July Week Four Workouts
Fiery Touch& Hokum. Bella Luna& Mastermind. Cross My Heart& Flawed Princess. Mourning Passion& Flashpoint.
best of breed
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Justin Santiago pulled his riding gloves on with big long strokes, locked the Velcro across the glove, and lifted his head to set a determined gaze on his mount. Hokum, the powerhouse professional, stared back from burning black eyes out of a savagely fine head. He'd demolished Ode to Glory in the Ascot Gold Cup, a race with a prominent name at Green Horse Fields. The magnificent colt was more on his toes than any other horse currently stabled at Witch Creek. He'd roared to three victories and moved into the grade two ranks in the blink of an eye. He was crying out for distance over his preferred turf surface and he was looking for more of a challenge. Ripley had found just the challenge for the son of Kore VS and his next assignment would come in the Breeders' Stakes, the final leg of the Canadian Triple Crown. Justin was confident he had the mount she needed to finally get a victory in the CTC.
Ripley walked around the front of a tacked up Fiery Touch. The classically built light bay mare stood with her eyes on Hokum. She looked suspicious of the elephant-sized colt before her and rightly so. Hokum was notorious for giving the fillies and mares trouble at Witch Creek Stable. He was cocky and a full blown stud when he chose to be. He had one more year of racing before he took up the stud career. Justin would have to work to keep the colt's attention on racing, but so far he had handled the monster tremendously. Fie snorted and stomped drawing the darker bay's attention her way. He nickered longingly and flexed in place. Justin shook the cross-ties as he passed, aiming a glare Hokum's way. Enough of that.
Fie pinned her ears, denying Hokum's attention and aimed a look Ripley's way. A look that said just-between-us-girl's. Ripley laughed, patted her sleek neck as she pulled on her helmet. Today would be the first time Ripley hopped aboard Fiery Touch in a while. The mare had been on rest for a month after a tiring first half of the season. Brooks had been galloping the mare while Ripley handled barn business between Witch Creek and New Flight and the coordination of bringing in Mourning Passion. Ripley shook her head, green eyes lighting up as she felt the burden of responsibility lifted from her shoulders. Fie, baby, let's show them what we're made of. The mare tossed her head as Ripley lead her right on by Hokum, flicking her tail in the colt's face as he tried to catch an inappropriate whiff. Justin tapped the colt's nose, watched him rear back in disgust. Focus man!
The riders mounted up outside of the barn, aiming their horses in the direction of the dirt track. This workout would be about speed. Fie would be traveling a seven furlong race in the Strub Stakes and would need her high cruising speed if she was going to beat Forbidden to Fly. Hokum would need every ounce of speed he possessed in order to trounce Blue Me Away, Bella Luna's main Turf Triple Crown rival, and Italian Ice, winner of the first two legs of the Canadian Triple Crown. Justin grinned beneath the shadow of his helmet cap. Hokum rippled with power, with strength, with confidence. He was a horse that had flashed some promise as a two year old, but had truly come to life at age three. Nine of his ten victories had come in Year Thirteen, making him the deadliest horse in the race for everyone who had their eyes on the final prize.
Ripley patted her sleek 16.2 hand mare as she danced down the dirt path. The gangly out of place filly had grown into the classiest dirt mare Ripley Marsh had ever had the pleasure of training. The winner of the Novizio and Risorgimento Derbies last year had blossomed into a grade one contender worthy of extra attention and fanfare. To say that Ripley loved this mare would be an understatement. Determination flickered in those eyes that always seemed to burn with life and energy. Her ears twitched in alertness and her nostrils flared to the size of teacups. Muscle rippled into a full blown racehorse chest, a gift from her sire Native Flame. Her black legs glittered the raven-wing black of crows as she slipped down to the dirt track. Ripley patted her mare, smiling as she moved with the gentle strides of Fiery Touch.
Fie was the horse you used when you wanted something more from the rival. No matter how hard the rival tried, he or she just couldn't hold a candle to Fiery Touch. She could beat you from behind, side by side, from in front. She was tireless and swift, eager to please and willing to give everything she had. The Strub Stakes was a prep for the filly and mare dirt series taking place at The Wire at the end of the month and beyond. A rumbling nicker poured from Fie's mouth as she caught sight of her beloved dirt track. That's my girl.
The horses picked up a trot the moment they touched down on the dirt track. Fie moved to inside, head high and proud. Hokum stalked back at her barrel, ears pricked, eyes suspicious of the high energy rabbit of a mare. Ripley laughed, You know who we'll have to stick against him next year? Supernatural. She'd run for days and keep him so frustrated he'd do nothing, but go out and win. Justin laughed, patted the roiling muscle, That's fine with me.
The mare and colt picked up a cruising gallop going into the backstretch, all warmed up from trotting and cantering. Fie dropped back to let Hokum have the lead and Ripley wondered if the mare was pulling a few tricks from her sleeve. Hokum jetted forward to lead by a half-length, ears bobbing along over his cranium. His tongue bounced out of his mouth as he ran. Justin reveled in the domineering pace that Hokum could set without much effort. He guessed it was a side benefit from being eighteen hands tall as a three year old. The colt snorted with each great stride he took, kicking back dirt and holding off Fiery Touch.
Ripley let the reins fly through her fingers, giving free rein to the doe-like daughter of Native Flame. She flew over the course as though she had wings instead of hooves. She did not force herself to run head and head with Hokum and when facing a confirmed front runner, Fie was always the first to fold in for the later portions of the race. Ripley kept herself chilly through the first three furlongs of the six furlong workout. Fie was a machine, confident and poised for later action. Her tail flew out behind her in a straight line, riding the wind of her own creation. Ripley smiled as Fie took one of her infamous big breaths. Hokum would get a challenge in the coming furlongs.
Justin let Hokum spread his giant body over the dirt, knowing full well he would need to gather himself for the later running, the stiffer running. The unmarked bay simply cruised over the course, daring Fiery Touch to come after him. Justin knew she wouldn't. Fie did not need Ripley to help her in making the decision to back off. Fie was intelligent. She would not run when dueling was futile and self-destructive. Justin leaned forward, a burr lost in Hokum's wild black mane. The colt picked up the pace at the forward movement, drawing to a length advantage over Fiery Touch. Justin guided him to the rail a second later. He'd effectively closed Fie's future hole. His mammoth colt would not let her through in the quickest path to the finish line.
Ripley did not swear or grunt in fury. She'd expected such a move from Justin Santiago. She'd taught him the move. Fie's ears swept back into her mane as they roared through the final turn. She danced nimbly on her delicate hooves, losing very little ground in the process. Ripley patted the mare's neck in appreciation when she took flight. Hokum may remind her of Native Flame with all his brawn, but he was not a Native Flame progeny like Fiery Touch was. Fie soared as if she were fleeing a wild fire. Her classic frame turned into devastating machine as she set down for the homestretch drive. She reached Hokum's barrel, took another great breath and swept up to his neck, then his head.
Justin cursed under his breath when the mare came up to them. Fie was as slick as a fish when it came to the running of a horse race. She could go inside and outside and none of it would make a difference. Justin pushed heartily on Hokum's neck, sending urgent messages down to his monstrous colt who was taking note of his enemy. Hokum bared his teeth around his bit, pinned his ears and exploded forward with a devastating turn of foot. Fie was knocked back to his shoulder now. Not one to give up a lead once he had it, Hokum let his fury rain down upon the beautiful mare.
The colt and mare barreled side by side through the final furlong, a grudge match between young and old, beautiful and monstrous. Fie would not give up under the blitzkrieg that was Hokum. She winged furious looks in his direction, forced him into the rail multiple times, but would not wave her white flag. She dug in and down deep right before the wire, took another deep breath and surged forward to get up for a dead-heat.
The mare and colt galloped out, chests swelling and collapsing from the taxing effort. It was a week out from their next performances. To say they were ready was an understatement. They were more than ready to take on the competitors that awaited them. They had just gone to Hell and back to arrive at the wire in tandem. Ripley stroked Fie's damp neck as the mare bowed her head in acceptance of silent applause. Hokum snorted imperiously in the mare's direction, a poor sport, but a brilliant one at that. The second half of the season was just about to begin.
Ripley walked around the front of a tacked up Fiery Touch. The classically built light bay mare stood with her eyes on Hokum. She looked suspicious of the elephant-sized colt before her and rightly so. Hokum was notorious for giving the fillies and mares trouble at Witch Creek Stable. He was cocky and a full blown stud when he chose to be. He had one more year of racing before he took up the stud career. Justin would have to work to keep the colt's attention on racing, but so far he had handled the monster tremendously. Fie snorted and stomped drawing the darker bay's attention her way. He nickered longingly and flexed in place. Justin shook the cross-ties as he passed, aiming a glare Hokum's way. Enough of that.
Fie pinned her ears, denying Hokum's attention and aimed a look Ripley's way. A look that said just-between-us-girl's. Ripley laughed, patted her sleek neck as she pulled on her helmet. Today would be the first time Ripley hopped aboard Fiery Touch in a while. The mare had been on rest for a month after a tiring first half of the season. Brooks had been galloping the mare while Ripley handled barn business between Witch Creek and New Flight and the coordination of bringing in Mourning Passion. Ripley shook her head, green eyes lighting up as she felt the burden of responsibility lifted from her shoulders. Fie, baby, let's show them what we're made of. The mare tossed her head as Ripley lead her right on by Hokum, flicking her tail in the colt's face as he tried to catch an inappropriate whiff. Justin tapped the colt's nose, watched him rear back in disgust. Focus man!
The riders mounted up outside of the barn, aiming their horses in the direction of the dirt track. This workout would be about speed. Fie would be traveling a seven furlong race in the Strub Stakes and would need her high cruising speed if she was going to beat Forbidden to Fly. Hokum would need every ounce of speed he possessed in order to trounce Blue Me Away, Bella Luna's main Turf Triple Crown rival, and Italian Ice, winner of the first two legs of the Canadian Triple Crown. Justin grinned beneath the shadow of his helmet cap. Hokum rippled with power, with strength, with confidence. He was a horse that had flashed some promise as a two year old, but had truly come to life at age three. Nine of his ten victories had come in Year Thirteen, making him the deadliest horse in the race for everyone who had their eyes on the final prize.
Ripley patted her sleek 16.2 hand mare as she danced down the dirt path. The gangly out of place filly had grown into the classiest dirt mare Ripley Marsh had ever had the pleasure of training. The winner of the Novizio and Risorgimento Derbies last year had blossomed into a grade one contender worthy of extra attention and fanfare. To say that Ripley loved this mare would be an understatement. Determination flickered in those eyes that always seemed to burn with life and energy. Her ears twitched in alertness and her nostrils flared to the size of teacups. Muscle rippled into a full blown racehorse chest, a gift from her sire Native Flame. Her black legs glittered the raven-wing black of crows as she slipped down to the dirt track. Ripley patted her mare, smiling as she moved with the gentle strides of Fiery Touch.
Fie was the horse you used when you wanted something more from the rival. No matter how hard the rival tried, he or she just couldn't hold a candle to Fiery Touch. She could beat you from behind, side by side, from in front. She was tireless and swift, eager to please and willing to give everything she had. The Strub Stakes was a prep for the filly and mare dirt series taking place at The Wire at the end of the month and beyond. A rumbling nicker poured from Fie's mouth as she caught sight of her beloved dirt track. That's my girl.
The horses picked up a trot the moment they touched down on the dirt track. Fie moved to inside, head high and proud. Hokum stalked back at her barrel, ears pricked, eyes suspicious of the high energy rabbit of a mare. Ripley laughed, You know who we'll have to stick against him next year? Supernatural. She'd run for days and keep him so frustrated he'd do nothing, but go out and win. Justin laughed, patted the roiling muscle, That's fine with me.
The mare and colt picked up a cruising gallop going into the backstretch, all warmed up from trotting and cantering. Fie dropped back to let Hokum have the lead and Ripley wondered if the mare was pulling a few tricks from her sleeve. Hokum jetted forward to lead by a half-length, ears bobbing along over his cranium. His tongue bounced out of his mouth as he ran. Justin reveled in the domineering pace that Hokum could set without much effort. He guessed it was a side benefit from being eighteen hands tall as a three year old. The colt snorted with each great stride he took, kicking back dirt and holding off Fiery Touch.
Ripley let the reins fly through her fingers, giving free rein to the doe-like daughter of Native Flame. She flew over the course as though she had wings instead of hooves. She did not force herself to run head and head with Hokum and when facing a confirmed front runner, Fie was always the first to fold in for the later portions of the race. Ripley kept herself chilly through the first three furlongs of the six furlong workout. Fie was a machine, confident and poised for later action. Her tail flew out behind her in a straight line, riding the wind of her own creation. Ripley smiled as Fie took one of her infamous big breaths. Hokum would get a challenge in the coming furlongs.
Justin let Hokum spread his giant body over the dirt, knowing full well he would need to gather himself for the later running, the stiffer running. The unmarked bay simply cruised over the course, daring Fiery Touch to come after him. Justin knew she wouldn't. Fie did not need Ripley to help her in making the decision to back off. Fie was intelligent. She would not run when dueling was futile and self-destructive. Justin leaned forward, a burr lost in Hokum's wild black mane. The colt picked up the pace at the forward movement, drawing to a length advantage over Fiery Touch. Justin guided him to the rail a second later. He'd effectively closed Fie's future hole. His mammoth colt would not let her through in the quickest path to the finish line.
Ripley did not swear or grunt in fury. She'd expected such a move from Justin Santiago. She'd taught him the move. Fie's ears swept back into her mane as they roared through the final turn. She danced nimbly on her delicate hooves, losing very little ground in the process. Ripley patted the mare's neck in appreciation when she took flight. Hokum may remind her of Native Flame with all his brawn, but he was not a Native Flame progeny like Fiery Touch was. Fie soared as if she were fleeing a wild fire. Her classic frame turned into devastating machine as she set down for the homestretch drive. She reached Hokum's barrel, took another great breath and swept up to his neck, then his head.
Justin cursed under his breath when the mare came up to them. Fie was as slick as a fish when it came to the running of a horse race. She could go inside and outside and none of it would make a difference. Justin pushed heartily on Hokum's neck, sending urgent messages down to his monstrous colt who was taking note of his enemy. Hokum bared his teeth around his bit, pinned his ears and exploded forward with a devastating turn of foot. Fie was knocked back to his shoulder now. Not one to give up a lead once he had it, Hokum let his fury rain down upon the beautiful mare.
The colt and mare barreled side by side through the final furlong, a grudge match between young and old, beautiful and monstrous. Fie would not give up under the blitzkrieg that was Hokum. She winged furious looks in his direction, forced him into the rail multiple times, but would not wave her white flag. She dug in and down deep right before the wire, took another deep breath and surged forward to get up for a dead-heat.
The mare and colt galloped out, chests swelling and collapsing from the taxing effort. It was a week out from their next performances. To say they were ready was an understatement. They were more than ready to take on the competitors that awaited them. They had just gone to Hell and back to arrive at the wire in tandem. Ripley stroked Fie's damp neck as the mare bowed her head in acceptance of silent applause. Hokum snorted imperiously in the mare's direction, a poor sport, but a brilliant one at that. The second half of the season was just about to begin.
master of disaster
The second half of the racing season was about to take place and now it was the beginning of the time when three year olds met their elders for the first time. All of it lead up to the end of December and a run for Breeders Cup victory. Reese Balling Jones rubbed her dirty hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of grime to mingle with shiny sweat. It may be fall, but summer was still scrabbling for command. The dark haired, caramel-skinned woman sat up from picking her prized mount's hooves and admired the beauty that was Bella Luna. The dappled gray filly gleamed like the moon with all of it's rippling shades of silver, gray and white. Her dark eyes glimmered with intelligence and wisdom and her calming aura reached out to Reese from five feet away. Reese was coming to realize that these qualities were made up a champion. Bella Luna was the queen of the three year old division until defeated by anyone else in her generation. The Sea Struck filly had come back to be beaten by champion miler Axis Mundae in the Sunshine Millions Filly and Mare Turf. However, in the process she had defeated last year's Tiara winner Paradise Island, Cotillion winner, Calamity Queen, monster dirt sprinter and miler, Lynara's Kingdom. Two of them would most likely end up in the Hall of Fame and the remaining filly would travel to grade one level long before she retired. Reese and Bella had tasted defeat for the first time since before the Turf Triple Crown. They had taken the loss with grace and class, but everyone could damn well bet they would be coming back for blood.
Ripley cocked an eyebrow at Reese, Oh yeah? Reese looked up, brown eyes wide with surprise at Ripley's response. She hadn't mean to speak out loud. Uh... Yeah I guess. She really wants to win Ripley. Ripley switched her gaze from her Adonis of a chestnut colt to the calm sea that was Bella Luna. She nibbled on the pieces of hair that fell from Reese's once tidy bun. She was ever the relaxed professional. I think you want the win more than she does at the moment, Reese Balling Jones. Reese shrugged. Right now I do. Once we hit the turf track though, she'll remember she wants to run and run big. The gray snorted, bobbing her head as if in agreement. Ripley smiled and walked over to stroke Bella's neck. You'll give it your all just like you always do, silly girl. Bella nickered at Mastermind who stomped and stared imploringly at Ripley Marsh. He was not impressed by her need to spread the affection around.
Ripley walked back to her Hall of Fame bred son, a smile spreading across her face. Mastermind was ever the king of elegance and immodesty. He was glorious in stature and talent. There were few that could hold a candle to him. He was coming off a loss as well, but in the Star Party and behind his three year old arch rival. Ripley narrowed her gaze. She couldn't stand the terror twins. They were ever getting on her nerves by defeating either Cross or Mastermind. However, like most times Cross and Mastermind would rebound to defeat them in the next arena. Mastermind's chance would come in the Highway Stakes, August Week Two. He would redeem himself and further advance El Sol del Mar up the ranks of the breeding ring. The colt whuffled his lips over Ripley's extended hand and obediently followed along behind her to the outside world. He would get a chance to lock horns with Turf Triple Crown winner Bella Luna over six furlongs. Ripley was more excited to see what she had beneath her than ever before.
Bella stood confidently as Reese mounted up from the ground, her ears slipped back to catch the sound of Reese settling in. Her dark eyes swiveled in Mastermind's direction, assessing him and the future situation with her quiet intelligence. Her knees lifted in a prance beneath Reese and now Reese really felt Bella's need to get back to work. Bella would be ready for the run in the Rose Mile Cup and Reese would be ready to support her through the second half of her so far very impressive three year old season. The chestnut and gray set out at a peppy trot across the springy grass. Mastermind snorted and bowed his neck enthusiastically, flashing his brawn and regained pride. The horse was back to being his superstar self. Ripley patted his neck, happy to have him back to normal. She'd missed him thoroughly.
The colt and filly tossed their heads, eager to get going and doing what they did best. Mastermind was the purest professional Ripley had in her stable at the moment. He did everything with ease, met every challenging workout she set in place for him, raced and met challenge after challenge. He defied the odds of carrying his champion season beyond two years old. Mastermind was the classic horse even if he could not run past nine furlongs. Ripley leaned close, set her beautifully bred mount into a gallop and enjoyed the wind as it played with her braids. Mastermind dipped his head to his chest as he cantered, tail billowing out behind him like a cape. The ruby red horse would be ready for the Highway Stakes and whatever other race Ripley decided to place him in. Mastermind could handle anything she threw at him and she supposed, that was what made him a champion horse.
Bella Luna, Turf Triple Crown extraordinaire, played over the turf as if she'd been born to it. Reese let her moon-colored body traverse the smooth ground in any way she pleased. The filly had loved her rest, but with each week she had grown less interested in grass and more interested in her gallops again. She'd lost to a beast in Axis Mundae, but defeated a field of such note that she would have to be the favorite in the Rose Mile Cup. Reese smiled as the gray filly drew closer to Mastermind, engaging him with her wise gaze, taunting him with a quick burst of speed. The colt was not threatened by her. If she'd been any other horse, he surely would have been, but for now, he tossed his head, playing right back.
The riders shook their horses out of their playful attitudes, refocused on what was to come. The second half of the racing season was calling for them. In a matter of weeks everyone at Witch Creek would be gearing down for the stunning finale that was the Breeders Cup. It was time to get down to business. Sooner or later Mastermind would be meeting his elders and Bella Luna already had. The workouts would get tougher, the days would get longer and more would be asked of the equines than ever before. These two radiated seriousness as they galloped up the first grassy hill. The emotions of their riders were finally touching them at the deepest part of their brains. They were ready to get down to business.
Mastermind and Bella Luna galloped at a high cruising pace, each of them was a sprinter and neither of them ran full out from start to finish. Their talents rested in their ability to rate off the pace and come flying in the homestretch no matter how quick the fractions had been. Bella Luna's ability to do so had won her the Turf Triple Crown. Mastermind's ability had provided him with countless victories since his first career start. The chestnut colt stretched out like a lion across the first grassy valley, striding like a champion and really beginning to set the stage for the final three furlong challenge.
Bella Luna settled off his barrel, content with having second place. Reese's reins draped around her silvery-white neck, held in place only by a pinkie. The gray filly was one of the more relaxed horses of the bunch, even for a champion. She galloped along with ease, content to do as Reese commanded. For now she just settled down as she would in the Rose Mile Cup versus Calamity Queen and Innocent Passion. Her rivals would set the pace with Calamity Queen most likely in front. The Witch Creek bred filly had won the second leg of the Turf Triple Tiara and Innocent Passion had taken the Star Festival, a race preceding the sprinter crowns. Both of them were capable of setting a quick pace and Bella Luna would be the benefactor of it. Reese had full plans of settling back a length and a half off of them. Bella Luna was fleet enough to get the mile and had plenty of stamina to outlast both of them if it came down to it. The woman patted her mount's neck, a smile lighting up her features. She loved her filly dearly; hoped to God their early season success would carry into the future.
Ripley let Mastermind out a notch up the hillside, feeling his powerful haunches kick it up a notch in order to get up the hillside. His muscles rippled beneath his sun-touched hide and he was really raring to go, to beat Bella Luna. The head trainer, leaned back as he crested the hillside and headed down the slope. He snorted every so often, displaying a seriousness that hadn't existed before this. His ears still bobbed over his head, though once in a while, one flicked in Bella Luna's direction. Ripley patted him, smiling when he bolted at the flattened area. His speed was tremendous and he was practically push button. He was the complete opposite of her other furiously fast mount, Cross My Heart. Ripley brought the colt back into what she called a controlled-run. He put pressure on the bit, but gradually settled and Bella Luna caught up again.
The gray and chestnut raced in tandem up the final hillside before the three furlong sprint. Bella was moving stronger now than before, demanding Mastermind to stay at his powerful pace. They'd gone a mile and a half over the course and now they would get the chance to open their lungs. Mastermind pushed nose to nose with the gritty filly, exerting his masculinity with his brawn. Ripley restrained him at the crest and Reese did the same with Bella Luna. The grass spread before them, an untouched blanket of peace about to be broken by chaos.
On silent agreement, the riders allowed their horses to move down the hillside. They cantered collectively, each eyeing the other, waiting for the sign that the other horse was going to bolt. The riders leaned close, burrs on the backs of strong Thoroughbreds ready to explode. Mastermind pinned his ears, leaped the final foot of the hillside and got the jump on Bella Luna by a second. He flew across the course, a red comet amid a sea of green. His hooves barely seemed to touch the earth as he launched over it, every stride smooth and in perfect coordination. Ripley smiled broadly in her mind, wary of bugs and dirt. Boy, the horse could run.
The pearl-dappled filly surged after her miler stablemate with great strides. Reese was lost in the adrenaline rush, the feel of the speed as it rose from Bella to herself. The gray filly was dominating as she surged forward, her aura giving off a presence that few others were in possession of. Reese patted the filly's neck as she swept after her red stablemate, quickly gaining on his head start. This was the one horse who could make up any ground no matter the distance. Her legs blurred until she appeared as though she were floating, her nostrils were flared, her dark eyes bright. Two more strides and she was at Mastermind's flank. Another and she was at his barrel.
A furlong remained and the colt and filly were well-matched. Their riders remained still as chestnut and gray battled it out down the stretch. Mastermind flew over the course, eyes wide with excitement when Bella Luna came to challenge him. The gray filly was level with the flying colt and she was proving to be a challenge he hadn't expected. The pair screamed over the course, defying gravity and the sound barrier. At least it seemed to the riders who sat upon their backs. The pair was locked in a match of wits, stamina and talent. Bella Luna was in front. Then Mastermind. Bella Luna. Mastermind. The wire passed, but the decision could not be perceived to go either way. A deadheat was what it was.
The colt and filly remained locked up the hillside, slowing together on the riders' bidding. Reese and Ripley smiled broadly at each other as they finished out the workout. Mastermind and Bella Luna were ready for whatever came next. Their journeys were only just beginning.
Ripley cocked an eyebrow at Reese, Oh yeah? Reese looked up, brown eyes wide with surprise at Ripley's response. She hadn't mean to speak out loud. Uh... Yeah I guess. She really wants to win Ripley. Ripley switched her gaze from her Adonis of a chestnut colt to the calm sea that was Bella Luna. She nibbled on the pieces of hair that fell from Reese's once tidy bun. She was ever the relaxed professional. I think you want the win more than she does at the moment, Reese Balling Jones. Reese shrugged. Right now I do. Once we hit the turf track though, she'll remember she wants to run and run big. The gray snorted, bobbing her head as if in agreement. Ripley smiled and walked over to stroke Bella's neck. You'll give it your all just like you always do, silly girl. Bella nickered at Mastermind who stomped and stared imploringly at Ripley Marsh. He was not impressed by her need to spread the affection around.
Ripley walked back to her Hall of Fame bred son, a smile spreading across her face. Mastermind was ever the king of elegance and immodesty. He was glorious in stature and talent. There were few that could hold a candle to him. He was coming off a loss as well, but in the Star Party and behind his three year old arch rival. Ripley narrowed her gaze. She couldn't stand the terror twins. They were ever getting on her nerves by defeating either Cross or Mastermind. However, like most times Cross and Mastermind would rebound to defeat them in the next arena. Mastermind's chance would come in the Highway Stakes, August Week Two. He would redeem himself and further advance El Sol del Mar up the ranks of the breeding ring. The colt whuffled his lips over Ripley's extended hand and obediently followed along behind her to the outside world. He would get a chance to lock horns with Turf Triple Crown winner Bella Luna over six furlongs. Ripley was more excited to see what she had beneath her than ever before.
Bella stood confidently as Reese mounted up from the ground, her ears slipped back to catch the sound of Reese settling in. Her dark eyes swiveled in Mastermind's direction, assessing him and the future situation with her quiet intelligence. Her knees lifted in a prance beneath Reese and now Reese really felt Bella's need to get back to work. Bella would be ready for the run in the Rose Mile Cup and Reese would be ready to support her through the second half of her so far very impressive three year old season. The chestnut and gray set out at a peppy trot across the springy grass. Mastermind snorted and bowed his neck enthusiastically, flashing his brawn and regained pride. The horse was back to being his superstar self. Ripley patted his neck, happy to have him back to normal. She'd missed him thoroughly.
The colt and filly tossed their heads, eager to get going and doing what they did best. Mastermind was the purest professional Ripley had in her stable at the moment. He did everything with ease, met every challenging workout she set in place for him, raced and met challenge after challenge. He defied the odds of carrying his champion season beyond two years old. Mastermind was the classic horse even if he could not run past nine furlongs. Ripley leaned close, set her beautifully bred mount into a gallop and enjoyed the wind as it played with her braids. Mastermind dipped his head to his chest as he cantered, tail billowing out behind him like a cape. The ruby red horse would be ready for the Highway Stakes and whatever other race Ripley decided to place him in. Mastermind could handle anything she threw at him and she supposed, that was what made him a champion horse.
Bella Luna, Turf Triple Crown extraordinaire, played over the turf as if she'd been born to it. Reese let her moon-colored body traverse the smooth ground in any way she pleased. The filly had loved her rest, but with each week she had grown less interested in grass and more interested in her gallops again. She'd lost to a beast in Axis Mundae, but defeated a field of such note that she would have to be the favorite in the Rose Mile Cup. Reese smiled as the gray filly drew closer to Mastermind, engaging him with her wise gaze, taunting him with a quick burst of speed. The colt was not threatened by her. If she'd been any other horse, he surely would have been, but for now, he tossed his head, playing right back.
The riders shook their horses out of their playful attitudes, refocused on what was to come. The second half of the racing season was calling for them. In a matter of weeks everyone at Witch Creek would be gearing down for the stunning finale that was the Breeders Cup. It was time to get down to business. Sooner or later Mastermind would be meeting his elders and Bella Luna already had. The workouts would get tougher, the days would get longer and more would be asked of the equines than ever before. These two radiated seriousness as they galloped up the first grassy hill. The emotions of their riders were finally touching them at the deepest part of their brains. They were ready to get down to business.
Mastermind and Bella Luna galloped at a high cruising pace, each of them was a sprinter and neither of them ran full out from start to finish. Their talents rested in their ability to rate off the pace and come flying in the homestretch no matter how quick the fractions had been. Bella Luna's ability to do so had won her the Turf Triple Crown. Mastermind's ability had provided him with countless victories since his first career start. The chestnut colt stretched out like a lion across the first grassy valley, striding like a champion and really beginning to set the stage for the final three furlong challenge.
Bella Luna settled off his barrel, content with having second place. Reese's reins draped around her silvery-white neck, held in place only by a pinkie. The gray filly was one of the more relaxed horses of the bunch, even for a champion. She galloped along with ease, content to do as Reese commanded. For now she just settled down as she would in the Rose Mile Cup versus Calamity Queen and Innocent Passion. Her rivals would set the pace with Calamity Queen most likely in front. The Witch Creek bred filly had won the second leg of the Turf Triple Tiara and Innocent Passion had taken the Star Festival, a race preceding the sprinter crowns. Both of them were capable of setting a quick pace and Bella Luna would be the benefactor of it. Reese had full plans of settling back a length and a half off of them. Bella Luna was fleet enough to get the mile and had plenty of stamina to outlast both of them if it came down to it. The woman patted her mount's neck, a smile lighting up her features. She loved her filly dearly; hoped to God their early season success would carry into the future.
Ripley let Mastermind out a notch up the hillside, feeling his powerful haunches kick it up a notch in order to get up the hillside. His muscles rippled beneath his sun-touched hide and he was really raring to go, to beat Bella Luna. The head trainer, leaned back as he crested the hillside and headed down the slope. He snorted every so often, displaying a seriousness that hadn't existed before this. His ears still bobbed over his head, though once in a while, one flicked in Bella Luna's direction. Ripley patted him, smiling when he bolted at the flattened area. His speed was tremendous and he was practically push button. He was the complete opposite of her other furiously fast mount, Cross My Heart. Ripley brought the colt back into what she called a controlled-run. He put pressure on the bit, but gradually settled and Bella Luna caught up again.
The gray and chestnut raced in tandem up the final hillside before the three furlong sprint. Bella was moving stronger now than before, demanding Mastermind to stay at his powerful pace. They'd gone a mile and a half over the course and now they would get the chance to open their lungs. Mastermind pushed nose to nose with the gritty filly, exerting his masculinity with his brawn. Ripley restrained him at the crest and Reese did the same with Bella Luna. The grass spread before them, an untouched blanket of peace about to be broken by chaos.
On silent agreement, the riders allowed their horses to move down the hillside. They cantered collectively, each eyeing the other, waiting for the sign that the other horse was going to bolt. The riders leaned close, burrs on the backs of strong Thoroughbreds ready to explode. Mastermind pinned his ears, leaped the final foot of the hillside and got the jump on Bella Luna by a second. He flew across the course, a red comet amid a sea of green. His hooves barely seemed to touch the earth as he launched over it, every stride smooth and in perfect coordination. Ripley smiled broadly in her mind, wary of bugs and dirt. Boy, the horse could run.
The pearl-dappled filly surged after her miler stablemate with great strides. Reese was lost in the adrenaline rush, the feel of the speed as it rose from Bella to herself. The gray filly was dominating as she surged forward, her aura giving off a presence that few others were in possession of. Reese patted the filly's neck as she swept after her red stablemate, quickly gaining on his head start. This was the one horse who could make up any ground no matter the distance. Her legs blurred until she appeared as though she were floating, her nostrils were flared, her dark eyes bright. Two more strides and she was at Mastermind's flank. Another and she was at his barrel.
A furlong remained and the colt and filly were well-matched. Their riders remained still as chestnut and gray battled it out down the stretch. Mastermind flew over the course, eyes wide with excitement when Bella Luna came to challenge him. The gray filly was level with the flying colt and she was proving to be a challenge he hadn't expected. The pair screamed over the course, defying gravity and the sound barrier. At least it seemed to the riders who sat upon their backs. The pair was locked in a match of wits, stamina and talent. Bella Luna was in front. Then Mastermind. Bella Luna. Mastermind. The wire passed, but the decision could not be perceived to go either way. A deadheat was what it was.
The colt and filly remained locked up the hillside, slowing together on the riders' bidding. Reese and Ripley smiled broadly at each other as they finished out the workout. Mastermind and Bella Luna were ready for whatever came next. Their journeys were only just beginning.
princess crossing
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley, you can't go on ignoring him or pretending forever. He knows you care. You know you care and to see you not doing a thing about it is frustrating for me! Ripley shrugged her shoulders under her friend's criticism as she tightened the girth on Cross My Heart. The black filly with the white cross on her midsection and the white markings on her face, turned to stare at Ripley as if emphasizing Maggiletti Reynolds' assessment of her. Ripley tried to smile into the eyes of the once wary filly, but they didn't reach her own. She gave up the half-hearted attempt, turned back to her work. The slim filly leaned into her as if in comfort. Ripley sighed.
Maggie I didn't realize your heart had been broken as well. Ripley was tired of being nagged by her friend to do something with her shattered relationship. Not that it really was shattered. Rather it had been put on hold... indefinitely. Brooks either wanted marriage or he wanted nothing but a business partnership. To hear the ultimatum had been like a shot through the heart. Infinitely more stubborn than most people, Ripley had turned him down and watched her flourishing affair go up in a cloud of smoke. She thought the break up... if it was a breakup... hadn't affected her business enterprise any. Brooks was still riding winning races, still conditioning excellent race horses and still the adoration of the press. Ripley and Brooks appeared as a unit in public, but the only time they truly associated now was at meetings between New Flight, SOPS and Witch Creek and when they were exercising racehorses.
Ripley... Of course my heart didn't get broken. And yes I agree that he shouldn't have demanded you marry him... but you're suffering. The only time you go out is on race day. Then we don't see you anymore until you have to workout horses. We don't even have girl time anymore with Reese. Maggie huffed as she stroked Flawed Princess' dark muscular shoulder. The noble mare eyed Ripley as well with a cautious gaze. She could read emotions as well as Cross, could read the frustration in her blonde rider. Her dark eyes rolled in her head and she side-stepped to the end of her reins to get a look at Maggie. Maggie wiggled her fingers at the mare until she dipped her head and accepted the affection. The bay mare would not run again until August Week Four in the Autumn Cup, but just because she was on vacation away from the track didn't mean Amira was standing idle. She would be Cross' workout partner for Cross' run in the second leg of the Turf Sprinter Tiara, The Daisy Stakes. Cross had taken the first leg with ease, but she would meet up with Innocent Passion once again. This time everything was going to be more personal for Ripley and Cross. Maggie wanted her friend to succeed more than ever.
More than your heart was broken Ripley Marsh and we both know it. You've lost confidence, self-esteem. And I don't know why. You're friggin beautiful with the attitude of someone much more modest than a woman in your position should be. Maggie tugged her helmet on, whipped Amira around and led the way out of the barn. Amira snorted, bowed her neck and pranced like a knight's charger. The mare was glorious in action, in confirmation. She was perfect. But that's enough for now. Let's hope this workout helps to fix that. Let's hope Cross helps to mend you like you mended her. Ripley glanced at her night black filly and smiled now. She had mended Cross. The kill auction filly was on her way toward immortality if everything went as planned. Cross was perfect, maybe not in record, but in heart, determination, grit and mental toughness. She was over her fear of men. She didn't scream anymore on sight of one. She was happy as can be and right now her thoughts were drifting more toward grass than what harm Ripley could possibly bring to her. She was what Ripley called a raging success.
Alright pretty girl. Mend my broken heart a little more. Cross stood still as stone, head up, ears pricked. She was the picture of perfection, the picture of self-preservation and determination. Maggie glanced back as she prepared to mount, caught up in the look of Cross. The filly would make a beautiful statue someday. Maggie knew Ripley was planning a couple statues. One for El Sol del Mar and Touch Up, the foundation mare and sire of Witch Creek. Maybe Cross would be there as well, but not in broodmare form. She would make the perfect statue as she was now, trim, fit and capable of blitzing your ass off. Maggie grinned at her thoughts, Ripley looked up as she mounted, cocked an eyebrow at Maggie's odd expression. She patted her filly's neck, let Cross step out at a strong walk. Maggie leaped into the saddle, urged Flawed Princess after Cross. The tall mare was more than willing to oblige.
The filly and mare trotted over the grass, ears pricked and intent on what lay ahead. The turf track spread before them, lit up by early morning sunlight and looking more like an emerald gem than just pure grass. Ripley admired the view, smiling. This was what dreams were made of. Ripley patted Cross' neck as she glided over the grass, perfectly in stride, perfectly content to go about her business. Cross would go on and tackle her next subsequent start in the Daisy Stakes versus Innocent Passion. Racing was all about the competition and Ripley seriously believed that despite Innocent Passion being of a higher grade, Cross was the faster horse. The black filly snorted, emphasizing Ripley's thoughts.
Maggie rolled her shoulders underneath her light blue wind jacket. Flawed Princess felt absolutely breathtaking today. Her stride was long and reaching. Her body rippled with muscle as she took each of those powerful strides. The classically built mare had reached a downturn after several long months of racing. The month off would do her well and the return in the Autumn Cup in August Week Four would show her at her best return off a layoff form. Maggie leaned close, ran her hand down the smooth black mane, the soft mahogany hide. She'd fallen for the mare after riding her for so long. She was constantly reminding Maggie not to give up on the older set of horses. After Alluring Assault's inspiring run for championship honors last year, Maggie was more than excited to have a couple lesser versions in her own string of older horses.
The riders signaled for their horses to step out into a gallop. Cross bolted immediately, head cranking up against the bit pressure. She always fought at first for control. Ripley kept a light grip on the three year old's mouth, feeling her out until she gave in. The black dipped her head down, bowing her neck, flexing her muscles. She settled right in, snorting through her nostrils a couple of moments. The little black dragon had turned into a beautiful adult. After the reminder that Ripley was still aboard, her hands went quiet and she remained silent. Cross did not need help once she settled. She knew exactly what was to be asked of her at every point of the race.
Amira settled a length off of Cross as the galloped down the first hillside. Her larger frame was not as quick or agile over the turf. Her hooves skimmed over the grass, her body light as rain as she moved onto the flat between hills. Maggie leaned close, eyes glowing with exhilaration. Flawed Princess felt absolutely wonderful. Cross was setting a tough pace for her mare, but Amira needed a reminder of what it was to be a racehorse just before her month off. The grande dame stretched out her legs, squealing like a two year old when she managed to make up half a length on Cross. The slim black filly pinned her ears at the big mare, letting her know that her run for leadership was about to be denied.
The women were completely silent, completely in tune with their mounts as they bounded up and down the hills and valleys. This workout was all about precision, momentum, tactics and the ability to maintain a steady pace throughout the workout. Ripley would not let Cross all out at the three furlong flat. The black filly needed her speed for the final onslaught against Stride of Perfection's Innocent Passion. Ripley patted her neck, a smile lighting her features. It would be a fun race. They'd gone toe-to-toe multiple times with Innocent Passion and it was almost becoming a game to the rider and filly. It was fun to have a steady rival from two and into three year old season.
Flawed Princess jumped up to join Cross in one gigantic sweeping stride, fully taking advantage of the slim valley between hills. Her striped face was at Cross' neck, but the black filly didn't seem to care this time. Her teeth gripped the bit, eyes blazing with the rush of speed she felt and the need to run Flawed Princess off of her hooves. Ripley and Maggie sat back immediately at the crest of the hillside. The filly and mare sat down on their haunches at the instant shift in weight and motored down the hillside. Cross, ever more fleeter, launched herself a foot and a half from the bottom of the hill and practically sprinted full out when she landed. Maggie let Amira pick her spot to jump, nearly laughed when she flew off the hillside not far behind Cross. Something about the bold black filly was rubbing off on the mahogany bay.
They flew over the course, stride for stride in the most contained race Ripley and Maggie could manage. Their chests moved in and out with each large breath, not heaving, but engulfing every ounce of oxygen they possibly could handle in their lungs. Cross maintained a neck advantage down the straightaway, daring Amira to come up and challenge her from the get-go. The larger mare wouldn't take the bait. She charged alongside Cross, ears flopping over her head, hooves pounding the grass. She would not let this sophomore runner beat her down like she did the rest of them. Maggie remained still as the horses dashed through two and a half furlongs.
With a shake of the reins, Maggie woke up Amira. The horse stretched like a great bear, took a huge breath and then flung herself into challenging Cross. The black filly bared her teeth now at Amira's powerful move, but physically she only kicked it up a notch and set Amira back a step. They surged together through the final furlong, a grudge match to see who could outlast the other. Cross snorted, ducked her head and pushed as hard as she could manage off her hind end. Amira responded by doing the same and they were back running head and head. The riders were grinning at one another by the time the filly and mare cantered up the hillside in the gallop out. Awesomeee! Maggie crowed. Ripley hooted in agreement when the stopped the fillies and trotted them back. She couldn't have said it any better.
Maggie I didn't realize your heart had been broken as well. Ripley was tired of being nagged by her friend to do something with her shattered relationship. Not that it really was shattered. Rather it had been put on hold... indefinitely. Brooks either wanted marriage or he wanted nothing but a business partnership. To hear the ultimatum had been like a shot through the heart. Infinitely more stubborn than most people, Ripley had turned him down and watched her flourishing affair go up in a cloud of smoke. She thought the break up... if it was a breakup... hadn't affected her business enterprise any. Brooks was still riding winning races, still conditioning excellent race horses and still the adoration of the press. Ripley and Brooks appeared as a unit in public, but the only time they truly associated now was at meetings between New Flight, SOPS and Witch Creek and when they were exercising racehorses.
Ripley... Of course my heart didn't get broken. And yes I agree that he shouldn't have demanded you marry him... but you're suffering. The only time you go out is on race day. Then we don't see you anymore until you have to workout horses. We don't even have girl time anymore with Reese. Maggie huffed as she stroked Flawed Princess' dark muscular shoulder. The noble mare eyed Ripley as well with a cautious gaze. She could read emotions as well as Cross, could read the frustration in her blonde rider. Her dark eyes rolled in her head and she side-stepped to the end of her reins to get a look at Maggie. Maggie wiggled her fingers at the mare until she dipped her head and accepted the affection. The bay mare would not run again until August Week Four in the Autumn Cup, but just because she was on vacation away from the track didn't mean Amira was standing idle. She would be Cross' workout partner for Cross' run in the second leg of the Turf Sprinter Tiara, The Daisy Stakes. Cross had taken the first leg with ease, but she would meet up with Innocent Passion once again. This time everything was going to be more personal for Ripley and Cross. Maggie wanted her friend to succeed more than ever.
More than your heart was broken Ripley Marsh and we both know it. You've lost confidence, self-esteem. And I don't know why. You're friggin beautiful with the attitude of someone much more modest than a woman in your position should be. Maggie tugged her helmet on, whipped Amira around and led the way out of the barn. Amira snorted, bowed her neck and pranced like a knight's charger. The mare was glorious in action, in confirmation. She was perfect. But that's enough for now. Let's hope this workout helps to fix that. Let's hope Cross helps to mend you like you mended her. Ripley glanced at her night black filly and smiled now. She had mended Cross. The kill auction filly was on her way toward immortality if everything went as planned. Cross was perfect, maybe not in record, but in heart, determination, grit and mental toughness. She was over her fear of men. She didn't scream anymore on sight of one. She was happy as can be and right now her thoughts were drifting more toward grass than what harm Ripley could possibly bring to her. She was what Ripley called a raging success.
Alright pretty girl. Mend my broken heart a little more. Cross stood still as stone, head up, ears pricked. She was the picture of perfection, the picture of self-preservation and determination. Maggie glanced back as she prepared to mount, caught up in the look of Cross. The filly would make a beautiful statue someday. Maggie knew Ripley was planning a couple statues. One for El Sol del Mar and Touch Up, the foundation mare and sire of Witch Creek. Maybe Cross would be there as well, but not in broodmare form. She would make the perfect statue as she was now, trim, fit and capable of blitzing your ass off. Maggie grinned at her thoughts, Ripley looked up as she mounted, cocked an eyebrow at Maggie's odd expression. She patted her filly's neck, let Cross step out at a strong walk. Maggie leaped into the saddle, urged Flawed Princess after Cross. The tall mare was more than willing to oblige.
The filly and mare trotted over the grass, ears pricked and intent on what lay ahead. The turf track spread before them, lit up by early morning sunlight and looking more like an emerald gem than just pure grass. Ripley admired the view, smiling. This was what dreams were made of. Ripley patted Cross' neck as she glided over the grass, perfectly in stride, perfectly content to go about her business. Cross would go on and tackle her next subsequent start in the Daisy Stakes versus Innocent Passion. Racing was all about the competition and Ripley seriously believed that despite Innocent Passion being of a higher grade, Cross was the faster horse. The black filly snorted, emphasizing Ripley's thoughts.
Maggie rolled her shoulders underneath her light blue wind jacket. Flawed Princess felt absolutely breathtaking today. Her stride was long and reaching. Her body rippled with muscle as she took each of those powerful strides. The classically built mare had reached a downturn after several long months of racing. The month off would do her well and the return in the Autumn Cup in August Week Four would show her at her best return off a layoff form. Maggie leaned close, ran her hand down the smooth black mane, the soft mahogany hide. She'd fallen for the mare after riding her for so long. She was constantly reminding Maggie not to give up on the older set of horses. After Alluring Assault's inspiring run for championship honors last year, Maggie was more than excited to have a couple lesser versions in her own string of older horses.
The riders signaled for their horses to step out into a gallop. Cross bolted immediately, head cranking up against the bit pressure. She always fought at first for control. Ripley kept a light grip on the three year old's mouth, feeling her out until she gave in. The black dipped her head down, bowing her neck, flexing her muscles. She settled right in, snorting through her nostrils a couple of moments. The little black dragon had turned into a beautiful adult. After the reminder that Ripley was still aboard, her hands went quiet and she remained silent. Cross did not need help once she settled. She knew exactly what was to be asked of her at every point of the race.
Amira settled a length off of Cross as the galloped down the first hillside. Her larger frame was not as quick or agile over the turf. Her hooves skimmed over the grass, her body light as rain as she moved onto the flat between hills. Maggie leaned close, eyes glowing with exhilaration. Flawed Princess felt absolutely wonderful. Cross was setting a tough pace for her mare, but Amira needed a reminder of what it was to be a racehorse just before her month off. The grande dame stretched out her legs, squealing like a two year old when she managed to make up half a length on Cross. The slim black filly pinned her ears at the big mare, letting her know that her run for leadership was about to be denied.
The women were completely silent, completely in tune with their mounts as they bounded up and down the hills and valleys. This workout was all about precision, momentum, tactics and the ability to maintain a steady pace throughout the workout. Ripley would not let Cross all out at the three furlong flat. The black filly needed her speed for the final onslaught against Stride of Perfection's Innocent Passion. Ripley patted her neck, a smile lighting her features. It would be a fun race. They'd gone toe-to-toe multiple times with Innocent Passion and it was almost becoming a game to the rider and filly. It was fun to have a steady rival from two and into three year old season.
Flawed Princess jumped up to join Cross in one gigantic sweeping stride, fully taking advantage of the slim valley between hills. Her striped face was at Cross' neck, but the black filly didn't seem to care this time. Her teeth gripped the bit, eyes blazing with the rush of speed she felt and the need to run Flawed Princess off of her hooves. Ripley and Maggie sat back immediately at the crest of the hillside. The filly and mare sat down on their haunches at the instant shift in weight and motored down the hillside. Cross, ever more fleeter, launched herself a foot and a half from the bottom of the hill and practically sprinted full out when she landed. Maggie let Amira pick her spot to jump, nearly laughed when she flew off the hillside not far behind Cross. Something about the bold black filly was rubbing off on the mahogany bay.
They flew over the course, stride for stride in the most contained race Ripley and Maggie could manage. Their chests moved in and out with each large breath, not heaving, but engulfing every ounce of oxygen they possibly could handle in their lungs. Cross maintained a neck advantage down the straightaway, daring Amira to come up and challenge her from the get-go. The larger mare wouldn't take the bait. She charged alongside Cross, ears flopping over her head, hooves pounding the grass. She would not let this sophomore runner beat her down like she did the rest of them. Maggie remained still as the horses dashed through two and a half furlongs.
With a shake of the reins, Maggie woke up Amira. The horse stretched like a great bear, took a huge breath and then flung herself into challenging Cross. The black filly bared her teeth now at Amira's powerful move, but physically she only kicked it up a notch and set Amira back a step. They surged together through the final furlong, a grudge match to see who could outlast the other. Cross snorted, ducked her head and pushed as hard as she could manage off her hind end. Amira responded by doing the same and they were back running head and head. The riders were grinning at one another by the time the filly and mare cantered up the hillside in the gallop out. Awesomeee! Maggie crowed. Ripley hooted in agreement when the stopped the fillies and trotted them back. She couldn't have said it any better.
flash of passion
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Reese Balling Jones faced off with her newest racing companion for Year Thirteen. As with most faceoffs, the meeting was not filled with pleasantness. There was a burning hatred in this one, a reluctance, a barely contained fury. Most of the mood did not even emanate off of Reese, current beloved of the racing world. Rather the negative moods took flight from the cobalt colt with the perfect white star. His eyes blazed with contempt and disdain. Reese cocked her head, meeting his dark eyes with her own. This would be her next star and possible Kentucky Derby runner in Year Fourteen. This hateful, stubborn animal with the cocked hip and the swagger belonging to a champion. He was not perfect. He would not be perfect until he made his first start of the year. He was only a maiden and few in the racing world had ever even heard of him except in Witch Creek's most recent purchase of him from Triple Krown Racing.
Brooks noted the standoff as he led Flashpoint by the domineering colt and his stubborn rider. He nearly snorted at Ripley's craft for picking the perfect partners. He patted the neck of his unmarked dark bay. Flashpoint was a confirmed dirt miler with eleven starts to his name. He'd been campaigned quite successfully since the beginning of January. He had one more race before he received September off. He was the complete opposite of Mourning Passion, half-brother to resident grade one mare Screaming Mimi. Brooks rolled his shoulders. The colt was bred to be supremely talented, but he'd take his hard-knocking, battle-tested colt any day over an untested maiden.
Reese rolled her shoulders, stepped up to Mourn's savage head and practically grinned into the eyes of The Devil. He was something else this colt. He'd been standoffish since his arrival at Witch Creek, but it was clear he was enjoying his new and more active home. The cobalt animal glistened from daily grooming and his new diet of rice bran and beet pulp. He'd been putting in morning gallops with Malcolm, the resident colt breaker and guinea pig. Malcolm proclaimed him a dream to ride and marveled at his quick recovery. Reese would put that claim to the test today with a mile and a sixteenth gallop and three furlong blowout. She hoped to have him in a maiden quickly, test him and get him moving, maybe in time for the December Breeders Cup series. She wasn't banking on it though. Mourn would be an early season colt, blooming just in time for the Kentucky Derby and the first two legs of the Canadian Triple Crown. She rubbed her hands together, hopeful of taking another jewel down in the future.
The colt snorted, shaking Reese violently out of her reverie when he nearly jumped on top of her. His nostrils flared to the size of cds, his eyes flickered with high spirits. Alright, you'll have your way. Let's get on with it. She led the colt out of the barn, swiftly mounted up and then felt the change waft through the night-black colt. His fury did not diminish in the slightest, but Reese suddenly felt as though an icy bucket of water had been dumped down her back. The colt did not mouth the bit. He did not prance. He did not buck. He did not rear. He did nothing. He stepped off at a bobbing walk, dark ears pricked and locked on Flashpoint.
Nerves skittered through Moose. His skin began to twitch, his muscles shake. Brooks' eyes widened with alarm until the colt straightened up with shocking suddenness and glanced over his muscled shoulder. Brooks followed his anxiety-ridden gaze and cocked his head. The jet-black colt with the perfect star was sending arrows at Flashpoint with eyes as black as coal. Brooks felt an inadvertent shiver skitter down his own back. What had brought this change? Why was the once high-tempered excited colt sending psychopathic looks at the seemingly innocent Flashpoint? And why did the looks want to send the human running for the hills as well? Brooks lifted his concerned gaze to Reese's, certain she had to be feeling the cold calculation as well. However, her eyes were bright and happy. She did not seem to be affected and when Brooks continued to stare Reese questioned if he had an issue.
Brooks shook his head, nudged the nervous Flashpoint forward into a ground sweeping trot for the dirt oval. The sooner they got this task over with the better. The man patted the dark bay as he moved confidently over the track. The sweeping mass of the dirt oval was the place Flashpoint felt most confident. He was strong, tough and durable. His pedigree screamed class and toughness and his half-sisters Paranormal Hunter and Fiery Touch were just the same. Moose could take a beating and still be ready for five more rounds. The newcomer and his cruel attitude would not be a problem.
The chill that drifted off of Mourn did not quite reach Reese as he bounded over the race track in a surprisingly long, smooth trot. His slick cobalt body glinted in the sunlight as he feathered his way over the course. He was an impressive horse. Impressively ungrounded as well. He seemed ethereal compared to Flashpoint. His ears pricked forward when Moose lifted off into a classic canter. He jiggled the bit in his mouth with his tongue, interested in moving forward, but not demanding. Reese thought this an oddly conflicting personality tribute to the rest of Mourn's description. He had a dominating personality, one that even a dull person could catch onto quite quickly. Reese murmured to him, Alright, handsome horse. Let's see what you've got. She niggled the reins, eyes sparkling softly when he lifted into a gorgeous canter.
The black as night colt drifted over the course, head high, tail aloft over his rump. She rode with the reins practically draping around his neck. Triumph and hope lit her gaze up. Now here was a colt she could learn to love. Mourn soared over the dirt, strides reaching out far as he attempted to make up ground on the fleet Flashpoint. Mourn snorted with every stride, a warning that he was going to roar up on Flashpoint in a matter of seconds. Reese lightened her weight by standing on the balls of her feet, dark eyes shadowed by her thick lashes. Moose's ears flicked when Mourn danced up to his barrel. Brooks nodded to her, noted the effortlessness of Mourn's movement.
Moose pinned his ears when the black dared to come closer. Brooks' eyes widened in shock. Never, in the time he'd known Moose, had the dark colt shown any signs of aggression to another horse. Brooks shook his head and the reins slightly, drawing the Flash Limit's colt's attention away from his newfound rival. Moose bounded over the surface with furiously intimidating strides. His eyes glowed with irritation and a need to launch the new horse into the stratosphere. His muscles were taunt with tension and fury, but he still carried himself with class and pride. Brooks settled down, urging Flashpoint to settle as well. The unmarked colt eyed the black with even more irritation than ever as he swept to the lead.
The colts blasted through the mile with a very strong clip set by Mourning Passion. The jet black colt was proving beyond a doubt that he could carry his speed quite a ways and do it impressively as well. He did not take a single step in Flashpoint's direction, but stayed straight and true and did so with a mythical grace. Reese was quite astounded by this untested, maiden horse who should not be able to do this with such aplomb. Flashpoint did not dig in to keep up with the blistering pace. He was now settled off of Mourn's rear, a length behind and taking dirt in the face like a champ. Brooks maintained this pressure, urging Moose not to fall behind and let Mourn cakewalk through the workout. Good boy, Moose. The two year old snorted and if he never won another stakes race, Brooks would always celebrate his tough mental attitude.
The horses cruised through the final furlong before their workout, really gaining momentum and stretching out over the course. Mourn's lean body spread out like a falcon in full flight for the wire. His eyes flashed with vivid intelligence and an interest in destroying the rival that remained just off of his rear. Reese leaned close to the wild black mane that swarmed around her slim body. She could feel the power and passion radiating off of her mount. She wanted to tap it further, take it faster and see just what she might have for his first race. Her eyes flickered to the rail, turned shadowy with disappointment when she caught Ripley standing at the rail.
Brooks watched Reese eye up Ripley and suddenly realized Flashpoint might be in danger. Reese was so clearly looking to test Mourning Passion's talent that the colt must not even be close to being tired. He swore under his breath, noted that the turn was sweeping closer with every stride the colts took. He grunted, whipped the reins to the right and sent Flashpoint gunning for a head to head drive against Mourn. The colt instantly responded, ears flattening back into his mane as he launched into his powerful stalking move.
Mourn's ears flicked, the first sign of concern the star-marked colt had shown for Moose. However, that concern vanished when he cranked his way into the turn, deadlocked to the rail. Reese practically grinned when the colt flashed this kind of intelligence. He understood racing and hadn't even actually raced yet. Reese niggled the reins, smiled elaborately when the colt sprinted for the homestretch. Here we go, she thought.
The colt's flashed through the first two furlongs with incredible, incredible speed and agility. Neither of them moved from their paths. They were barely two paths out and pressed tightly against one another, black against dark bay as they zipped for home. The riders were silent compared to the loud grudge match going on between the two. Mourn snorted loudly and soon Moose picked it up as well, as though even that simple gesture were a competition as well. The horses' legs were blurred as they sent a whirlwind of dirt and sandstone out behind them. Reese was practically laughing from the adrenaline rush that this horse could give her. She hadn't even asked him yet.
Brooks smirked when Moose dug in and did not allow Mourn to runaway with the victory. The battle-tested horse had grit and a desire that astonished Brooks. Every ride was always good. Moose was always a professional. Heart pounding with adrenaline, Brooks asked just a little more from Moose. The horse responded with a strong kick, but ran right into the immovable force that was Mourn. The black and dark bay bobbed heads the entire length of the stretch, both determined to win, neither wanting to lose. Reese and Brooks remained still, letting the horses doing the fighting for them. Each stride, each snort, each whip of the wind brought them closer to the wire. Ripley nodded in approval as the colt's battled it out. This was what she was looking for. A fiery horse to light the fires underneath the rest of her stock. She rubbed her hands together as they stormed beneath the wire and galloped out fantastically around the turn. Time was drawing closer to the championship season. Mourn may not be ready in time, but he would be ready next year. And Flashpoint was finally getting the idea of what it meant to be passionate. Ripley laughed as the horses trotted back, nostrils flared and eyes bright. Oh yes, her two year old dirt crop had just risen to a whole other level with this one workout.
Brooks noted the standoff as he led Flashpoint by the domineering colt and his stubborn rider. He nearly snorted at Ripley's craft for picking the perfect partners. He patted the neck of his unmarked dark bay. Flashpoint was a confirmed dirt miler with eleven starts to his name. He'd been campaigned quite successfully since the beginning of January. He had one more race before he received September off. He was the complete opposite of Mourning Passion, half-brother to resident grade one mare Screaming Mimi. Brooks rolled his shoulders. The colt was bred to be supremely talented, but he'd take his hard-knocking, battle-tested colt any day over an untested maiden.
Reese rolled her shoulders, stepped up to Mourn's savage head and practically grinned into the eyes of The Devil. He was something else this colt. He'd been standoffish since his arrival at Witch Creek, but it was clear he was enjoying his new and more active home. The cobalt animal glistened from daily grooming and his new diet of rice bran and beet pulp. He'd been putting in morning gallops with Malcolm, the resident colt breaker and guinea pig. Malcolm proclaimed him a dream to ride and marveled at his quick recovery. Reese would put that claim to the test today with a mile and a sixteenth gallop and three furlong blowout. She hoped to have him in a maiden quickly, test him and get him moving, maybe in time for the December Breeders Cup series. She wasn't banking on it though. Mourn would be an early season colt, blooming just in time for the Kentucky Derby and the first two legs of the Canadian Triple Crown. She rubbed her hands together, hopeful of taking another jewel down in the future.
The colt snorted, shaking Reese violently out of her reverie when he nearly jumped on top of her. His nostrils flared to the size of cds, his eyes flickered with high spirits. Alright, you'll have your way. Let's get on with it. She led the colt out of the barn, swiftly mounted up and then felt the change waft through the night-black colt. His fury did not diminish in the slightest, but Reese suddenly felt as though an icy bucket of water had been dumped down her back. The colt did not mouth the bit. He did not prance. He did not buck. He did not rear. He did nothing. He stepped off at a bobbing walk, dark ears pricked and locked on Flashpoint.
Nerves skittered through Moose. His skin began to twitch, his muscles shake. Brooks' eyes widened with alarm until the colt straightened up with shocking suddenness and glanced over his muscled shoulder. Brooks followed his anxiety-ridden gaze and cocked his head. The jet-black colt with the perfect star was sending arrows at Flashpoint with eyes as black as coal. Brooks felt an inadvertent shiver skitter down his own back. What had brought this change? Why was the once high-tempered excited colt sending psychopathic looks at the seemingly innocent Flashpoint? And why did the looks want to send the human running for the hills as well? Brooks lifted his concerned gaze to Reese's, certain she had to be feeling the cold calculation as well. However, her eyes were bright and happy. She did not seem to be affected and when Brooks continued to stare Reese questioned if he had an issue.
Brooks shook his head, nudged the nervous Flashpoint forward into a ground sweeping trot for the dirt oval. The sooner they got this task over with the better. The man patted the dark bay as he moved confidently over the track. The sweeping mass of the dirt oval was the place Flashpoint felt most confident. He was strong, tough and durable. His pedigree screamed class and toughness and his half-sisters Paranormal Hunter and Fiery Touch were just the same. Moose could take a beating and still be ready for five more rounds. The newcomer and his cruel attitude would not be a problem.
The chill that drifted off of Mourn did not quite reach Reese as he bounded over the race track in a surprisingly long, smooth trot. His slick cobalt body glinted in the sunlight as he feathered his way over the course. He was an impressive horse. Impressively ungrounded as well. He seemed ethereal compared to Flashpoint. His ears pricked forward when Moose lifted off into a classic canter. He jiggled the bit in his mouth with his tongue, interested in moving forward, but not demanding. Reese thought this an oddly conflicting personality tribute to the rest of Mourn's description. He had a dominating personality, one that even a dull person could catch onto quite quickly. Reese murmured to him, Alright, handsome horse. Let's see what you've got. She niggled the reins, eyes sparkling softly when he lifted into a gorgeous canter.
The black as night colt drifted over the course, head high, tail aloft over his rump. She rode with the reins practically draping around his neck. Triumph and hope lit her gaze up. Now here was a colt she could learn to love. Mourn soared over the dirt, strides reaching out far as he attempted to make up ground on the fleet Flashpoint. Mourn snorted with every stride, a warning that he was going to roar up on Flashpoint in a matter of seconds. Reese lightened her weight by standing on the balls of her feet, dark eyes shadowed by her thick lashes. Moose's ears flicked when Mourn danced up to his barrel. Brooks nodded to her, noted the effortlessness of Mourn's movement.
Moose pinned his ears when the black dared to come closer. Brooks' eyes widened in shock. Never, in the time he'd known Moose, had the dark colt shown any signs of aggression to another horse. Brooks shook his head and the reins slightly, drawing the Flash Limit's colt's attention away from his newfound rival. Moose bounded over the surface with furiously intimidating strides. His eyes glowed with irritation and a need to launch the new horse into the stratosphere. His muscles were taunt with tension and fury, but he still carried himself with class and pride. Brooks settled down, urging Flashpoint to settle as well. The unmarked colt eyed the black with even more irritation than ever as he swept to the lead.
The colts blasted through the mile with a very strong clip set by Mourning Passion. The jet black colt was proving beyond a doubt that he could carry his speed quite a ways and do it impressively as well. He did not take a single step in Flashpoint's direction, but stayed straight and true and did so with a mythical grace. Reese was quite astounded by this untested, maiden horse who should not be able to do this with such aplomb. Flashpoint did not dig in to keep up with the blistering pace. He was now settled off of Mourn's rear, a length behind and taking dirt in the face like a champ. Brooks maintained this pressure, urging Moose not to fall behind and let Mourn cakewalk through the workout. Good boy, Moose. The two year old snorted and if he never won another stakes race, Brooks would always celebrate his tough mental attitude.
The horses cruised through the final furlong before their workout, really gaining momentum and stretching out over the course. Mourn's lean body spread out like a falcon in full flight for the wire. His eyes flashed with vivid intelligence and an interest in destroying the rival that remained just off of his rear. Reese leaned close to the wild black mane that swarmed around her slim body. She could feel the power and passion radiating off of her mount. She wanted to tap it further, take it faster and see just what she might have for his first race. Her eyes flickered to the rail, turned shadowy with disappointment when she caught Ripley standing at the rail.
Brooks watched Reese eye up Ripley and suddenly realized Flashpoint might be in danger. Reese was so clearly looking to test Mourning Passion's talent that the colt must not even be close to being tired. He swore under his breath, noted that the turn was sweeping closer with every stride the colts took. He grunted, whipped the reins to the right and sent Flashpoint gunning for a head to head drive against Mourn. The colt instantly responded, ears flattening back into his mane as he launched into his powerful stalking move.
Mourn's ears flicked, the first sign of concern the star-marked colt had shown for Moose. However, that concern vanished when he cranked his way into the turn, deadlocked to the rail. Reese practically grinned when the colt flashed this kind of intelligence. He understood racing and hadn't even actually raced yet. Reese niggled the reins, smiled elaborately when the colt sprinted for the homestretch. Here we go, she thought.
The colt's flashed through the first two furlongs with incredible, incredible speed and agility. Neither of them moved from their paths. They were barely two paths out and pressed tightly against one another, black against dark bay as they zipped for home. The riders were silent compared to the loud grudge match going on between the two. Mourn snorted loudly and soon Moose picked it up as well, as though even that simple gesture were a competition as well. The horses' legs were blurred as they sent a whirlwind of dirt and sandstone out behind them. Reese was practically laughing from the adrenaline rush that this horse could give her. She hadn't even asked him yet.
Brooks smirked when Moose dug in and did not allow Mourn to runaway with the victory. The battle-tested horse had grit and a desire that astonished Brooks. Every ride was always good. Moose was always a professional. Heart pounding with adrenaline, Brooks asked just a little more from Moose. The horse responded with a strong kick, but ran right into the immovable force that was Mourn. The black and dark bay bobbed heads the entire length of the stretch, both determined to win, neither wanting to lose. Reese and Brooks remained still, letting the horses doing the fighting for them. Each stride, each snort, each whip of the wind brought them closer to the wire. Ripley nodded in approval as the colt's battled it out. This was what she was looking for. A fiery horse to light the fires underneath the rest of her stock. She rubbed her hands together as they stormed beneath the wire and galloped out fantastically around the turn. Time was drawing closer to the championship season. Mourn may not be ready in time, but he would be ready next year. And Flashpoint was finally getting the idea of what it meant to be passionate. Ripley laughed as the horses trotted back, nostrils flared and eyes bright. Oh yes, her two year old dirt crop had just risen to a whole other level with this one workout.