and really cover the ground even with her economic strides. Fee hit the flat first, head up and tail flying out behind her like a freedom flag. Laura remained quiet, heels down and not spurring her on any. The plain brown wrapper came to life in a way that just invigorated you. Mastermind caught up in a rush, tightened up by Ripley to stay in contact with Feline Frenzy. His strides became forceful and threatening, his tongue began to push on the bit while his ears tuned to Fee. Ripley radiated confidence as they whipped up the hill. The final three furlong stretch would welcome them with open arms.
Mastermind stayed back, toying with the effervescent Fee. The bay mare paid no mind, lost in her world, as if she weren't locked in a battle with the most talented three year old at Witch Creek. Laura stroked her neck, felt Fee stretch her dark legs front and back. Her stride became longer as if she sensed she would get the chance to really run very soon. The chestnut sculpture beside her was focused to a fault. Ripley shook the reins at the downhill slope. There was no way Mastermind would beat Fee here. The bay mare had too much surefooted-ness on the downhill slope. And to prove Ripley's point, Laura tossed the reins and the mare took off, scooting down the slope like one of the rams in the Rocky Mountains.
Mastermind tossed his head, angered as Fee spirited away from him. Ripley kept quiet, kept her cool. Luckily, Mastermind gave her back control. The sway of the partnership bolstered the head trainer right up. Nothing like them out there. The moment they hit the flat, Ripley tossed the reins at Mastermind, yipped and they were flying. Laura could here the swift beats of Mastermind as he gained on them. Not even their eight length lead would hold the copper whirlwind off. Laura called to her, encouraging and was satisfied when Fee pinned her black tipped ears and responded with a swift kick.
Mastermind faltered at her haunches when Fee turned it on. Ripley growled, called to him, and nodded. This was why they wore blinkers in a race. The chestnut heard the determination in the growl, flicked his ears back and suddenly, turned on the after-burners. He stretched out his stride like Gumby and then rolled right on by the little bay mare. Ripley was glad he had indeed faltered because they had just cruised through the final furlong. Fee wouldn't lose by much. But as she pulled him up, she felt sorry. One day she would let Mastermind do as he pleased and let him show off his true talent.
Fee's head cranked up as Laura pulled her up and she showed the first signs of resistance and temper. Mastermind had beaten her fair and square, pulling away to an easy two length victory. But Fee had done well for few could run with Mastermind on his best day. Laura crooned to the irritated mare as she faced the victor. Fee bared her teeth, pinned her ears and snaked at Mastermind in what was a typical stallion move. Laura and Ripley exchanged a warm-hearted laugh when Mastermind stopped and stared at her in what only could be described as shock. The mares at Witch Creek would never be second best even to the Gods of Racing.
The thin redhead beside Ripley rolled her shoulders and for once, remained quiet. Ripley was a scary woman when angry and Laura could relate. But that also meant she had to let the woman rage before speaking again. She stepped up to the workout board, saw her name attached to Feline Frenzy's. What a complete turn around this would be. Laura slipped down the hall of the barn on silent feet toward the end stall. A plain brown wrapper poked a delicate nose out of her stall. Fee was the newest member of the racing barn literally and figuratively. She'd traveled many times between the broodmare and racing barn since she'd arrived until it was finally declared that Fee would indeed race. Laura placed a hand on her nose, glancing in the stall to admire the beautiful black stockings that ended five inches above her hocks and knees. Fee was a looker, not quite flashy like the rest of Witch Creek's stock, but a pretty mare. At four years old she was looking to surpass her grade five ranking and rise just as Screaming Mimi had the year before.
Ripley turned back, hands on her hips to see the gentle looks pass between Fee and Laura. The prickly cactus had made a friend with the most gentle horse in the barn. She pulled her dark auburn hair back in a tight bun, still revved up. A call from the stall beside her softened her gaze. Mastermind wanted his attention for the day. She stepped over the stall, admiring the copper colt she had loved on first sight. It was incredible to know that her affections were being returned. She ran a hand down his forehead, admiring the star and his elegant frame. He'd grown a little, but he'd filled out incredibly well. His shoulders were powerful, his haunches strong, his chest broader than it had been. Mastermind was on the same level as the prized art sculpture David at Witch Creek. He was the son of two hall of famers and well on his way to making his name separate from theirs. Big things awaited the gorgeous animal and Ripley was so happy to be apart of it.
The women led their respective horses out of the stalls, tying them in the cross-ties and set to work. It was basically touch and go for these two. There were not many important sprinter-miler races in the early season unless one counted the Unicorn Horn. Ripley curled her lips. She would not be sending Mastermind into that fray just yet. She didn't get sending horses into the big races without a prep. It only worked for some. Even Frozen Motion wouldn't be in attendance for the Unicorn Horn Classic. He would instead be racing at his home track The Wire, just like she planned for the rest of her stock, with a few exceptions. Maybe you'll go next year big guy. But not this time around. This time around you're just going to take it up a notch. We'll let them see the real star in Year Fourteen and Fifteen. Mastermind dipped his head, whuffled his lips in her hands. Love bloomed in both of their eyes, born of a partnership that had faced hard times and a trust that could not be touched by any other.
Laura ran her hands over Fee's smooth back. She was at most 15.2 hands. Tiny for a racehorse and possibly the smallest around here. Indian Darling, Laura had been told, had been a similar size, but the bay daughter of Native Flame had shot up like a weed in her time off. But Fee was full-grown and she would remain this size. Her muscles were not quite pronounced as others, but she screamed of efficiency and speed. Her body was made for short distances and most of her races had been run on the front end. Fee nickered softly, brown eyes melting the iciness within Laura. My pretty girl. Laura kissed the mare's delicate nose, picked up the reins and raised her sharp eyebrows at Ripley. The woman nodded, picked up her own reins and led the developed Mastermind into the spring sunlight.
They mounted up without much trouble. Mastermind was a pro even at this early three year old stage and Feline Frenzy was a bit of an old hat. The colt and mare traveled with their necks level, the only excitement betrayed by the constant moving of the bits. Laura appreciated the way Fee moved toward the track, full of dignity and will. She didn't know she was a small fish in a big pond and Laura thought better of her for it. Mastermind was the complete opposite. He moved like an executioner, powerful, but a sea of calm in the midst of chaos. Ripley sat loosely, feet hanging out of the stirrups. He took advantage of not wearing the blinker hood, glancing around, taking it all in. Mastermind didn't need blinkers for the workout, just for the race where he could often be intimidated in close quarters.
They reached the edge of the turf track aboard the gems of the barn. Mastermind snorted and his whole body seemed to light up like a flame. He remembered this place though it had been a while. The riders signaled for the horses to gallop, letting them travel over the ground efficiently and at their own pace. Fee spread herself out, head cranked up to watch where she was going. Mastermind collected himself, bowing his neck with every contraction of his legs. Ripley leaned close to the fiery mane, feeling the power surge beneath her. He was a completely different animal this season even though it had been only a few weeks since the Breeders Cup where he had thoroughly dominated. She loosened the reins, letting him relax into a cruising gallop. He allowed Fee to man the helm. The little bay mare was quick on her shorter legs, her eyes were filled with joy and Laura could feel it spreading into her.
Fee bounded down the hillside, quick and sure while Mastermind took a few cautious strides before getting back up to speed. Laura reveled in the fleetness of the mare. She could really move and really cover the ground even with her economic strides. Fee hit the flat first, head up and tail flying out behind her like a freedom flag. Laura remained quiet, heels down and not spurring her on any. The plain brown wrapper came to life in a way that just invigorated you. Mastermind caught up in a rush, tightened up by Ripley to stay in contact with Feline Frenzy. His strides became forceful and threatening, his tongue began to push on the bit while his ears tuned to Fee. Ripley radiated confidence as they whipped up the hill. The final three furlong stretch would welcome them with open arms.
Mastermind stayed back, toying with the effervescent Fee. The bay mare paid no mind, lost in her world, as if she weren't locked in a battle with the most talented three year old at Witch Creek. Laura stroked her neck, felt Fee stretch her dark legs front and back. Her stride became longer as if she sensed she would get the chance to really run very soon. The chestnut sculpture beside her was focused to a fault. Ripley shook the reins at the downhill slope. There was no way Mastermind would beat Fee here. The bay mare had too much surefooted-ness on the downhill slope. And to prove Ripley's point, Laura tossed the reins and the mare took off, scooting down the slope like one of the rams in the Rocky Mountains.
Mastermind tossed his head, angered as Fee spirited away from him. Ripley kept quiet, kept her cool. Luckily, Mastermind gave her back control. The sway of the partnership bolstered the head trainer right up. Nothing like them out there. The moment they hit the flat, Ripley tossed the reins at Mastermind, yipped and they were flying. Laura could here the swift beats of Mastermind as he gained on them. Not even their eight length lead would hold the copper whirlwind off. Laura called to her, encouraging and was satisfied when Fee pinned her black tipped ears and responded with a swift kick.
Mastermind faltered at her haunches when Fee turned it on. Ripley growled, called to him, and nodded. This was why they wore blinkers in a race. The chestnut heard the determination in the growl, flicked his ears back and suddenly, turned on the after-burners. He stretched out his stride like Gumby and then rolled right on by the little bay mare. Ripley was glad he had indeed faltered because they had just cruised through the final furlong. Fee wouldn't lose by much. But as she pulled him up, she felt sorry. One day she would let Mastermind do as he pleased and let him show off his true talent.
Fee's head cranked up as Laura pulled her up and she showed the first signs of resistance and temper. Mastermind had beaten her fair and square, pulling away to an easy two length victory. But Fee had done well for few could run with Mastermind on his best day. Laura crooned to the irritated mare as she faced the victor. Fee bared her teeth, pinned her ears and snaked at Mastermind in what was a typical stallion move. Laura and Ripley exchanged a warm-hearted laugh when Mastermind stopped and stared at her in what only could be described as shock. The mares at Witch Creek would never be second best even to the Gods of Racing.
world on fire
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Brooks ran a hand over what he considered to be the finest horseflesh in the barn at the moment. 16.3 hands of bay stallion stood between cross-ties hogging the attention of the assistant trainer. Muscles rippled beneath burnished hide that gleamed from the finest attention possible. Strength roared around the stallion along with the new-found arrogance gleaming in his eyes. The boy had turn into a man in the Breeders Cup Dirt Mile and he was looking like the champion of the future. And it wasn't just in Brookson's opinion either. The blonde stepped back, blue jean eyes sweeping over the staggering frame that belonged to the Crooked Fire colt. Ashes to Ashes was a pure powerhouse and he looked it now too. Brooks admired him, plotting a future for him and was certain that the highest honor could in fact belong to Ashes to Ashes later in the season.
Ripley was plotting the future for her own mount in this set, humming softly to the similarly staggering mare between the cross-ties. Fiery Touch was a champion in her own right and it was time to get her to show that she could be a champion for the ages in her final year of racing. The stripe-faced filly stood, hoof cocked, head tilted in Ripley's direction. Her honey-brown hide gleamed as sunlight fluttered through the barn frame lighting her on fire. The daughter of Touch Up had suffered two straight defeats by the hooves of Eternal Phantom in the Dubai Filly Cup and the Breeders Cup Ladies Classic. Now it was time to back off in a corner and bide their time. Their time would indeed come and their determination to get that dangerous victory would pay off in the end. Eternal Phantom held the keys to the kingdom at the moment, but it was Fie who would have the last laugh in Year Thirteen. Ripley patted the silky hide, meeting fiery eye with fiery eye. Fie was the unchallenged queen of the barn again with Screaming Mimi's move into the broodmare ranks. Her reign of terror had begun and her bad attitude had risen with it. She pinned her black tipped ears into the wild black mane, stomped a hoof and snorted. She dared Ripley to come closer and get on her back, dared to take her jockey to the wild side. Like victory, it was only a matter of time before Ripley dared.
Brooks was in a good position with these four year olds. The group was strong and mighty this year and they had potential the likes of which had not been imaginable only a year ago. Sure they had no grade ones in the field, but Witch Creek wouldn't stay down for long. Fie, Ashes, Freeze, Dame, Jabberwock, Fee and Amira would help lift Witch Creek to one of the premiere older horse barns in the country. It was only a matter of time. Brooks rubbed a hand over Ashes' gleaming hide, envisioning the future he painted in his mind. He wasn't cocky, but he was sure of himself and of his horses. It was always about the horses. You could have the tactics, the perfect trip, the right riding style, but unless you had a good horse there was no way you were going to make it into the winner's circle. Luckily, Witch Creek had more than their share of good horses.
Ripley stroked Fie's beautiful face, drawing in her vibrant energy so that it nearly rocked her back. It would be their year. Fie had come so far since last season when she was nothing but a maiden with a single win and a bunch of thirds. Now she was one of the most anticipated mares on the track. Ripley patted the mare as she slid down to adjust wraps. She was doing what she loved most... Turning horses around and turning them into stars. The mare dipped her head, finally relenting to the affectionate pressure. She had loathed Ripley for the last three weeks. she hated being off the track and had been frankly dangerous when out jogging. Her attitude was geared toward working her butt off every day. She was the primed athlete ready for battle.
The man and women led their mounts out of the barn, admiring them as the intensity shot up a couple notches. Ashes bobbed his head, tucking his chin to his massive chest and strutted all the way to the mounting block. Fie stopped, arrogantly lifted her head, eyes flashing in Ashes' direction. Ripley leaped aboard, a wide smile parting her lips. This mare radiated power and force. She had improved tremendously over the season and had recovered beautifully from the Breeders Cup Ladies Classic. Brooks guided Ashes to Ashes after Fie, pleased with the strength that Ashes moved with. The stallion had improved as well. His first start would be in the Unicorn Horn Dirt Mile where he would face one of Fie's previous challengers: Paradise Island. Ashes would have it tough in the first start back, but the way he'd galloping suggested that Paradise Island would have trouble on her hands throughout the race. Most of the group except for Silver Secret from ARS was on the front end. Ashes would break from the outside and be able to drop back and settle. The bay had a high cruising stride and whatever pace smashed the records he would be able to handle it. Brooks knew that the outside stall would provide them with a serious advantage over competitor Paradise Island. She would simply have to run ahead of them or be boxed in. Brooks couldn't wait for the final drive. He missed his little buddy and looked forward to the fact that his little buddy had grown into the hulk over the break.
The horses stepped into a competitive gallop the moment they hit the dirt track. Fie stretched right out into her gigantic lumbering strides, head pumping into the wind of her own creation. She was a fierce filly now with her ears locked back into wild black tresses. Ashes paced her easily in a more controlled and contained gallop. His ears bobbed over head, feeling the quiet spread from Brooks through the reins. He snorted as Fie nudged into him. Her frame was about as large as Ashes and she was not the push over mare. She was the queen of the barn now. Ashes nudged back and they rolled mightily through the first turn into the backstretch. The stretch was loaded with finches and at the rumbling approach of the equine, they soon took flight. Their wings pulsed maniacally when they realized that these runners weren't just ambling along. Fie played with the bit in her mouth, eyes lighting with irritation when a bird did not move fast enough and nearly lifted into her chest. Ripley leaned close, hands quiet, green eyes focused. This mare was something else when she got back to work. She was a tough customer all around.
Brooks nodded in appreciation as Fie turned up the intensity. Ashes was now vibrating with it, his big body desperately wanting to put her away. But this was not how it could be now, in the Unicorn Horn Dirt Mile or later in the year. Brooks leaned back slightly, pulling the stallion off the Touch Up mare. Ashes did not give in at first, nearly pulled back in rebellion, but he settled back, remembering earlier lessons. His stride became longer, calmer and more confident. His tail waved behind him rather than straight as an arrow. He now galloped in his cruising stride just at Fie's haunches. Fie was gunning it today, setting a torrid pace even at the gallop. It took a few workouts and a race before Fiery Touch truly got back into being the perfect race-mare. Ripley remained calm, felt the wind whipping her face as Fie charged down the homestretch. All power. All focus. All strength. This was not the same quiet filly who had taken on Eternal Phantom throughout last year. She was something else.
As the pair cruised back down the backstretch, their muscles really revving up, Ripley and Brooks exchanged a glance. The workout was playing exactly how the race would at Green Horse Fields. Paradise Island locked on the inside of Ashes to Ashes with nowhere to go but forward into the homestretch. Ashes was really reveling in his ability to keep up with Fie's longer reaching stride. He was a burlier type of stallion now with muscles where muscles had not existed before. The pair roared into the far turn, Fie carrying Ashes out just a bit with her solid body. Ashes gritted his teeth, snorted his disapproval and shot forward like a bullet as they straightened into the homestretch.
Dirt flew. Wind beat. Hoof beats roared. Birds called in fear. The only thing prevalent in Ripley and Brookson's minds was the heat of battle. Fie and Ashes bumped and banged into one another, horseflesh thudding from contact as they stormed up the stretch. A monstrous dust cloud cranked up behind them as the pace increased, faster and faster, with Fie relenting only at the wire. Her quick gallop had tired her out before the end and Ashes gained the advantage after the point when it counted most. He galloped out strong and true, snorting in his celebration as Brooks slapped his neck with manly affection. There's my big man! Ripley narrowed her eyes as Fie galloped on, straight and true and classy as can be. One more workout before her first race back. She would be ready and it would definitely be an excellent start to their year.
Ripley was plotting the future for her own mount in this set, humming softly to the similarly staggering mare between the cross-ties. Fiery Touch was a champion in her own right and it was time to get her to show that she could be a champion for the ages in her final year of racing. The stripe-faced filly stood, hoof cocked, head tilted in Ripley's direction. Her honey-brown hide gleamed as sunlight fluttered through the barn frame lighting her on fire. The daughter of Touch Up had suffered two straight defeats by the hooves of Eternal Phantom in the Dubai Filly Cup and the Breeders Cup Ladies Classic. Now it was time to back off in a corner and bide their time. Their time would indeed come and their determination to get that dangerous victory would pay off in the end. Eternal Phantom held the keys to the kingdom at the moment, but it was Fie who would have the last laugh in Year Thirteen. Ripley patted the silky hide, meeting fiery eye with fiery eye. Fie was the unchallenged queen of the barn again with Screaming Mimi's move into the broodmare ranks. Her reign of terror had begun and her bad attitude had risen with it. She pinned her black tipped ears into the wild black mane, stomped a hoof and snorted. She dared Ripley to come closer and get on her back, dared to take her jockey to the wild side. Like victory, it was only a matter of time before Ripley dared.
Brooks was in a good position with these four year olds. The group was strong and mighty this year and they had potential the likes of which had not been imaginable only a year ago. Sure they had no grade ones in the field, but Witch Creek wouldn't stay down for long. Fie, Ashes, Freeze, Dame, Jabberwock, Fee and Amira would help lift Witch Creek to one of the premiere older horse barns in the country. It was only a matter of time. Brooks rubbed a hand over Ashes' gleaming hide, envisioning the future he painted in his mind. He wasn't cocky, but he was sure of himself and of his horses. It was always about the horses. You could have the tactics, the perfect trip, the right riding style, but unless you had a good horse there was no way you were going to make it into the winner's circle. Luckily, Witch Creek had more than their share of good horses.
Ripley stroked Fie's beautiful face, drawing in her vibrant energy so that it nearly rocked her back. It would be their year. Fie had come so far since last season when she was nothing but a maiden with a single win and a bunch of thirds. Now she was one of the most anticipated mares on the track. Ripley patted the mare as she slid down to adjust wraps. She was doing what she loved most... Turning horses around and turning them into stars. The mare dipped her head, finally relenting to the affectionate pressure. She had loathed Ripley for the last three weeks. she hated being off the track and had been frankly dangerous when out jogging. Her attitude was geared toward working her butt off every day. She was the primed athlete ready for battle.
The man and women led their mounts out of the barn, admiring them as the intensity shot up a couple notches. Ashes bobbed his head, tucking his chin to his massive chest and strutted all the way to the mounting block. Fie stopped, arrogantly lifted her head, eyes flashing in Ashes' direction. Ripley leaped aboard, a wide smile parting her lips. This mare radiated power and force. She had improved tremendously over the season and had recovered beautifully from the Breeders Cup Ladies Classic. Brooks guided Ashes to Ashes after Fie, pleased with the strength that Ashes moved with. The stallion had improved as well. His first start would be in the Unicorn Horn Dirt Mile where he would face one of Fie's previous challengers: Paradise Island. Ashes would have it tough in the first start back, but the way he'd galloping suggested that Paradise Island would have trouble on her hands throughout the race. Most of the group except for Silver Secret from ARS was on the front end. Ashes would break from the outside and be able to drop back and settle. The bay had a high cruising stride and whatever pace smashed the records he would be able to handle it. Brooks knew that the outside stall would provide them with a serious advantage over competitor Paradise Island. She would simply have to run ahead of them or be boxed in. Brooks couldn't wait for the final drive. He missed his little buddy and looked forward to the fact that his little buddy had grown into the hulk over the break.
The horses stepped into a competitive gallop the moment they hit the dirt track. Fie stretched right out into her gigantic lumbering strides, head pumping into the wind of her own creation. She was a fierce filly now with her ears locked back into wild black tresses. Ashes paced her easily in a more controlled and contained gallop. His ears bobbed over head, feeling the quiet spread from Brooks through the reins. He snorted as Fie nudged into him. Her frame was about as large as Ashes and she was not the push over mare. She was the queen of the barn now. Ashes nudged back and they rolled mightily through the first turn into the backstretch. The stretch was loaded with finches and at the rumbling approach of the equine, they soon took flight. Their wings pulsed maniacally when they realized that these runners weren't just ambling along. Fie played with the bit in her mouth, eyes lighting with irritation when a bird did not move fast enough and nearly lifted into her chest. Ripley leaned close, hands quiet, green eyes focused. This mare was something else when she got back to work. She was a tough customer all around.
Brooks nodded in appreciation as Fie turned up the intensity. Ashes was now vibrating with it, his big body desperately wanting to put her away. But this was not how it could be now, in the Unicorn Horn Dirt Mile or later in the year. Brooks leaned back slightly, pulling the stallion off the Touch Up mare. Ashes did not give in at first, nearly pulled back in rebellion, but he settled back, remembering earlier lessons. His stride became longer, calmer and more confident. His tail waved behind him rather than straight as an arrow. He now galloped in his cruising stride just at Fie's haunches. Fie was gunning it today, setting a torrid pace even at the gallop. It took a few workouts and a race before Fiery Touch truly got back into being the perfect race-mare. Ripley remained calm, felt the wind whipping her face as Fie charged down the homestretch. All power. All focus. All strength. This was not the same quiet filly who had taken on Eternal Phantom throughout last year. She was something else.
As the pair cruised back down the backstretch, their muscles really revving up, Ripley and Brooks exchanged a glance. The workout was playing exactly how the race would at Green Horse Fields. Paradise Island locked on the inside of Ashes to Ashes with nowhere to go but forward into the homestretch. Ashes was really reveling in his ability to keep up with Fie's longer reaching stride. He was a burlier type of stallion now with muscles where muscles had not existed before. The pair roared into the far turn, Fie carrying Ashes out just a bit with her solid body. Ashes gritted his teeth, snorted his disapproval and shot forward like a bullet as they straightened into the homestretch.
Dirt flew. Wind beat. Hoof beats roared. Birds called in fear. The only thing prevalent in Ripley and Brookson's minds was the heat of battle. Fie and Ashes bumped and banged into one another, horseflesh thudding from contact as they stormed up the stretch. A monstrous dust cloud cranked up behind them as the pace increased, faster and faster, with Fie relenting only at the wire. Her quick gallop had tired her out before the end and Ashes gained the advantage after the point when it counted most. He galloped out strong and true, snorting in his celebration as Brooks slapped his neck with manly affection. There's my big man! Ripley narrowed her eyes as Fie galloped on, straight and true and classy as can be. One more workout before her first race back. She would be ready and it would definitely be an excellent start to their year.
dazzling effect
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Dazzling Dame and Frozen Motion stood proudly on either side of Ripley Marsh and her staff. The picture snapped with a loud click, but no flash. Freeze danced on his perfectly shaped toes, leather tack shimmering in the spring sunlight. Dame tossed her head, flexing her bullish neck and looked every part the dominant mare she had become. Muscles rippled on both the dappled gray and the near black mare with the brown muzzle. These two were perfect representatives of what Witch Creek was all about. Heart. Courage. Strength. The ability to endure when many others collapsed or fell to the wayside. Justin held onto his beautiful mare, dark eyes shining with affection and love. There was pride and faith and teamwork. All of it had combined to give Witch Creek the awards for Stable Of The Year and Trainer of The Year. Freeze nickered as Brooks rubbed his muzzle. It was time to put it all together again and welcome their top turf duo back to the racetrack.
Ripley laughed, pushed Maggie when she pinched her ribs. Her green eyes were shining with pride. Witch Creek was a family of horses and humans. She was in her glory. She scrubbed Justin's dark curls as she broke away from her crew and looked them over. It had grown with Justin stepping in halfway through the season and Reese at the end. Justin had tamed Dazzling Dame into a kitten and Reese had turned a steady horse into a horse with star studded opportunities in Bella Luna. This coming year she could only imagine what talents Malcolm and Laura would bring. She rolled her shoulders, watched the black headed man and the bean pole of a redhead walk toward the yearling barn. There were horses to be walked and manipulated.
She clapped her hands when Justin and Brooks led their mounts toward her. Dame blew through her nostrils, her eyes lit with that ever pervasive fire. Freeze cocked his head to watch the young foals play in their paddock. He was noble and enduring. Ripley leaned over to kiss his neck. The stallion bowed it and she could have sworn he was blushing. Well we have two weeks until their first starts. Dame in the Dreaming On Stakes and Freeze in the Sweet Victory Stakes. If that race doesn't fill, he'll go to the Eclipse. It's his home track, he's bigger, stronger, tougher and he's had rest. He's more than ready to face grade one competition.
Brooks cocked an eyebrow. Who you trying to convince Rip? Me or yourself? Ripley curled her lip in annoyance. I know he can do it Brooks. I have faith in him. I just didn't want to stick him in the bigger race without a prep. It's not how I train. I don't just feed them to the wolves. She glared, tossed her hair back over her shoulder and walked to the broodmare barn. Justin shook his head. You had to prod her didn't you? With a flair that impressed, Justin leaped onto the broad back of his favorite mare and settled in. She bowed her bullish neck, tossed her black tail over her rump and tensed. She was the knight's favorite war horse at the moment. Dame cocked a hoof when Freeze shifted toward her, but didn't lash out as she would have the year before. He was pleased that Screaming Mimi was out of the racing barn. She'd had a brief negative influence on Dame's temperament for a while.
Brooks cast a glance back toward the barn where Ripley had disappeared. Probably to check on El Sol del Mar. He held his tongue at Justin's biting words and casually lifted himself into the saddle. Frozen Motion pranced in place, every inch the glorified iron horse. Brooks spun him toward the turf track, clucked and sent the horse off of the dirt path and across the grass at a canter. Justin rolled his gaze, annoyed by Brooks' attitude, and sent Dazzling Dame after the stallion. She powered beneath him, her muscles rolling beneath her thick hide. Her neck curled and her tail drifted out behind her like a dressage champion. She would have made a good athlete in any other discipline. Justin patted her neck. He was just glad she'd chosen his.
Freeze spread his swift body out over the course even at a canter. He took full advantage of his strength and durability. He took care of himself and his rider. Brooks tried to get into the workout, tried to put the failed proposal out of his head. Freeze was what mattered at this moment. Not Ripley Marsh denying him as a husband. Brooks leaned close, took the punishment of the whipping mane as it was given. Freeze could feel the edge drifting between the reins, but ever the intelligent thoroughbred, he did not react. He moved along in his Frozen Motion away and began to drain all of the negative energy out of Brookson Wells. The man stroked the mottled neck as they cruised over the grass toward the hills. Frozen Motion was all his and would be his partner in whichever race they ran in week four.
Dame gradually caught up to the more relaxed Frozen Motion. Her strides were playful and unhurried. Her mouth was light on the bit as they approached the first hill at the steady gallop. Justin merely had to play with the reins in order to get her to move faster. The Jessie James mare lowered her head as her knees lifted to tackle the rise of the turf. She hovered briefly at Freeze's barrel at the top before bounding ahead with her quirky female attitude waving in the air like a flag. Brooks leaned back, taking the reins into his hands, calming Freeze when he became briefly anxious at the coup. The dappled gray lengthened his stride the moment they hit the flat, but Dame was galloping ahead like the stamina-laden freight train she was.
Justin could feel the strength within Dame bloom. She'd turned into a beautiful flower after he'd condition her to listen and cruise rather than burn herself out mid-fly. She nickered gently, something she would never have done in the beginning of Year Twelve, and settled under his command. Freeze drew up to their haunches when they launched up the second hill and remained there through the remaining gallop. Brooks and Justin remained steady in the saddle, sure of their next moves. The three furlong blitz would be a sheer wake-up call to these two. It was time to run again and to do so with authority. Justin glanced to the left and saw that Ripley was aboard Sweeto Cheeto. The black stallion's muscles were bunched in eagerness. He was new to the workout visitations. Justin returned his attention front. The boss was here and he was going to prove that Dame was even better than last year.
The horses cruised down the final hill into the three furlong stretch. This workout would be the best prep possible for them. Both horses had a fierce amount of stamina and both of them really had the ability to save the powerhouse kick for the stretch even after being on the pace for a while. Brooks leaned forward, blue eyes snapping with energy and fire. He flicked the reins the moment Freeze reached the flat and the dappled gray took off with the grace of a big cat. He whipped over the course, tail snapping stick straight out behind him. Brooks perched calmly over his withers and smiled as Freeze surged across the turf. Justin let Dame out another controlled notch so that she was at Frozen Motion's barrel. She'd reacted quickly, tossing her head, annoyed that the Spitz stallion had gotten ahead of her. Freeze charged over the course and Dame stuck to him like Velcro.
The pair stormed across the grass, throwing clods of dirt into the air as their strides grew more exaggerated and fierce. Dame narrowed the gap to a head, again under the loosening of a controlled notch. There was a power and class to Dame now that hadn't been seen last year. She'd been raw talent last year and now she was listening and rateable. Freeze pinned his ears back into his dark gray mane when Dazzling Dame came up to him in the final furlong. Their bodies took advantage of the open space, their hooves sounding dully when they hit the track. Freeze bolted forward, tapping into a reserve on his own and put Dame away by a head across the imaginary finish line. Brooks grinned fiercely. That's what I'm talking about! Brooks slapped the stallion's neck even as Dame galloped on by, fierce with annoyance. Justin stroked her neck, talked her down. Her racing spirit would not be dimmed in her first defeat in a workout. She hadn't even been all out to beat the dappled gray. The pair pulled up, flashing their sudden dislike for another with pinned ears and red rimmed eyes. It was time to take this fiery nature to The Wire.
Ripley laughed, pushed Maggie when she pinched her ribs. Her green eyes were shining with pride. Witch Creek was a family of horses and humans. She was in her glory. She scrubbed Justin's dark curls as she broke away from her crew and looked them over. It had grown with Justin stepping in halfway through the season and Reese at the end. Justin had tamed Dazzling Dame into a kitten and Reese had turned a steady horse into a horse with star studded opportunities in Bella Luna. This coming year she could only imagine what talents Malcolm and Laura would bring. She rolled her shoulders, watched the black headed man and the bean pole of a redhead walk toward the yearling barn. There were horses to be walked and manipulated.
She clapped her hands when Justin and Brooks led their mounts toward her. Dame blew through her nostrils, her eyes lit with that ever pervasive fire. Freeze cocked his head to watch the young foals play in their paddock. He was noble and enduring. Ripley leaned over to kiss his neck. The stallion bowed it and she could have sworn he was blushing. Well we have two weeks until their first starts. Dame in the Dreaming On Stakes and Freeze in the Sweet Victory Stakes. If that race doesn't fill, he'll go to the Eclipse. It's his home track, he's bigger, stronger, tougher and he's had rest. He's more than ready to face grade one competition.
Brooks cocked an eyebrow. Who you trying to convince Rip? Me or yourself? Ripley curled her lip in annoyance. I know he can do it Brooks. I have faith in him. I just didn't want to stick him in the bigger race without a prep. It's not how I train. I don't just feed them to the wolves. She glared, tossed her hair back over her shoulder and walked to the broodmare barn. Justin shook his head. You had to prod her didn't you? With a flair that impressed, Justin leaped onto the broad back of his favorite mare and settled in. She bowed her bullish neck, tossed her black tail over her rump and tensed. She was the knight's favorite war horse at the moment. Dame cocked a hoof when Freeze shifted toward her, but didn't lash out as she would have the year before. He was pleased that Screaming Mimi was out of the racing barn. She'd had a brief negative influence on Dame's temperament for a while.
Brooks cast a glance back toward the barn where Ripley had disappeared. Probably to check on El Sol del Mar. He held his tongue at Justin's biting words and casually lifted himself into the saddle. Frozen Motion pranced in place, every inch the glorified iron horse. Brooks spun him toward the turf track, clucked and sent the horse off of the dirt path and across the grass at a canter. Justin rolled his gaze, annoyed by Brooks' attitude, and sent Dazzling Dame after the stallion. She powered beneath him, her muscles rolling beneath her thick hide. Her neck curled and her tail drifted out behind her like a dressage champion. She would have made a good athlete in any other discipline. Justin patted her neck. He was just glad she'd chosen his.
Freeze spread his swift body out over the course even at a canter. He took full advantage of his strength and durability. He took care of himself and his rider. Brooks tried to get into the workout, tried to put the failed proposal out of his head. Freeze was what mattered at this moment. Not Ripley Marsh denying him as a husband. Brooks leaned close, took the punishment of the whipping mane as it was given. Freeze could feel the edge drifting between the reins, but ever the intelligent thoroughbred, he did not react. He moved along in his Frozen Motion away and began to drain all of the negative energy out of Brookson Wells. The man stroked the mottled neck as they cruised over the grass toward the hills. Frozen Motion was all his and would be his partner in whichever race they ran in week four.
Dame gradually caught up to the more relaxed Frozen Motion. Her strides were playful and unhurried. Her mouth was light on the bit as they approached the first hill at the steady gallop. Justin merely had to play with the reins in order to get her to move faster. The Jessie James mare lowered her head as her knees lifted to tackle the rise of the turf. She hovered briefly at Freeze's barrel at the top before bounding ahead with her quirky female attitude waving in the air like a flag. Brooks leaned back, taking the reins into his hands, calming Freeze when he became briefly anxious at the coup. The dappled gray lengthened his stride the moment they hit the flat, but Dame was galloping ahead like the stamina-laden freight train she was.
Justin could feel the strength within Dame bloom. She'd turned into a beautiful flower after he'd condition her to listen and cruise rather than burn herself out mid-fly. She nickered gently, something she would never have done in the beginning of Year Twelve, and settled under his command. Freeze drew up to their haunches when they launched up the second hill and remained there through the remaining gallop. Brooks and Justin remained steady in the saddle, sure of their next moves. The three furlong blitz would be a sheer wake-up call to these two. It was time to run again and to do so with authority. Justin glanced to the left and saw that Ripley was aboard Sweeto Cheeto. The black stallion's muscles were bunched in eagerness. He was new to the workout visitations. Justin returned his attention front. The boss was here and he was going to prove that Dame was even better than last year.
The horses cruised down the final hill into the three furlong stretch. This workout would be the best prep possible for them. Both horses had a fierce amount of stamina and both of them really had the ability to save the powerhouse kick for the stretch even after being on the pace for a while. Brooks leaned forward, blue eyes snapping with energy and fire. He flicked the reins the moment Freeze reached the flat and the dappled gray took off with the grace of a big cat. He whipped over the course, tail snapping stick straight out behind him. Brooks perched calmly over his withers and smiled as Freeze surged across the turf. Justin let Dame out another controlled notch so that she was at Frozen Motion's barrel. She'd reacted quickly, tossing her head, annoyed that the Spitz stallion had gotten ahead of her. Freeze charged over the course and Dame stuck to him like Velcro.
The pair stormed across the grass, throwing clods of dirt into the air as their strides grew more exaggerated and fierce. Dame narrowed the gap to a head, again under the loosening of a controlled notch. There was a power and class to Dame now that hadn't been seen last year. She'd been raw talent last year and now she was listening and rateable. Freeze pinned his ears back into his dark gray mane when Dazzling Dame came up to him in the final furlong. Their bodies took advantage of the open space, their hooves sounding dully when they hit the track. Freeze bolted forward, tapping into a reserve on his own and put Dame away by a head across the imaginary finish line. Brooks grinned fiercely. That's what I'm talking about! Brooks slapped the stallion's neck even as Dame galloped on by, fierce with annoyance. Justin stroked her neck, talked her down. Her racing spirit would not be dimmed in her first defeat in a workout. She hadn't even been all out to beat the dappled gray. The pair pulled up, flashing their sudden dislike for another with pinned ears and red rimmed eyes. It was time to take this fiery nature to The Wire.