November Week One - Part One
Part One of the November Week One workouts is dedicated to our up and coming two year olds for Year Fourteen.
Enjoy and like last year: start picking favorites!
Taboo& Sun King. Refute& Summer Romance.
Nirvana & Saintly Touch.
Casualty of War& Call Me Crooked.
Enjoy and like last year: start picking favorites!
Taboo& Sun King. Refute& Summer Romance.
Nirvana & Saintly Touch.
Casualty of War& Call Me Crooked.
unwieldy power
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley and Malcolm leaned against the fence rails, green and blue eyes flashing over the track that was ultimately turning into their second home. This track had seen many horses imported to run over it. The only active racehorse currently on the grounds that had been born at the present Witch Creek property was grade three Hourglass. That would all change with the next crop of horses about to hit the track for their first morning gallop ever.
Six of the seven yearlings had been born in broodmare stalls just a couple hundred yards from this very track. They carried prestige with every step they took. They didn't even realize it yet, but they were very important to the most important lady on the property, Ripley Marsh. She was holding on to them in a way that she had not held on to the likes of Winning Touch, Jabberwock, Van Guard, Calamity Queen and Voodoo Doll. This time around no one was going to get their hands on the crop of her finest yearlings yet. Ripley glanced at Malcolm, excitement and eagerness glimmering in her eyes. "What do you think Mal?"
The Irish man turned and leaned his back against the polished silver rail belonging to the track. His eyes traipsed up the path to where his two stars danced at the top of the path. He was the newest member to this particular family, but it was an incredible family to say the least. He'd had his hands on the finest pieces of horseflesh for two years now. He would see his part in them with every step they took in their racing careers. He would hold on to the memories of their first grooming, their first farrier visit, their first lunge exercises and saddle breakings. He would be able to say that he'd groomed the colts and fillies for victories. Their most vital lessons had been given by their dams and himself. Malcolm was beyond excited and currently the most nervous man in existence. "I think, Ripley, that this is a very special crop of horses. Their quality is beyond anything I could have ever dreamed."
Ripley nodded, eyes darkening as the silver-brown filly reared onto her hind legs and pawed at the demons she could not see. This was the one horse that Malcolm had not had his hands on from the get-go. This was the horse Ripley had gone to hell and back to get. Everyday Hero and Forbidden Wings had thrown this Hell Cat of a filly her way. She had full intentions of turning Taboo into a champion. Even if it meant dealing with the filly's episodes of absolute craziness.
Reese clung to the filly's back as she remained still-born in the air, frozen in pure terror and power. Reese held her breath as the bay roan's legs danced beneath them, holding 900 pounds of horse aloft. The filly neighed loudly, eyes rolling to flash the whites of her eyes. Her nostrils flared rapidly in and out as she battled herself. "Easy Taboo. Come on Lady Jane. It's okay sweetheart." The filly nickered, hearing Reese's voice, recognizing it as safety. She lowered herself rather gracefully to all fours again. Reese let out a whoosh of breath in relief. She stroked the filly's damp neck. Tabz's episodes were never easy to deal with.
"I'm glad Reese has had time to work with Taboo." Malcolm said on an anxious breath. "No one else will be able to ride her except Reese. They are a match made for heaven and hell." Ripley glanced at Malcolm, then returned her attention to the yearlings. Taboo floated proudly down the walkway, mane and tail fluttering around her like a hooded cape. She was the essence of pure beauty. The horse that marched beside her was the essence of masculine pride in equine form.
Arrogant and domineering, the progeny of Native Flame and El Sol del Mar strode down the path always a step in front of the neurotic Taboo. His chestnut coat glinted like a polished, prized red apple. His dark eyes flashed with cockiness with a hint of deviousness. He was a slight horse at the moment, only 16 hands. His sire was 18 hands. He would grow some more. He would give those future breeders something to swoon at. He shrieked wildly, ears pricked far forward as he caught sight of Canjun Moon galloping on the course. Ripley held her breath as the flashy colt danced beneath her assistant trainer. Sun King was everything a colt should be. Brilliant and dangerous with an athletic edge.
Brooks patted Sun King's neck when the colt's temper leveled off. Canjun Moon had left the near vicinity. Taboo was all Sun King was worried about now. He sent snake eyes in her direction with every step they took away from the barn. She bared her teeth and tried to nail him with a fierce hind-end kick. Reese nudged the filly forward, giggling nervously when she bolted at a canter for the gap. Reese let her get through, nervous that Tabz might not like the fences on either side of her. The molten filly shrugged it off without a problem, stopped and turned to face Malcolm and Ripley as if she knew they'd be taking orders.
Sun King followed at a more stately, but not sedate pace. He pranced his way to Taboo's side, muscular chest widened with a large lungful of air. He eyed the two humans leaning on the rail with a "So What" kind of attitude. Brooks could feel that King was more than willing to ditch this meeting. He held him in place as best he could, feeling power emanating from the chestnut. He glanced at Taboo, realized it was a combination of unwieldy power from both colt and filly. He switched his gaze back to Ripley and Malcolm. "Boy, have we got a pair of live wires for next year!"
Malcolm grinned. "And you haven't even met the others just yet. It's like a row of fabulous horses. One after the other. These two are my favorites." He shot Ripley a glance, uneasy. Was he supposed to give the orders or was she? The head trainer shrugged, gestured for him to continue. "Just give a strong gallop at the end. It's your call Malcolm." The man nodded, reached forward to adjust King's nose band. The colt snorted, would have shook his head if he hadn't learned that lesson already. Mal hid a smile and a compliment. "Gallop them a mile. Open them up in the last furlong. We'll see a little of what they're going to be, position wise, but not much. You won't know anything for sure until after their first race two months from now."
Reese was the first to get her horse moving. She nudged Taboo, clucking to her and eased her hands forward. The Everyday Hero filly snorted, tucked her head to her chest and took off into one of the smoothest canter-gallops Reese had ever experienced. The dark haired woman stood in the saddle, braid hanging down her back as the molten filly traveled over the course. Reese smiled, noted the easy way that Tabz hung onto the bit. For such a lunatic filly, Taboo really was a perfect horse under saddle. Once you got her through her daily episode. Reese ran a light hand down the filly's strong neck, smiling when the filly pushed into the pressure. "You're a real special girl, aren't you?"
There was no easiness in Sun King. The colt reared in the air, eyes flashing with defiance and anger. Brooks leaned forward, pushing the colt down with all of his body weight. The flaming horse shrieked, stomped his front right and then whipped forward. Brooks clung to the colt's mane, hands snagging the reins before they fell completely out of his grasp and around the horses legs. He wasn't sure where all of this outright defiance had come from. Native Flame was a solid horse who was not known for throwing his weight around. El Sol del Mar had been hot-tempered, but not outwardly dangerous. Neither of their offspring had shown a propensity for this kind of dangerousness. Brooks, sat up off the colt's elegant neck, blue eyes glinting with purpose.
The colt's high energy propelled him immediately to the lead in this gallop. He was bloody fast with such an efficient stride that it nearly blew Brookson's mind. The blonde haired man, leaned back, jerking the bit rapidly inside the fiery colt's mouth. King tossed his head, eyes full of fire and hate, but slowed the pace to a rapid gallop. A lightning grin flashed across Brooks' mouth. Now here was a colt. He glanced under his left arm, searching for Taboo and Reese's position. They'd blown by that pair without much ado. Brooks noted that they were two lengths off of Sun King. He returned his gaze to the front. 7 furlongs left.
Reese shook her head at the craziness that was King. He was an absolute speed demon on the front end. Taboo wanted no part of it. The dreamy filly galloped along in no hurry at all. Her strides were strong, but her body language said that she was not at all into the running. While King blazed up the track, Taboo relished in the easiness of galloping. Used to such horses, Reese did not rush her. Her hands remained silent, lightening in grip somewhat. Taboo was not a horse to accept brute force. She was confident, but any harsh contact would traumatize her for life. The woman remained still as a stone, always keeping an eye on the flying colt ahead of them.
Four furlongs had flown by when Malcolm finally turned around to watch. He didn't want to jinx his horses. King was flying on the lead, efficient as he had always been in training and fiery as ever. Brooks was riding him perfectly with quiet control. The Irish man shifted his gaze to Taboo, immediately noted her lack of interest. The words Uh Oh passed through his brain. He turned his attention to Ripley. She was gazing at Sun King with complete rapture, green eyes flashing with utter excitement. "He looks more like his mama than even Mastermind. Just flying out there on his own whim. Perhaps El Sol del Mar has produced something similar to herself?" Malcolm gawked at Ripley, not expecting the highest compliment of his career. He steadied himself. "And Taboo?" Ripley shrugged absentmindedly. Her gaze followed the dreamy movement of the Everyday Hero filly. She noted the ease with which Reese was riding her. There was something in the filly, but it might not be revealed today. "She's one of the best moving horses I've ever seen."
Malcolm nodded curtly. Taboo was his baby. Yet, even he couldn't ignore the disinterested look that glinted in the roan filly's gaze. Reese had a much more different opinion of the filly that glided along beneath her. Taboo was coming to life beneath Reese, each integral piece shifted to complete a puzzle. With each bulb that came to light, Taboo became more attentive to Reese's will. She changed leads just before the far turn on command and without much fuss. Reese clapped inwardly. Even Sun King had fussed about it. But not Taboo.
King was an absolute speed freak. Brooks clung to the colt as practically wrapped himself to the inside rail. His ears were pinned back in his mane, his mouth agape. He looked as if he were fighting, but Brooks had no doubt that he could rein the colt back in. The red chestnut just bounded along without effort and with such a high speed. He reminded Brooks of El Sol del Mar and maybe a little of Red Herring. Not bad for a colt experiencing only his first gallop. The red tornado stormed into the homestretch, legs sweeping over the ground with a tremendous extension most likely given to him by Native Flame. Brooks remained still as a stone. One furlong remained. The opener.
Taboo danced over the dirt with grace and beauty. She was the ballerina, lost in her dreams, full of class. She coasted out of the turn, ears pricked straight into the air. There was a hidden power that was seeded within her classic frame. Reese wanted to nourish it, to bring it to its most potent strength. Her dark eyes glimmered when Sun King kicked on with such enthusiasm into his final workout. Taboo was four lengths-.
She never finished her thought.
The roan filly jerked Reese roughly from her thoughts, nearly throwing her, when she surged forward. Reese's hands lost the reins, latched with terror into the long dark mane. Her brown eyes went wide as saucers when the filly commenced her full-blooded attack on Sun King. Reese gasped as the filly soared, making up the lengths with speedy, long strides. Taboo's ears swept back into her mane when she roared up to Sun King's outside, having somehow switched lane's without Reese taking notice.
Brooks' head shot up in surprise when the roan filly rushed Sun King. The chestnut sculpture's head shot up as well, surprised at the sudden onslaught. King was quicker than Brooks. He leaped forward, body extending to beautiful lengths, and battled back. Taboo thundered ferociously to King's outside. There was no encouragement from Reese, no movement. Reese was stunned speechless. As were the two adults standing on the other side of the fence.
Angels might have been singing as the chestnut and roan flew beneath the wire, followed by a dust cloud of magnificent proportions. If there were, Ripley was too numb to hear them. She gawked when Taboo charged past Sun King on the gallop out. "She's alive now, Malcolm! Holy shit is she alive!" Malcolm clapped a hand to Ripley's shoulder, squeezing to bring some sense into his brain. "Talk about a pair of speed crazy fools!"
Reese and Brooks exchanged ecstatic looks, bumped fists as they nudged the horses into a trot. "That was some turn of foot... What we were at least five in front of you!?" Reese shook her head. "I didn't even do anything. She took me. I just sat there." Brooks laughed, patted King's damp neck. "It's gonna be some ride for the both of us."
Six of the seven yearlings had been born in broodmare stalls just a couple hundred yards from this very track. They carried prestige with every step they took. They didn't even realize it yet, but they were very important to the most important lady on the property, Ripley Marsh. She was holding on to them in a way that she had not held on to the likes of Winning Touch, Jabberwock, Van Guard, Calamity Queen and Voodoo Doll. This time around no one was going to get their hands on the crop of her finest yearlings yet. Ripley glanced at Malcolm, excitement and eagerness glimmering in her eyes. "What do you think Mal?"
The Irish man turned and leaned his back against the polished silver rail belonging to the track. His eyes traipsed up the path to where his two stars danced at the top of the path. He was the newest member to this particular family, but it was an incredible family to say the least. He'd had his hands on the finest pieces of horseflesh for two years now. He would see his part in them with every step they took in their racing careers. He would hold on to the memories of their first grooming, their first farrier visit, their first lunge exercises and saddle breakings. He would be able to say that he'd groomed the colts and fillies for victories. Their most vital lessons had been given by their dams and himself. Malcolm was beyond excited and currently the most nervous man in existence. "I think, Ripley, that this is a very special crop of horses. Their quality is beyond anything I could have ever dreamed."
Ripley nodded, eyes darkening as the silver-brown filly reared onto her hind legs and pawed at the demons she could not see. This was the one horse that Malcolm had not had his hands on from the get-go. This was the horse Ripley had gone to hell and back to get. Everyday Hero and Forbidden Wings had thrown this Hell Cat of a filly her way. She had full intentions of turning Taboo into a champion. Even if it meant dealing with the filly's episodes of absolute craziness.
Reese clung to the filly's back as she remained still-born in the air, frozen in pure terror and power. Reese held her breath as the bay roan's legs danced beneath them, holding 900 pounds of horse aloft. The filly neighed loudly, eyes rolling to flash the whites of her eyes. Her nostrils flared rapidly in and out as she battled herself. "Easy Taboo. Come on Lady Jane. It's okay sweetheart." The filly nickered, hearing Reese's voice, recognizing it as safety. She lowered herself rather gracefully to all fours again. Reese let out a whoosh of breath in relief. She stroked the filly's damp neck. Tabz's episodes were never easy to deal with.
"I'm glad Reese has had time to work with Taboo." Malcolm said on an anxious breath. "No one else will be able to ride her except Reese. They are a match made for heaven and hell." Ripley glanced at Malcolm, then returned her attention to the yearlings. Taboo floated proudly down the walkway, mane and tail fluttering around her like a hooded cape. She was the essence of pure beauty. The horse that marched beside her was the essence of masculine pride in equine form.
Arrogant and domineering, the progeny of Native Flame and El Sol del Mar strode down the path always a step in front of the neurotic Taboo. His chestnut coat glinted like a polished, prized red apple. His dark eyes flashed with cockiness with a hint of deviousness. He was a slight horse at the moment, only 16 hands. His sire was 18 hands. He would grow some more. He would give those future breeders something to swoon at. He shrieked wildly, ears pricked far forward as he caught sight of Canjun Moon galloping on the course. Ripley held her breath as the flashy colt danced beneath her assistant trainer. Sun King was everything a colt should be. Brilliant and dangerous with an athletic edge.
Brooks patted Sun King's neck when the colt's temper leveled off. Canjun Moon had left the near vicinity. Taboo was all Sun King was worried about now. He sent snake eyes in her direction with every step they took away from the barn. She bared her teeth and tried to nail him with a fierce hind-end kick. Reese nudged the filly forward, giggling nervously when she bolted at a canter for the gap. Reese let her get through, nervous that Tabz might not like the fences on either side of her. The molten filly shrugged it off without a problem, stopped and turned to face Malcolm and Ripley as if she knew they'd be taking orders.
Sun King followed at a more stately, but not sedate pace. He pranced his way to Taboo's side, muscular chest widened with a large lungful of air. He eyed the two humans leaning on the rail with a "So What" kind of attitude. Brooks could feel that King was more than willing to ditch this meeting. He held him in place as best he could, feeling power emanating from the chestnut. He glanced at Taboo, realized it was a combination of unwieldy power from both colt and filly. He switched his gaze back to Ripley and Malcolm. "Boy, have we got a pair of live wires for next year!"
Malcolm grinned. "And you haven't even met the others just yet. It's like a row of fabulous horses. One after the other. These two are my favorites." He shot Ripley a glance, uneasy. Was he supposed to give the orders or was she? The head trainer shrugged, gestured for him to continue. "Just give a strong gallop at the end. It's your call Malcolm." The man nodded, reached forward to adjust King's nose band. The colt snorted, would have shook his head if he hadn't learned that lesson already. Mal hid a smile and a compliment. "Gallop them a mile. Open them up in the last furlong. We'll see a little of what they're going to be, position wise, but not much. You won't know anything for sure until after their first race two months from now."
Reese was the first to get her horse moving. She nudged Taboo, clucking to her and eased her hands forward. The Everyday Hero filly snorted, tucked her head to her chest and took off into one of the smoothest canter-gallops Reese had ever experienced. The dark haired woman stood in the saddle, braid hanging down her back as the molten filly traveled over the course. Reese smiled, noted the easy way that Tabz hung onto the bit. For such a lunatic filly, Taboo really was a perfect horse under saddle. Once you got her through her daily episode. Reese ran a light hand down the filly's strong neck, smiling when the filly pushed into the pressure. "You're a real special girl, aren't you?"
There was no easiness in Sun King. The colt reared in the air, eyes flashing with defiance and anger. Brooks leaned forward, pushing the colt down with all of his body weight. The flaming horse shrieked, stomped his front right and then whipped forward. Brooks clung to the colt's mane, hands snagging the reins before they fell completely out of his grasp and around the horses legs. He wasn't sure where all of this outright defiance had come from. Native Flame was a solid horse who was not known for throwing his weight around. El Sol del Mar had been hot-tempered, but not outwardly dangerous. Neither of their offspring had shown a propensity for this kind of dangerousness. Brooks, sat up off the colt's elegant neck, blue eyes glinting with purpose.
The colt's high energy propelled him immediately to the lead in this gallop. He was bloody fast with such an efficient stride that it nearly blew Brookson's mind. The blonde haired man, leaned back, jerking the bit rapidly inside the fiery colt's mouth. King tossed his head, eyes full of fire and hate, but slowed the pace to a rapid gallop. A lightning grin flashed across Brooks' mouth. Now here was a colt. He glanced under his left arm, searching for Taboo and Reese's position. They'd blown by that pair without much ado. Brooks noted that they were two lengths off of Sun King. He returned his gaze to the front. 7 furlongs left.
Reese shook her head at the craziness that was King. He was an absolute speed demon on the front end. Taboo wanted no part of it. The dreamy filly galloped along in no hurry at all. Her strides were strong, but her body language said that she was not at all into the running. While King blazed up the track, Taboo relished in the easiness of galloping. Used to such horses, Reese did not rush her. Her hands remained silent, lightening in grip somewhat. Taboo was not a horse to accept brute force. She was confident, but any harsh contact would traumatize her for life. The woman remained still as a stone, always keeping an eye on the flying colt ahead of them.
Four furlongs had flown by when Malcolm finally turned around to watch. He didn't want to jinx his horses. King was flying on the lead, efficient as he had always been in training and fiery as ever. Brooks was riding him perfectly with quiet control. The Irish man shifted his gaze to Taboo, immediately noted her lack of interest. The words Uh Oh passed through his brain. He turned his attention to Ripley. She was gazing at Sun King with complete rapture, green eyes flashing with utter excitement. "He looks more like his mama than even Mastermind. Just flying out there on his own whim. Perhaps El Sol del Mar has produced something similar to herself?" Malcolm gawked at Ripley, not expecting the highest compliment of his career. He steadied himself. "And Taboo?" Ripley shrugged absentmindedly. Her gaze followed the dreamy movement of the Everyday Hero filly. She noted the ease with which Reese was riding her. There was something in the filly, but it might not be revealed today. "She's one of the best moving horses I've ever seen."
Malcolm nodded curtly. Taboo was his baby. Yet, even he couldn't ignore the disinterested look that glinted in the roan filly's gaze. Reese had a much more different opinion of the filly that glided along beneath her. Taboo was coming to life beneath Reese, each integral piece shifted to complete a puzzle. With each bulb that came to light, Taboo became more attentive to Reese's will. She changed leads just before the far turn on command and without much fuss. Reese clapped inwardly. Even Sun King had fussed about it. But not Taboo.
King was an absolute speed freak. Brooks clung to the colt as practically wrapped himself to the inside rail. His ears were pinned back in his mane, his mouth agape. He looked as if he were fighting, but Brooks had no doubt that he could rein the colt back in. The red chestnut just bounded along without effort and with such a high speed. He reminded Brooks of El Sol del Mar and maybe a little of Red Herring. Not bad for a colt experiencing only his first gallop. The red tornado stormed into the homestretch, legs sweeping over the ground with a tremendous extension most likely given to him by Native Flame. Brooks remained still as a stone. One furlong remained. The opener.
Taboo danced over the dirt with grace and beauty. She was the ballerina, lost in her dreams, full of class. She coasted out of the turn, ears pricked straight into the air. There was a hidden power that was seeded within her classic frame. Reese wanted to nourish it, to bring it to its most potent strength. Her dark eyes glimmered when Sun King kicked on with such enthusiasm into his final workout. Taboo was four lengths-.
She never finished her thought.
The roan filly jerked Reese roughly from her thoughts, nearly throwing her, when she surged forward. Reese's hands lost the reins, latched with terror into the long dark mane. Her brown eyes went wide as saucers when the filly commenced her full-blooded attack on Sun King. Reese gasped as the filly soared, making up the lengths with speedy, long strides. Taboo's ears swept back into her mane when she roared up to Sun King's outside, having somehow switched lane's without Reese taking notice.
Brooks' head shot up in surprise when the roan filly rushed Sun King. The chestnut sculpture's head shot up as well, surprised at the sudden onslaught. King was quicker than Brooks. He leaped forward, body extending to beautiful lengths, and battled back. Taboo thundered ferociously to King's outside. There was no encouragement from Reese, no movement. Reese was stunned speechless. As were the two adults standing on the other side of the fence.
Angels might have been singing as the chestnut and roan flew beneath the wire, followed by a dust cloud of magnificent proportions. If there were, Ripley was too numb to hear them. She gawked when Taboo charged past Sun King on the gallop out. "She's alive now, Malcolm! Holy shit is she alive!" Malcolm clapped a hand to Ripley's shoulder, squeezing to bring some sense into his brain. "Talk about a pair of speed crazy fools!"
Reese and Brooks exchanged ecstatic looks, bumped fists as they nudged the horses into a trot. "That was some turn of foot... What we were at least five in front of you!?" Reese shook her head. "I didn't even do anything. She took me. I just sat there." Brooks laughed, patted King's damp neck. "It's gonna be some ride for the both of us."
sibling rivalry
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley was jotting down notes along the rail when Brooks returned from the barn. His blue eyes were lit with a fire like no other. He had not been on such an exciting yearling in some time. Ashes and Freeze had joined in their early three year old season. Moose was more likely a colt who would only get better as he got older. Red was rock solid, but would be along similar lines as Moose. King was different. Brooks wanted to be with this particular Hall of Fame progeny from the get-go. He pulled his baklava mask up over his nose, freezing now that he was not aboard a sauna. He leaned against the rail, eyed Ripley's pad of paper and pen.
You're not going to take me off of Sun King are you? Ripley glanced up, cocked a brow. Not unless I'm feeling particularly vengeful or you leave. Brooks let out a sigh when she immediately returned to writing whatever schedule she had planned. Ripley was the queen of the three year olds and two year olds. Brooks simply followed orders. He was getting frightfully tired of it. I could leave... You never know. Ripley looked up, green eyes narrowed with some unexplainable emotion. You'll never find higher pay. Especially since you are not a salaried assistant trainer. You get the cuts from your purses. You toss a deal like that it's your own problem. Brooks watched Ripley walk away with easy strides. She was cool as a cucumber these days. It irritated the living hell out of him.
Malcolm pretended not to notice Ripley's quick exhale of breath when she reached him. He did shoot a glance at Brooks. The man was really getting to Ripley Marsh. It was quite an accomplishment. He patted her arm. Rip whatever silly problem you have with Brooks, put it behind you. You're in for a real treat. We have the first ever DW Flamekissed foals in our capable hands. If Wild Kiss was anything to show for it, he could become quite a hot commodity. Ripley grinned at Mal, ignoring his comment completely. She would put it behind her. So tell me about them Mr. Malcolm.
He grinned when he saw the yearlings step out of the barn. Both of them were easily the most well-built and filled out yearlings of the bunch. Summer Romance's muscles bulged in a not so feminine way. Refute's hind quarters were huger than they should be for one so young. Mal blamed it on their heritage. DW Flamekissed had done his running early in his career. Precociousness was key. They are absolutely handsome creatures. Refute's got muscles on top of muscles. He's mellow minded. He plays by the rules and is eager to please. And Ro... she's just gorgeous. Perfect conformation. High energy. Very high energy. Mal warned. Ripley sent him a grin. She loved high energy. It gave her a lot of room to work.
Lane felt like she was sitting on a keg of gunpowder. The stout form of the filly beneath her jiggled with excited energy. Lane sat deep into the light racing saddle, eyes glinting with the promise of what was to come. She patted the filly's neck. Ro was a queen among princesses. She held herself tall and with pride. Her tail danced over her powerful hindquarters as she headed down the path. She was a lighter bay, much lighter than her half-sibling Refute. She was nearly copper in her hue, but dampness darkened her neck and flanks. Her black tipped ears swung back when Lane hummed. The filly could feel the vibrations of the noise, but couldn't actually hear. Twin white puffs of fuzz peaked out of her ears to quiet the outside world. She needed them or she would lose it. It was the Ashanti blood in her.
Justin rubbed his gloved hands together, completely relaxed with the muscular colt that was Refute. He was not outwardly spectacular in his expressions. His eyes were intelligent and soft. He did not come across as excitable. He strode casually beside his pumped up sister, but neither egged her on nor responded to her. He was extremely different from Justin's usual. Neither Dazzling Dame nor Hokum would ever be so intellectually calm. Refute was an adapter. He learned from experience, but did not react as though the sky was falling. He was a breath of fresh air even at 22 months.
The color dark chocolate even when the sun bore down on him, Refute made quite a presence. He stepped out onto the track, paused briefly, taking in all there was to know about the place. Ripley admired his attitude, noted that Summer Romance instantly bounded onto the dirt track with no cares in the world. She would be the flightier of this pair. Ro snorted as Ripley called out orders to the riders. She pranced sideways, neck bowed, beautiful body contorting into that of a dressage horse. She sure was gorgeous.
Dirt isn't going to be their first choice, but we're not risking them over the turf course now that it's snowed and made the track slick. Justin nodded in agreement. Lane murmured assent. They glanced at one another, eagerness filling their eyes. It was time to find out what they're future looked like. Ripley nodded to them, tapping her fingers on the rail. She needed to see if DW Flamekissed was finally giving her a pair of stars. He'd always been one of her favorites.
Summer Romance danced toward the first turn, neck bent in order to avoid Lane's hands. She was a trouble maker this filly. Lane grinned, tapped the leathers and smiled when Ro shook her head violently. Definitely a trouble maker. The sepia colored filly bolted the second Lane lifted her weight off of the short racing saddle. Her body was not massive, but the muscle was clearly evident as she fired up the track. Lane's eyes blurred from the wind and she ducked behind Ro's unusually high crest. The filly was a whirlwind runner all right. Ro tucked herself tight to the rail, body reaching magnificently for more ground. Lots of power, Lane thought.
Justin watched Ro tear off at a strong gallop, noted that Refute merely pricked his ears to watch her leave. An interested excitement was quite visible in the colt's eyes, but the rest of his body was as lax as ever. Justin grunted, happy that Ref was unruffled, not so happy that the colt wasn't giving him...
Ears pinned, eyes darkened and Justin barely had enough time to latch onto Refute's neck as the colt rocketed forward from a standstill. Mal and Ripley gawked as large clumps of dirt smacked their jackets and heads. Ripley clutched a hand to her head, eyes staring after the Finale Slew colt as he roared after his sibling. Unpredictable son of a gun, isn't he? Malcolm roared with laughter as Refute hurtled up to Summer Romance's side and then soon passed her to take over the lead. In all my time with him... He has never done anything remotely close to that.
Justin's breath was caught in his chest as Refute rolled on by Summer Romance into the first turn. He had no clue such an athletic feat would have been coming. Luck had kept him aboard the DW Flamekissed colt. Luck and quick reactions. He forced a big breath out of his mouth, dark eyes glinting with absolute ecstasy. He'd thought too soon and Refute had made him pay for it. The colt moved like a lion over the course, knees lifting in exaggerated movement as he galloped over a course that his pedigree said he wouldn't like. A strange sense of rightness glided through Justin's body as the dark bay colt rounded the turn and through the first two furlongs of the mile test.
Lane was still praising Ro at the two furlong marker. She hadn't even flinched when Refute exploded on their outside to draw away to a length and a half lead. Her ears had swept back, following Ref's movement, but she didn't even dart into the rail. DW Flamekissed had passed down common sense. Lane giggled, leaned close to Ro, stroking her mane. That's a good girl, Ro Bear. Very, very good. The filly was moving sweetly, galloping over the dirt with calculated and graceful strides. She was a muscled filly, but more athlete than gorilla. Lane had a solid grip on the reins, not choking the filly in the least, but keeping her very much in contact. Lane released the reins, Ro ran up to the suddenly available room and then she shut down. Lane bit her tongue. Now that was the perfect skill to own if you were a stalking turf filly.
Justin was thoroughly pleased as Refute cruised through the next three furlongs. He'd settled down once he'd past Summer Romance. His long legs were spread over the course and he was a picture of absolute class in action. His tongue bounced outside of his mouth in rhythm to his very even strides. Justin relaxed, stood a little in the stirrups and maintained the cruising pace. It was a good stamina builder and opener for the young horse. Two months from now he would be racing. This gallop would help set the foundation for what Justin now expected to be a very successful career.
Lane released more rein, nodded in approval when Ro smoothly moved up on Refute with not much roughness. A smooth forward movement would save energy. An abrupt movement might take more energy than necessary, especially in the classic turf races when run was necessary at the end of it all. Ro's neck was bowed, her teeth playing with the bit. She was doing very well with her first track romp. A little impatience to run faster was expected. A half length separated the Ashanti filly from her target horse. He was a sitting duck unless he had energy saved. With Justin, who was king of the turf marathoners, there was no doubt the horse would be prepared to fend off Ro.
Ripley was thoroughly impressed by what she was seeing from the DW Flamekissed foals. They were hot based on their mothers, but more of their father's brains was clearly evident. With Ashanti as the dam of Ro, Ripley could only be thankful DW Flamekissed had carried more weight. Ro clearly was the hotter of the pair and yet she wasn't hot in her movement. She was confident, perhaps over confident, but not uncontrollable. Refute moved gorgeously, but never looked over extended. He handled the turn easily, switched his leads two seconds after Justin visibly asked. He rolled forward, an expected response, as he gained more energy from the switch of limbs. Sure are an excellent pair of movers. Wait till we get them over the indoor synthetic in December. I'm sure we'll see an even better response. Mal hummed in pure agreement.
Refute charged down the stretch, legs stretching out over the course. His hooves dug dip into the dirt, muscles rippled beneath his glowing hide. Justin patted the colt's neck as he cranked up the pace in the final trail furlong. Here he was, Justin thought. Here is my next big turf runner. Ref was a noble horse off the track, quiet and calm. On the track, he had the same persona, but something more rippled beneath like lava beneath the earth. Justin peeked under his arm, spotting Ro as she dashed over Refute's hind legs.
Lane prayed that Ro cleared her half-brother, grimacing with terror. The filly had flashed some unexpected agility when Lane gave her the cue to move. The sepia filly surged up outside of Ref, eyes glowing with eager competitiveness. Lane kept her hands quiet, respected the pace that these relatively untested yearlings were going at. Grit and determination had always been a trademark of DW Flamekissed's. Apparently, those traits had resurfaced in these well-bred yearlings. Refute and Summer Romance battled mightily to the wire, fighting for more release. They mirrored each others fierce looks, like prehistoric animals fighting for the right to be the successor.
Ripley released her held-in breath as the bays cruised beneath the wire. Mal let out a low whistle when Ro danced to the fore. Ref tossed his head in irritation, but pulled up like the good horse he was. Now that! Ripley exclaimed. Is just what I was looking for. Mal high fived the woman, barely about to take his gaze off the babies he'd helped to raise.
You're not going to take me off of Sun King are you? Ripley glanced up, cocked a brow. Not unless I'm feeling particularly vengeful or you leave. Brooks let out a sigh when she immediately returned to writing whatever schedule she had planned. Ripley was the queen of the three year olds and two year olds. Brooks simply followed orders. He was getting frightfully tired of it. I could leave... You never know. Ripley looked up, green eyes narrowed with some unexplainable emotion. You'll never find higher pay. Especially since you are not a salaried assistant trainer. You get the cuts from your purses. You toss a deal like that it's your own problem. Brooks watched Ripley walk away with easy strides. She was cool as a cucumber these days. It irritated the living hell out of him.
Malcolm pretended not to notice Ripley's quick exhale of breath when she reached him. He did shoot a glance at Brooks. The man was really getting to Ripley Marsh. It was quite an accomplishment. He patted her arm. Rip whatever silly problem you have with Brooks, put it behind you. You're in for a real treat. We have the first ever DW Flamekissed foals in our capable hands. If Wild Kiss was anything to show for it, he could become quite a hot commodity. Ripley grinned at Mal, ignoring his comment completely. She would put it behind her. So tell me about them Mr. Malcolm.
He grinned when he saw the yearlings step out of the barn. Both of them were easily the most well-built and filled out yearlings of the bunch. Summer Romance's muscles bulged in a not so feminine way. Refute's hind quarters were huger than they should be for one so young. Mal blamed it on their heritage. DW Flamekissed had done his running early in his career. Precociousness was key. They are absolutely handsome creatures. Refute's got muscles on top of muscles. He's mellow minded. He plays by the rules and is eager to please. And Ro... she's just gorgeous. Perfect conformation. High energy. Very high energy. Mal warned. Ripley sent him a grin. She loved high energy. It gave her a lot of room to work.
Lane felt like she was sitting on a keg of gunpowder. The stout form of the filly beneath her jiggled with excited energy. Lane sat deep into the light racing saddle, eyes glinting with the promise of what was to come. She patted the filly's neck. Ro was a queen among princesses. She held herself tall and with pride. Her tail danced over her powerful hindquarters as she headed down the path. She was a lighter bay, much lighter than her half-sibling Refute. She was nearly copper in her hue, but dampness darkened her neck and flanks. Her black tipped ears swung back when Lane hummed. The filly could feel the vibrations of the noise, but couldn't actually hear. Twin white puffs of fuzz peaked out of her ears to quiet the outside world. She needed them or she would lose it. It was the Ashanti blood in her.
Justin rubbed his gloved hands together, completely relaxed with the muscular colt that was Refute. He was not outwardly spectacular in his expressions. His eyes were intelligent and soft. He did not come across as excitable. He strode casually beside his pumped up sister, but neither egged her on nor responded to her. He was extremely different from Justin's usual. Neither Dazzling Dame nor Hokum would ever be so intellectually calm. Refute was an adapter. He learned from experience, but did not react as though the sky was falling. He was a breath of fresh air even at 22 months.
The color dark chocolate even when the sun bore down on him, Refute made quite a presence. He stepped out onto the track, paused briefly, taking in all there was to know about the place. Ripley admired his attitude, noted that Summer Romance instantly bounded onto the dirt track with no cares in the world. She would be the flightier of this pair. Ro snorted as Ripley called out orders to the riders. She pranced sideways, neck bowed, beautiful body contorting into that of a dressage horse. She sure was gorgeous.
Dirt isn't going to be their first choice, but we're not risking them over the turf course now that it's snowed and made the track slick. Justin nodded in agreement. Lane murmured assent. They glanced at one another, eagerness filling their eyes. It was time to find out what they're future looked like. Ripley nodded to them, tapping her fingers on the rail. She needed to see if DW Flamekissed was finally giving her a pair of stars. He'd always been one of her favorites.
Summer Romance danced toward the first turn, neck bent in order to avoid Lane's hands. She was a trouble maker this filly. Lane grinned, tapped the leathers and smiled when Ro shook her head violently. Definitely a trouble maker. The sepia colored filly bolted the second Lane lifted her weight off of the short racing saddle. Her body was not massive, but the muscle was clearly evident as she fired up the track. Lane's eyes blurred from the wind and she ducked behind Ro's unusually high crest. The filly was a whirlwind runner all right. Ro tucked herself tight to the rail, body reaching magnificently for more ground. Lots of power, Lane thought.
Justin watched Ro tear off at a strong gallop, noted that Refute merely pricked his ears to watch her leave. An interested excitement was quite visible in the colt's eyes, but the rest of his body was as lax as ever. Justin grunted, happy that Ref was unruffled, not so happy that the colt wasn't giving him...
Ears pinned, eyes darkened and Justin barely had enough time to latch onto Refute's neck as the colt rocketed forward from a standstill. Mal and Ripley gawked as large clumps of dirt smacked their jackets and heads. Ripley clutched a hand to her head, eyes staring after the Finale Slew colt as he roared after his sibling. Unpredictable son of a gun, isn't he? Malcolm roared with laughter as Refute hurtled up to Summer Romance's side and then soon passed her to take over the lead. In all my time with him... He has never done anything remotely close to that.
Justin's breath was caught in his chest as Refute rolled on by Summer Romance into the first turn. He had no clue such an athletic feat would have been coming. Luck had kept him aboard the DW Flamekissed colt. Luck and quick reactions. He forced a big breath out of his mouth, dark eyes glinting with absolute ecstasy. He'd thought too soon and Refute had made him pay for it. The colt moved like a lion over the course, knees lifting in exaggerated movement as he galloped over a course that his pedigree said he wouldn't like. A strange sense of rightness glided through Justin's body as the dark bay colt rounded the turn and through the first two furlongs of the mile test.
Lane was still praising Ro at the two furlong marker. She hadn't even flinched when Refute exploded on their outside to draw away to a length and a half lead. Her ears had swept back, following Ref's movement, but she didn't even dart into the rail. DW Flamekissed had passed down common sense. Lane giggled, leaned close to Ro, stroking her mane. That's a good girl, Ro Bear. Very, very good. The filly was moving sweetly, galloping over the dirt with calculated and graceful strides. She was a muscled filly, but more athlete than gorilla. Lane had a solid grip on the reins, not choking the filly in the least, but keeping her very much in contact. Lane released the reins, Ro ran up to the suddenly available room and then she shut down. Lane bit her tongue. Now that was the perfect skill to own if you were a stalking turf filly.
Justin was thoroughly pleased as Refute cruised through the next three furlongs. He'd settled down once he'd past Summer Romance. His long legs were spread over the course and he was a picture of absolute class in action. His tongue bounced outside of his mouth in rhythm to his very even strides. Justin relaxed, stood a little in the stirrups and maintained the cruising pace. It was a good stamina builder and opener for the young horse. Two months from now he would be racing. This gallop would help set the foundation for what Justin now expected to be a very successful career.
Lane released more rein, nodded in approval when Ro smoothly moved up on Refute with not much roughness. A smooth forward movement would save energy. An abrupt movement might take more energy than necessary, especially in the classic turf races when run was necessary at the end of it all. Ro's neck was bowed, her teeth playing with the bit. She was doing very well with her first track romp. A little impatience to run faster was expected. A half length separated the Ashanti filly from her target horse. He was a sitting duck unless he had energy saved. With Justin, who was king of the turf marathoners, there was no doubt the horse would be prepared to fend off Ro.
Ripley was thoroughly impressed by what she was seeing from the DW Flamekissed foals. They were hot based on their mothers, but more of their father's brains was clearly evident. With Ashanti as the dam of Ro, Ripley could only be thankful DW Flamekissed had carried more weight. Ro clearly was the hotter of the pair and yet she wasn't hot in her movement. She was confident, perhaps over confident, but not uncontrollable. Refute moved gorgeously, but never looked over extended. He handled the turn easily, switched his leads two seconds after Justin visibly asked. He rolled forward, an expected response, as he gained more energy from the switch of limbs. Sure are an excellent pair of movers. Wait till we get them over the indoor synthetic in December. I'm sure we'll see an even better response. Mal hummed in pure agreement.
Refute charged down the stretch, legs stretching out over the course. His hooves dug dip into the dirt, muscles rippled beneath his glowing hide. Justin patted the colt's neck as he cranked up the pace in the final trail furlong. Here he was, Justin thought. Here is my next big turf runner. Ref was a noble horse off the track, quiet and calm. On the track, he had the same persona, but something more rippled beneath like lava beneath the earth. Justin peeked under his arm, spotting Ro as she dashed over Refute's hind legs.
Lane prayed that Ro cleared her half-brother, grimacing with terror. The filly had flashed some unexpected agility when Lane gave her the cue to move. The sepia filly surged up outside of Ref, eyes glowing with eager competitiveness. Lane kept her hands quiet, respected the pace that these relatively untested yearlings were going at. Grit and determination had always been a trademark of DW Flamekissed's. Apparently, those traits had resurfaced in these well-bred yearlings. Refute and Summer Romance battled mightily to the wire, fighting for more release. They mirrored each others fierce looks, like prehistoric animals fighting for the right to be the successor.
Ripley released her held-in breath as the bays cruised beneath the wire. Mal let out a low whistle when Ro danced to the fore. Ref tossed his head in irritation, but pulled up like the good horse he was. Now that! Ripley exclaimed. Is just what I was looking for. Mal high fived the woman, barely about to take his gaze off the babies he'd helped to raise.
calming touch
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Steam puffed out of thoroughbred lips. Teeth chomped on the cold metal resting in thoroughbred mouths. Eyes glinted with focus and eagerness from thoroughbred eyes. Muscles coiled beneath well-conditioned, gleaming hide. Thick black tails waved over athletic haunches as the horses were led into the chilly November weather. A lovely, sweet nicker erupted from the mouth of a bay filly with an oddly shaped blaze. A commanding snort was wrenched forth from the mouth of a bay-black colt with no markings.
Brooks and Malcolm stood side by side, eyes wide with awe and excitement. Now these two had potential racehorses written all over them. Malcolm could feel his pride drifting off of his own form in massive doses. Saintly Touch was his prize and only the best rider would get on him. Her name would be Ripley Marsh. The rider of potentially two Hall of Fame horses from the same crop and the same barn. The trainer and jockey of the El Sol del Mar, dam of a Horse of The Year and possibly two future Hall of Fame horses. Malcolm could not have picked a better match for the son of Night Stalker and The Devil's Touch. He knew Ripley had counted on riding Saint from his birth, but if he'd said another rider would have suited, she would have given up the mount.
He watched Ripley Marsh gaze into the one seeing eye of the bay-black horse standing before her. There was a connection between her and the colt already. It drew him like a moth to a flame. Saint stood quietly with her hand resting upon his soft muzzle. His seeing eye glinted with trust and affection. Malcolm cocked a hip. "Ripley, I don't know what it is, but you just have this connection with whatever The Devil seems to throw." Ripley sent a sparkling smile his way. Malcolm felt Brooks tense beside him. He sighed inwardly. Brooks either needed to get his woman back or hide. Ripley was a bruiser either way, even when she meant no harm. Every smile seemed to torture the guy.
"What about us, Malcolm? Don't we have a connection?" Malcolm slid his cobalt blue eyes in Laura's direction, noted her high-pitched irritating tone. Nirvana stood beside her, ears pricked and eyes shining with pure intellect. "I'd say she tolerates you, Laura. Only because she knows the sooner she's done with you the better." Ripley let out a laugh, guided Saintly Touch out of the barn. "Malcolm, I'd say that's my cue to run." Malcolm grinned after her, turned back just in time to duck a brush. A shout behind him told Brookson had been the accidental target. The blonde man glared at Laura playfully. "That's the second time today you mosquito!"
Laura stuck her tongue out at him, trotting Vana out next to her as a shield. Brooks shook his head, glanced at Mal and then followed the two pesky women. Laura did not break stride as she vaulted from the ground onto the back of the stocky bay Nirvana. Mal had seen the display before and was more impressed with Vana's attitude every time. The sturdy filly took the weight and bounded off without even flinching. Gold Storm and Quintessential had produced a good one for the beginning stages of their breeding careers. Mal noted the well-conditioned look of Vana, a task that was given to their future jocks. Laura was more fond of Nirvana than she admitted. The filly gleamed like polished wood.
Ripley was not as agile, quick or foolish as Laura. She stopped Saint in his tracks, noted the horse's attentive appearance. He flicked his ears as she put her weight in the stirrup and settled in. His body tensed and his unmarked face twisted around on his good side. He flared his nostrils, eye blazing in a look so like his older half-sister's that Ripley braced herself for the explosion. She wasn't disappointed. The dynamite colt roared up into the air, forelegs pawing as if he could strip away the scenery before him and the woman along with it. Ripley clung to him, fistfulls of wild black mane in her hands. The colt screamed causing Nirvana to whip around and face the potential danger. Ripley slammed her body forward. Saint staggered, hooves skittering to catch his full weight.
Laura squeezed her legs as Saint charged toward them, powerful shoulders sliding in perfect symphony beneath his shining hide. He blazed toward them, ears pinned, eye full of fire, a picture of a demon on four legs. Laura's face turned snow white. Nirvana dashed sideways, ears pinned and teeth bared, just in time to keep Saint from colliding with her. She slide sideways, keeping Laura, barely, aboard. The mahogany filly released a sigh as the black colt roared by them. She shook her head, mane slapping either side of her neck, and trotted out after the still cantering colt.
Malcolm and Brooks rushed to the railing, eyes wide with horror. Malcolm let out a relieved breath when Ripley finally brought the colt down to a jog. Her body was tense from the back and Saintly Touch sure was fired up. Ripley applied leg pressure and whipped the colt in the opposite direction. He flipped his head up and down, snorting and squealing. Ripley forced him to back, turn, trot off, back again. Brooks only relaxed when she brought the colt to a complete stop. "He is just like Hourglass. And she is an absolute nutcase!" Mal did not watch Brooks stomp away, but he could not help but agree with both statements. Both statements made him happier than he could admit.
Laura gave Ripley a high-five when Vana drew up alongside the overwrought Saint. She bared her teeth in his direction, showing her unhappiness with him. Laura patted the filly's warm neck. "What a good girl, Vana baby." Vana nickered in response. Laura had to admit that this daughter of Gold Storm had shown a lot of icy calm in the face of an attack, even if the attack was unintentional. Such courage and self-preservation would be good for their partnership when they began to race. Laura knew she could trust this gorgeous daughter of Quintessential to keep her clear of trouble. The filly galloped off on command, power coming from her rear end. She scooted over the course with a tremendous strength that was painfully obvious in a conformation shot. Vana was a powerhouse and she could move. Laura twined her fingers into the filly's mane, grinning as Vana ruffled Saint's feathers by pushing into his shoulder. Ripley shot Laura a glare, but Laura shrugged. It was the filly, not her.
Saintly Touch let out an explosive sigh-snort. His ears pinned to his head as Vana continued to exploit her tom-boy strength. Ripley took the colt back, grinning when he didn't so much as fight. The Night Stalker son was not a malleable horse by any stretch of the imagination. At least when he chose not to be. He was a tough son of a gun. And so very like Hourglass. That particular filly had done the same exact thing to Brookson Wells in his first ride. Unfortunately, Saint would not be rid of her as a rider any time soon. She liked what she felt beneath her. A classic muscle car roared beneath her as he ducked in behind Nirvana. His seeing eye glinted with the rush of his speed. And that was the difference between Saint and Hourglass. Hourglass loved to run, but she spent time thinking of ways to be rid of the rider on her back. Saint could care less. Ripley guided him out to the three path as the pair of yearlings rolled up the backstretch. He simply moved along like a trained professional.
Both filly and colt handled the exercise tremendously. Vana's stocky frame carried her efficiently over the course, neck stretched, but never seeming to be overstretched. Saint spread his muscular frame over the course, a demon in flight. Yet, he too did not display a single ounce of effort. He just cruised like a machine. Ripley could not stifle the smile that bloomed on her features. Now here was an animal. If Ripley would never ride a horse after Saint in her career, she could say that Saint had been one of the greatest horses even before he'd even raced.
Nirvana remained flush with Saintly Touch throughout the opening six furlongs. Her ears shifted constantly, flattening and then pricking, and her speed seemed to swell and then deflate. If Laura could lean to control that inconsistent speed, it surely would be a damaging weapon in a race. Vana snorted, eying Saint with disdain when his primitive head poked its way to the front. Laura shook her head. Saint did not possess the most handsome head she had ever seen, but it sure suited his personality. The lion-hearted colt bullied his way forward to a half-length lead without any type of encouragement. Ripley remained as quiet as ever, just experiencing the strength that burned within the colt.
Laura could not remain still as the final furlong roared up to greet them. She moved her fingers, stirred her athletic frame and sent Vana up the rail. The stocky filly with the odd facial marking ground her way back to Saint's level. She was not a quick horse, but she was a true grinder. She was the kind of horse Maggiletti Reynolds had taught Laura how to ride. Laura grinned and grimaced mentally at the same time. It would take a lot of work, but the final result would be even more rewarding at the end of it all. Vana pinned her ears as she launched her compact frame into the turn. Her legs cut through the air with absolutely fantastic precision and she snagged her correct lead without any help. Laura was impressed at the filly's natural talent. Here was a horse who understood the concept of racing.
Vana steamrolled into the straightaway with a half-length advantage over Saintly Touch. Laura smacked the filly's neck. Her intelligence had gotten them through many pivotal discoveries today. Laura steadied her enthusiasm, leaned close to the filly's frame and held her hands quietly. She glanced to the right and saw Saintly Touch falling back to a length disadvantage. Ripley's grin had turned into a determined frown. Laura nodded in approval. If Vana could outfoot even the fantastically bred Saint then she was clearly talented.
Saint's body remained at the steady pace, his ears pricked up as though he weren't focused. The colt had behaved so wonderfully up until the homestretch. She didn't want to set him to a drive, but she had to find out what kind of horse she had in the long run. Ripley grunted, green eyes full of frustration and unhappiness. She had no choice. She whistled at the colt, threw her body forward and sent her crop winging back toward his hind end. It didn't make contact. The whistling of the whip had the colt in full bolting mode in a matter of moments. He swerved erratically to the right, avoiding the crop which fell from Ripley's gloved fingers as she reached to clench his black mane. She straightened him out with a swift rein and pitted him side by side with Nirvana. His speed increased tremendously, legs blurring beneath him, a phantom on thin air.
Nirvana had reacted instinctively the moment Saint hit a new gear. The bay filly locked herself with Saintly Touch, seeing eye versus unseeing eye. His ear was pinned in her direction. The bay filly and black colt roared under the stretch, a battle of will and inexperienced talent. The pair galloped well into the first turn again. Vana was not keen on coming down from her fastest exercise yet. Laura coaxed her down, murmuring words in her pricked ears. She turned her kind gaze in Saint's direction when Ripley pulled him off to the right. Laura noted Ripley's sparkling gaze. "He's a little nutsy, but once I figure out his quirks he's going to be great. Mark my words Laura DeComte." Laura let out a wolf whistle when Ripley turned her back. It was one thing for a cheap rider to say something, but when it came from the mouth of a Hall of Fame horse trainer it was completely different. Laura eyed Saint's rear in consideration. She patted Vana's neck. "Guess what Vana. We pretty much have each other figured out already. You could reach greatness faster than even Saintly Touch." Nirvana snorted, shaking her head as if laughing at Laura's smart Alec comments. Laura gazed ahead, lost in thought.
Brooks and Malcolm stood side by side, eyes wide with awe and excitement. Now these two had potential racehorses written all over them. Malcolm could feel his pride drifting off of his own form in massive doses. Saintly Touch was his prize and only the best rider would get on him. Her name would be Ripley Marsh. The rider of potentially two Hall of Fame horses from the same crop and the same barn. The trainer and jockey of the El Sol del Mar, dam of a Horse of The Year and possibly two future Hall of Fame horses. Malcolm could not have picked a better match for the son of Night Stalker and The Devil's Touch. He knew Ripley had counted on riding Saint from his birth, but if he'd said another rider would have suited, she would have given up the mount.
He watched Ripley Marsh gaze into the one seeing eye of the bay-black horse standing before her. There was a connection between her and the colt already. It drew him like a moth to a flame. Saint stood quietly with her hand resting upon his soft muzzle. His seeing eye glinted with trust and affection. Malcolm cocked a hip. "Ripley, I don't know what it is, but you just have this connection with whatever The Devil seems to throw." Ripley sent a sparkling smile his way. Malcolm felt Brooks tense beside him. He sighed inwardly. Brooks either needed to get his woman back or hide. Ripley was a bruiser either way, even when she meant no harm. Every smile seemed to torture the guy.
"What about us, Malcolm? Don't we have a connection?" Malcolm slid his cobalt blue eyes in Laura's direction, noted her high-pitched irritating tone. Nirvana stood beside her, ears pricked and eyes shining with pure intellect. "I'd say she tolerates you, Laura. Only because she knows the sooner she's done with you the better." Ripley let out a laugh, guided Saintly Touch out of the barn. "Malcolm, I'd say that's my cue to run." Malcolm grinned after her, turned back just in time to duck a brush. A shout behind him told Brookson had been the accidental target. The blonde man glared at Laura playfully. "That's the second time today you mosquito!"
Laura stuck her tongue out at him, trotting Vana out next to her as a shield. Brooks shook his head, glanced at Mal and then followed the two pesky women. Laura did not break stride as she vaulted from the ground onto the back of the stocky bay Nirvana. Mal had seen the display before and was more impressed with Vana's attitude every time. The sturdy filly took the weight and bounded off without even flinching. Gold Storm and Quintessential had produced a good one for the beginning stages of their breeding careers. Mal noted the well-conditioned look of Vana, a task that was given to their future jocks. Laura was more fond of Nirvana than she admitted. The filly gleamed like polished wood.
Ripley was not as agile, quick or foolish as Laura. She stopped Saint in his tracks, noted the horse's attentive appearance. He flicked his ears as she put her weight in the stirrup and settled in. His body tensed and his unmarked face twisted around on his good side. He flared his nostrils, eye blazing in a look so like his older half-sister's that Ripley braced herself for the explosion. She wasn't disappointed. The dynamite colt roared up into the air, forelegs pawing as if he could strip away the scenery before him and the woman along with it. Ripley clung to him, fistfulls of wild black mane in her hands. The colt screamed causing Nirvana to whip around and face the potential danger. Ripley slammed her body forward. Saint staggered, hooves skittering to catch his full weight.
Laura squeezed her legs as Saint charged toward them, powerful shoulders sliding in perfect symphony beneath his shining hide. He blazed toward them, ears pinned, eye full of fire, a picture of a demon on four legs. Laura's face turned snow white. Nirvana dashed sideways, ears pinned and teeth bared, just in time to keep Saint from colliding with her. She slide sideways, keeping Laura, barely, aboard. The mahogany filly released a sigh as the black colt roared by them. She shook her head, mane slapping either side of her neck, and trotted out after the still cantering colt.
Malcolm and Brooks rushed to the railing, eyes wide with horror. Malcolm let out a relieved breath when Ripley finally brought the colt down to a jog. Her body was tense from the back and Saintly Touch sure was fired up. Ripley applied leg pressure and whipped the colt in the opposite direction. He flipped his head up and down, snorting and squealing. Ripley forced him to back, turn, trot off, back again. Brooks only relaxed when she brought the colt to a complete stop. "He is just like Hourglass. And she is an absolute nutcase!" Mal did not watch Brooks stomp away, but he could not help but agree with both statements. Both statements made him happier than he could admit.
Laura gave Ripley a high-five when Vana drew up alongside the overwrought Saint. She bared her teeth in his direction, showing her unhappiness with him. Laura patted the filly's warm neck. "What a good girl, Vana baby." Vana nickered in response. Laura had to admit that this daughter of Gold Storm had shown a lot of icy calm in the face of an attack, even if the attack was unintentional. Such courage and self-preservation would be good for their partnership when they began to race. Laura knew she could trust this gorgeous daughter of Quintessential to keep her clear of trouble. The filly galloped off on command, power coming from her rear end. She scooted over the course with a tremendous strength that was painfully obvious in a conformation shot. Vana was a powerhouse and she could move. Laura twined her fingers into the filly's mane, grinning as Vana ruffled Saint's feathers by pushing into his shoulder. Ripley shot Laura a glare, but Laura shrugged. It was the filly, not her.
Saintly Touch let out an explosive sigh-snort. His ears pinned to his head as Vana continued to exploit her tom-boy strength. Ripley took the colt back, grinning when he didn't so much as fight. The Night Stalker son was not a malleable horse by any stretch of the imagination. At least when he chose not to be. He was a tough son of a gun. And so very like Hourglass. That particular filly had done the same exact thing to Brookson Wells in his first ride. Unfortunately, Saint would not be rid of her as a rider any time soon. She liked what she felt beneath her. A classic muscle car roared beneath her as he ducked in behind Nirvana. His seeing eye glinted with the rush of his speed. And that was the difference between Saint and Hourglass. Hourglass loved to run, but she spent time thinking of ways to be rid of the rider on her back. Saint could care less. Ripley guided him out to the three path as the pair of yearlings rolled up the backstretch. He simply moved along like a trained professional.
Both filly and colt handled the exercise tremendously. Vana's stocky frame carried her efficiently over the course, neck stretched, but never seeming to be overstretched. Saint spread his muscular frame over the course, a demon in flight. Yet, he too did not display a single ounce of effort. He just cruised like a machine. Ripley could not stifle the smile that bloomed on her features. Now here was an animal. If Ripley would never ride a horse after Saint in her career, she could say that Saint had been one of the greatest horses even before he'd even raced.
Nirvana remained flush with Saintly Touch throughout the opening six furlongs. Her ears shifted constantly, flattening and then pricking, and her speed seemed to swell and then deflate. If Laura could lean to control that inconsistent speed, it surely would be a damaging weapon in a race. Vana snorted, eying Saint with disdain when his primitive head poked its way to the front. Laura shook her head. Saint did not possess the most handsome head she had ever seen, but it sure suited his personality. The lion-hearted colt bullied his way forward to a half-length lead without any type of encouragement. Ripley remained as quiet as ever, just experiencing the strength that burned within the colt.
Laura could not remain still as the final furlong roared up to greet them. She moved her fingers, stirred her athletic frame and sent Vana up the rail. The stocky filly with the odd facial marking ground her way back to Saint's level. She was not a quick horse, but she was a true grinder. She was the kind of horse Maggiletti Reynolds had taught Laura how to ride. Laura grinned and grimaced mentally at the same time. It would take a lot of work, but the final result would be even more rewarding at the end of it all. Vana pinned her ears as she launched her compact frame into the turn. Her legs cut through the air with absolutely fantastic precision and she snagged her correct lead without any help. Laura was impressed at the filly's natural talent. Here was a horse who understood the concept of racing.
Vana steamrolled into the straightaway with a half-length advantage over Saintly Touch. Laura smacked the filly's neck. Her intelligence had gotten them through many pivotal discoveries today. Laura steadied her enthusiasm, leaned close to the filly's frame and held her hands quietly. She glanced to the right and saw Saintly Touch falling back to a length disadvantage. Ripley's grin had turned into a determined frown. Laura nodded in approval. If Vana could outfoot even the fantastically bred Saint then she was clearly talented.
Saint's body remained at the steady pace, his ears pricked up as though he weren't focused. The colt had behaved so wonderfully up until the homestretch. She didn't want to set him to a drive, but she had to find out what kind of horse she had in the long run. Ripley grunted, green eyes full of frustration and unhappiness. She had no choice. She whistled at the colt, threw her body forward and sent her crop winging back toward his hind end. It didn't make contact. The whistling of the whip had the colt in full bolting mode in a matter of moments. He swerved erratically to the right, avoiding the crop which fell from Ripley's gloved fingers as she reached to clench his black mane. She straightened him out with a swift rein and pitted him side by side with Nirvana. His speed increased tremendously, legs blurring beneath him, a phantom on thin air.
Nirvana had reacted instinctively the moment Saint hit a new gear. The bay filly locked herself with Saintly Touch, seeing eye versus unseeing eye. His ear was pinned in her direction. The bay filly and black colt roared under the stretch, a battle of will and inexperienced talent. The pair galloped well into the first turn again. Vana was not keen on coming down from her fastest exercise yet. Laura coaxed her down, murmuring words in her pricked ears. She turned her kind gaze in Saint's direction when Ripley pulled him off to the right. Laura noted Ripley's sparkling gaze. "He's a little nutsy, but once I figure out his quirks he's going to be great. Mark my words Laura DeComte." Laura let out a wolf whistle when Ripley turned her back. It was one thing for a cheap rider to say something, but when it came from the mouth of a Hall of Fame horse trainer it was completely different. Laura eyed Saint's rear in consideration. She patted Vana's neck. "Guess what Vana. We pretty much have each other figured out already. You could reach greatness faster than even Saintly Touch." Nirvana snorted, shaking her head as if laughing at Laura's smart Alec comments. Laura gazed ahead, lost in thought.
smooth criminal
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
"We'll be going from the sane to the insane asylum itself, Ripley. This next pair is something else. Really dangerous, but the talent is waiting to be exploited ceaselessly." Ripley glanced up from the paper attached to her clipboard, green eyes sparking excitedly. Casualty of War and Call Me Crooked. Malcolm had bitched and complained about this pair since Sultan arrived and Crook was born. In his cobalt blue eyes, however, Ripley found true affection. She supposed that belonged to Call Me Crooked, the daughter of Crooked Fire and Royal Assault. Ripley patted his arm, noting his slow removal of the binoculars. "Hey, Prima Donna and Calamity Queen didn't turn out so bad." Malcolm sneered outrageously. "That's because you got Prima after I brow-beat her and Star Thoroughbreds handled Queenie until mid-season. Of course they look like well-behaved saints now."
Ripley laughed. Justin would probably say otherwise after the workout two weeks ago. Ripley stood up from her seat and walked to the rear window of the watch box. "Tell me about Sultan." Malcolm stepped up beside her, pride flickering like blue flame in his gaze. "Now that is the most mean tempered horse I have ever come across in my life. But... Mark my words Ripley Marsh, he is going to be something outstanding. He's got the lines to do so. He's got the attitude of a champion. And he is absolutely freaking impressive to look at." He placed a hand on her wrist. "You won't need binoculars to see either of them." Ripley sent him a questioning gaze, but a second later she found out why.
Casualty of War strutted powerfully down the dirt path, legs propelling him downward with every single stride. He looked more like a knight's war horse than a racehorse. Each muscle was outlined with outrageous bulge. His delicate head looked out of place compared to the rest of him. His chest and shoulders were the broadest Ripley had ever seen on a colt as young as him. His neck rose into a perfect crest, complimenting his savage head. Tufts of hair flitted off of his powerful legs, emphasizing the primitive quality that Malcolm wanted to express. Ripley practically swallowed her shock and compliments whole. Mal took pleasure in her awe-filled gaze. He'd thought just the same way even after seeing the Man O' War colt every day.
Brooks sat proudly on the magnificent beast, feeling comfortable despite nearly being savaged back in the barn or the rush to get on the colt's back. Sultan was something else. Something that Witch Creek had only seen once before in Touch Up. Touch Up had been a failure as a racehorse simply because he hadn't wanted to follow the racing rules. Casualty of War had already shown promise in his ability to follow rules. It would not be a repeat in history if they could harness this monster's speed and fierceness. Brooks flashed a glance over his shoulder, not daring to turn his attention away from Sultan for too long. He was a horse that you could never be sure of behaving.
And neither was Call Me Crooked. Ripley's best friend was demonstrating all of her horsewomanship with this single mount. Crook spun around in circles, nostrils flaring, eyes rimmed with white wildness. Maggie's eyes glinted with eagerness and determination. The bay filly's white marked face was practically turned to her stirrup and still she would not stop. Juvenile Delinquent should have been her real name. The filly stopped suddenly facing after Sultan's departing rear end. She held her head high, neighing belligerently at the top of her lungs. Each foot was buried stubbornly into the dirt path. Maggie grinned wildly at Crook's antics. Now this was a precocious horse if she'd ever seen one. Maggie nudged the filly forward, surprised that Crook was so willing to step out with all her stubbornness. It had to be something in Crooked Fire because Royal Assault had never been that easy. Maggie's chest swelled with pride at the thought of riding her second Royal Assault filly. It was an honor to have been chosen to ride her favorite horse's daughter. Not that anyone had really stepped up in argument when they saw how crazy Call Me Crooked was.
Ripley let out a breath of excitement, eyes glinting with pride at Maggie's handling. "A pair of live wires if I've ever seen any." Mal nodded in complete agreement. "Now just wait until you see them run. It's like nothing I've ever seen before." Ripley turned and walked to the front of the room. Brooks and Maggie both had the same instructions as everyone else. Gallop a mile, but open them up in the final furlong. If their attitudes were anything to show for it, both horses would be stellar performers.
Sultan stepped out on the track first, eyes blazing with wild fire. He reared up, mightily pawing the air with his paws. Brooks reveled in the pure strength of this horse. God, why had Ripley never gone after a Man O' War colt before? Brooks slammed the colt back to planet earth, eyes flickering with excitement. He patted the horse's elegant neck and prepared to feel all of his mighty power. Brooks stood in the stirrups, nudged the colt forward and felt himself nearly thrown to the back of the saddle. Sultan took off practically in the air. His front hooves beat the ground ferociously when he landed. Brooks clung to reins and mane as Casualty of War powered up the track. Brooks held his breath until the colt settled into his gargantuan stride. "There you go, boy. Awesome."
Maggie did not have to tell Crook twice. The chest-heavy filly bolted the second Sultan roared up to speed. Her bay body fired up over the course, an explosion of speed. Maggie wondered at it. Could Crook be just the opposite of Royal Assault who had been a pure closer like her sister Calamity Queen? The question was answered as the sprinter-bodied filly slipped into the first turn. Her eyes blazed with excitement, but her speed did not continue on. She settled three lengths behind the fiery Sultan and did not move from there. She did not back off when he picked up speed. Maggie grinned. Horses like Crook were explosive to the max in the final stretch. She carried her head high, legs sweeping over the ground with every quick stride. Maggie perched at her withers, eyes glinting with happiness. It was nice to have a change of pace once in a while.
Sultan bounded over the dirt with confidence and strength. There was no doubt in Brookson's mind that this horse would be able to notch twelve furlongs. He had it all. Power, class, courage, fight. It radiated off of the inexperienced horse in waves. Brooks just sat aboard the monster leaving him on auto-pilot. Like Crook, he ran with his head up, full of himself and his arrogance. Yet, he did not seem to be moving faster than required. He moved effortlessly, one giant stride after another. Brooks could not wait for Year Fourteen to come. This colt would be ready to explode in his two year old season. Brooks leaned close to the colt as he thundered towards the far turn. It was almost time to discover what the protege possessed.
Maggie had never felt a horse rev up before, but this had to be what she was feeling right now. Crook began to practically leap over the dirt, head high, body lurching with undeniable swiftness and agility. Maggie could not settle into the jack-hammer movement so she stood. Crooks' ears were dead-locked onto Casualty of War who was now steamrolling into the far turn. Maggie leaped to her left, throwing Crook into her correct lead. The filly snorted fiercely, ears pinning. Maggie wrapped her fingers into the filly's mane, grinning with excitement when the filly lurched forward again. Crook's ears flattened out along with her neck as she ran nearly parallel to the dirt. She surged forward, pressing powerfully off of her rear end. She skipped over the terrain, barely taking a moment to rest as she burned the track in pursuit of Casualty of War.
Malcolm and Ripley's hands were locked on the rail, eyes glued to the filly and colt as they rounded into the homestretch. Sultan was just bounding along with contained power, Brooks completely still on his broad back. But their eyes had passed over the dark horse and landed on the lithe filly that roared off of the turn four paths wide. Call Me Crooked was the picture of sprint power as she whipped up to Sultan's haunches. Her eyes were full of defiance and fury, her body coiled and then released, a burst of energy in one small creature. Ripley released a breath as Sultan hit the final furlong and Brooks finally woke him up. Sultan snapped out of his consistent cruising gallop and charged forward, momentarily stunning Crook with his turn of foot.
The filly reacted, pinning her ears and propelling herself back to run head and head with Sultan. Her eyes blazed with defiance and the fact that she thought she'd had him put away only angered her more. Sultan was just getting warmed up, his stride reaching profoundly for the wire. He still looked untested. Mal felt a surge of pride to see Cross fighting so boldly against the much larger animal. In a matter of furious strides the white-faced filly was at Sultan's face. Maggie's eyes lit up with shock when the bay filly reached sideways and grabbed Sultan by the bridle. Crook shook furiously, pulling him off stride. Brooks shook the reins, rushed Sultan away, trying to break Crook off of his bridle. Maggie slapped Cross' neck on the left. The filly clung on, a study in pure competition.
The filly bolted the second she released Sultan from her grasp. She surged forward, legs reaching for the wire, neatly shutting Casualty of War's chances off. Mal shook his head at the filly. Damn typical female right there! Always at the expense of the guy. Sultan's eyes blazed with rage when the filly defeated him. Trickery had beat him, fire had beat him, but talent had not. He rolled right on by the dangerous filly, making his presence known to those watching. He tossed his head, ignoring his rider's demand to come to a stop at first. The human had no idea who he was messing with. The colt came to a stop on the backstretch, a thrilled Brooks standing in the stirrups. This colt was something already. He wasn't even a two year old yet and something burned within him. Witch Creek would welcome him with open arms.
Ripley laughed. Justin would probably say otherwise after the workout two weeks ago. Ripley stood up from her seat and walked to the rear window of the watch box. "Tell me about Sultan." Malcolm stepped up beside her, pride flickering like blue flame in his gaze. "Now that is the most mean tempered horse I have ever come across in my life. But... Mark my words Ripley Marsh, he is going to be something outstanding. He's got the lines to do so. He's got the attitude of a champion. And he is absolutely freaking impressive to look at." He placed a hand on her wrist. "You won't need binoculars to see either of them." Ripley sent him a questioning gaze, but a second later she found out why.
Casualty of War strutted powerfully down the dirt path, legs propelling him downward with every single stride. He looked more like a knight's war horse than a racehorse. Each muscle was outlined with outrageous bulge. His delicate head looked out of place compared to the rest of him. His chest and shoulders were the broadest Ripley had ever seen on a colt as young as him. His neck rose into a perfect crest, complimenting his savage head. Tufts of hair flitted off of his powerful legs, emphasizing the primitive quality that Malcolm wanted to express. Ripley practically swallowed her shock and compliments whole. Mal took pleasure in her awe-filled gaze. He'd thought just the same way even after seeing the Man O' War colt every day.
Brooks sat proudly on the magnificent beast, feeling comfortable despite nearly being savaged back in the barn or the rush to get on the colt's back. Sultan was something else. Something that Witch Creek had only seen once before in Touch Up. Touch Up had been a failure as a racehorse simply because he hadn't wanted to follow the racing rules. Casualty of War had already shown promise in his ability to follow rules. It would not be a repeat in history if they could harness this monster's speed and fierceness. Brooks flashed a glance over his shoulder, not daring to turn his attention away from Sultan for too long. He was a horse that you could never be sure of behaving.
And neither was Call Me Crooked. Ripley's best friend was demonstrating all of her horsewomanship with this single mount. Crook spun around in circles, nostrils flaring, eyes rimmed with white wildness. Maggie's eyes glinted with eagerness and determination. The bay filly's white marked face was practically turned to her stirrup and still she would not stop. Juvenile Delinquent should have been her real name. The filly stopped suddenly facing after Sultan's departing rear end. She held her head high, neighing belligerently at the top of her lungs. Each foot was buried stubbornly into the dirt path. Maggie grinned wildly at Crook's antics. Now this was a precocious horse if she'd ever seen one. Maggie nudged the filly forward, surprised that Crook was so willing to step out with all her stubbornness. It had to be something in Crooked Fire because Royal Assault had never been that easy. Maggie's chest swelled with pride at the thought of riding her second Royal Assault filly. It was an honor to have been chosen to ride her favorite horse's daughter. Not that anyone had really stepped up in argument when they saw how crazy Call Me Crooked was.
Ripley let out a breath of excitement, eyes glinting with pride at Maggie's handling. "A pair of live wires if I've ever seen any." Mal nodded in complete agreement. "Now just wait until you see them run. It's like nothing I've ever seen before." Ripley turned and walked to the front of the room. Brooks and Maggie both had the same instructions as everyone else. Gallop a mile, but open them up in the final furlong. If their attitudes were anything to show for it, both horses would be stellar performers.
Sultan stepped out on the track first, eyes blazing with wild fire. He reared up, mightily pawing the air with his paws. Brooks reveled in the pure strength of this horse. God, why had Ripley never gone after a Man O' War colt before? Brooks slammed the colt back to planet earth, eyes flickering with excitement. He patted the horse's elegant neck and prepared to feel all of his mighty power. Brooks stood in the stirrups, nudged the colt forward and felt himself nearly thrown to the back of the saddle. Sultan took off practically in the air. His front hooves beat the ground ferociously when he landed. Brooks clung to reins and mane as Casualty of War powered up the track. Brooks held his breath until the colt settled into his gargantuan stride. "There you go, boy. Awesome."
Maggie did not have to tell Crook twice. The chest-heavy filly bolted the second Sultan roared up to speed. Her bay body fired up over the course, an explosion of speed. Maggie wondered at it. Could Crook be just the opposite of Royal Assault who had been a pure closer like her sister Calamity Queen? The question was answered as the sprinter-bodied filly slipped into the first turn. Her eyes blazed with excitement, but her speed did not continue on. She settled three lengths behind the fiery Sultan and did not move from there. She did not back off when he picked up speed. Maggie grinned. Horses like Crook were explosive to the max in the final stretch. She carried her head high, legs sweeping over the ground with every quick stride. Maggie perched at her withers, eyes glinting with happiness. It was nice to have a change of pace once in a while.
Sultan bounded over the dirt with confidence and strength. There was no doubt in Brookson's mind that this horse would be able to notch twelve furlongs. He had it all. Power, class, courage, fight. It radiated off of the inexperienced horse in waves. Brooks just sat aboard the monster leaving him on auto-pilot. Like Crook, he ran with his head up, full of himself and his arrogance. Yet, he did not seem to be moving faster than required. He moved effortlessly, one giant stride after another. Brooks could not wait for Year Fourteen to come. This colt would be ready to explode in his two year old season. Brooks leaned close to the colt as he thundered towards the far turn. It was almost time to discover what the protege possessed.
Maggie had never felt a horse rev up before, but this had to be what she was feeling right now. Crook began to practically leap over the dirt, head high, body lurching with undeniable swiftness and agility. Maggie could not settle into the jack-hammer movement so she stood. Crooks' ears were dead-locked onto Casualty of War who was now steamrolling into the far turn. Maggie leaped to her left, throwing Crook into her correct lead. The filly snorted fiercely, ears pinning. Maggie wrapped her fingers into the filly's mane, grinning with excitement when the filly lurched forward again. Crook's ears flattened out along with her neck as she ran nearly parallel to the dirt. She surged forward, pressing powerfully off of her rear end. She skipped over the terrain, barely taking a moment to rest as she burned the track in pursuit of Casualty of War.
Malcolm and Ripley's hands were locked on the rail, eyes glued to the filly and colt as they rounded into the homestretch. Sultan was just bounding along with contained power, Brooks completely still on his broad back. But their eyes had passed over the dark horse and landed on the lithe filly that roared off of the turn four paths wide. Call Me Crooked was the picture of sprint power as she whipped up to Sultan's haunches. Her eyes were full of defiance and fury, her body coiled and then released, a burst of energy in one small creature. Ripley released a breath as Sultan hit the final furlong and Brooks finally woke him up. Sultan snapped out of his consistent cruising gallop and charged forward, momentarily stunning Crook with his turn of foot.
The filly reacted, pinning her ears and propelling herself back to run head and head with Sultan. Her eyes blazed with defiance and the fact that she thought she'd had him put away only angered her more. Sultan was just getting warmed up, his stride reaching profoundly for the wire. He still looked untested. Mal felt a surge of pride to see Cross fighting so boldly against the much larger animal. In a matter of furious strides the white-faced filly was at Sultan's face. Maggie's eyes lit up with shock when the bay filly reached sideways and grabbed Sultan by the bridle. Crook shook furiously, pulling him off stride. Brooks shook the reins, rushed Sultan away, trying to break Crook off of his bridle. Maggie slapped Cross' neck on the left. The filly clung on, a study in pure competition.
The filly bolted the second she released Sultan from her grasp. She surged forward, legs reaching for the wire, neatly shutting Casualty of War's chances off. Mal shook his head at the filly. Damn typical female right there! Always at the expense of the guy. Sultan's eyes blazed with rage when the filly defeated him. Trickery had beat him, fire had beat him, but talent had not. He rolled right on by the dangerous filly, making his presence known to those watching. He tossed his head, ignoring his rider's demand to come to a stop at first. The human had no idea who he was messing with. The colt came to a stop on the backstretch, a thrilled Brooks standing in the stirrups. This colt was something already. He wasn't even a two year old yet and something burned within him. Witch Creek would welcome him with open arms.