October Week Four: Scroll For Individuals
Hokum& Jabberwock. Fleet Majesty& Winning Touch.
nonsense activity
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley and Brooks leaned against the fence rail of the dirt track, bodies touching and warming, keeping away the cold frigid air. Brooks twined his gloved fingers with Ripley's, blowing the air in order to warm up his face. Winter had come calling like an aunt no one wanted to talk to. Of course someone had picked up the phone and was left to deal with the person on the other end.
Ripley leaned in close to Brooks, setting her head on his shoulder. He was strong, warm and capable. He understood her better than most people did. And he was there for her like few other people had been. But he never had to be with her during her worst times. Only her best. So who was to say if he would stick around should another round of bad things come cycling back to face Ripley. Her green eyes flickered from happy to sad to furious. Her life was so good right now. Damn if she wasn't enjoying herself more than she ever had. She'd never had this kind of success doing what she loved. Well she had, but it had been living check to check earned by El Sol del Mar until the chestnut filly became a three year old sensation. But she had a whole barn-full of champions: racers and producers. More champions were being cared for in the cozy barns of the wintry Witch Creek. Witch Creek had a future Battle Brook never had even imagined.
Auburn curls whipped around pale face when Ripley turned to face the oncoming thoroughbreds. And if there was ever a future for Witch Creek it was staring right back at her in the forms of these two powerful bay thoroughbreds. Both maidens, one with only a race to his belt, loomed impressively above her. She held her breath inside her chest until it burned and released it finally when Brooks laid a hand on her shoulder. He understood that this was a big moment for Ripley. These two gigantic colts were the future. Can you believe them Brooks? Look at them. I've barely had my hands on Jabberwock for more than a month and he looks amazing. Hokum looks as if he was born ripped. She rubbed her gloved hands, creating a burning friction between them. Boy oh boy, these horses were monsters.
Monster was the word flickering through Justin's brain at just the moment. He'd thought Dame was a complete monster when she'd come to Witch Creek. But she'd settled down into the intense, tenacious racehorse that most everyone on the staff now loved. This guy, Hokum, on the other hand showed no signs of slowing down or settling in. He'd been a gift from Intrepid Racing to Ripley for the holidays. The two year old beast had to be the largest gift a person could literally receive. He was eighteen hands of power and destruction. He'd already broken through a stall door to get out of the barn. The pieces had littered the hall of the barn like pathetic crumbs. He was a Rosalind son, half-brother to the only MHS Triple Crown Winner, Admiral's Revenge. He acted like the beast his pedigree said he should behave as. A groom had almost lost his finger handling the colt.
Justin had never been afraid of a horse, but Hokum made him nervous. He was not friendly in the least. He strutted like the king of the hill and wore a bright red ribbon among his black mass of a tail. Jabberwock, the unflappable, dominating, Jabberwock, refused to get more than six feet near him. Justin lead the way aboard this elephant of a horse, in a bubble and in a world of his own. He couldn't pet the two year old for fear of setting him off bolting up the track. Ripley and Brooks stood at the opening and he wanted to keep them safe. He didn't trust Hokum any more than he could throw him. But he could feel the power, the speed, the stamina burning beneath him. All of that hungry fire damn near consumed Justin. There was nothing like Hokum on the track at Witch Creek, except for Jabberwock and Mastermind.
Reese ran a hand down Jabber's stiff neck. The bay crab walked sideways down the path toward the track behind his new stablemate. Lather poured from his jaws. The 17 hand horse had done well in his first race in Witch Creek colors but was still waiting on breaking his maiden. Races just weren't filling up and Ripley had yet to tell Reese when Jabber's next start would be. The caramel-colored woman sighed. She didn't mind waiting until Year Thirteen to race him if that was what Ripley's plan was, but goodness she felt he needed to run. The colt had otherworldly talent, otherworldly power and he was still brand new. He just needed to run and get it out of his system. Today he was just too riled up and Reese was betting that the powerhouse would be exploding before this workout was finished.
He didn't like the two year old colt strutting in front of him. Jabber would narrow his eyes on the tail of the bay horse and pin his ears flat to his head. He liked being the male boss at Witch Creek and this horse was taking over quicker than Jabber would like. Reese had to keep her hands tight on the reins, practically wrestling the bit away from Jabberwock. He wanted to chase Hokum down and beat him to a pulp. But that was not how it was done at Witch Creek. The handsome Native Flame son would go back to the stud barn at night where he now lived and forget all about Hokum. Forgetting was a lot less messier than obsessing.
Reese high fived Brooks as her and Jabber stepped out onto the dirt track. The riled up colt instantly sighed with relief, his shoulders visually dropping in relaxation. He knew that this was where he vented his frustrations. To Reese's relief, Jabber turned away from Hokum and began to act excited for work. He loved to run and workout. Loved to play over the dirt and dance around like a little yearling. He swung his rear end in a circle, planting all four hooves into the soil until he was facing the direction they would take. Reese snorted, shaking her head, patting his neck. He was a real goober sometimes. Their bond had grown over the weeks and she really felt the horse would take off the moment he hit the big time.
Justin was not having so many nice thoughts. Hokum was being a real bugger. The muscled up hellion bounded in place, crow hopping, tugging on the bit, pinning his ears. He would just not sit still, not give Justin a moment to figure out what exactly was going on. Justin glared in Ripley's direction as the colt bolted up the track. A second a later another pair of hoofbeats joined them in the run. Jabberwock had surged up to join Hokum's side. Justin gritted his teeth, attempting to pull up Hokum, but Reese reached over touching his hands. He met her stern gaze and relaxed. Her eyes were soothing mixed in with sternness. Relax Justin. Keep on going. We'll do our own routine today. Get all the kinks out.
Justin nodded, loosening his grip on the reins. Hokum stopped fighting and was now refocusing on to Jabberwock who ran steadily alongside him. Reese spoke nonsensical words to Jabber, easing up so much on the reins that a pinky held him in check. She looked at Justin, glared at his fingers. Loosen up some more. You do so well with Dame. This is just Dame on a bad day. Justin's traditional half-smile touched his lips. Reese knew Dame never acted this awful even on her bad days. I guess I just have to figure him out. He's a lot of horse.
Reese dipped her head in agreement. You'll have him all figured out before we even reach the workout. Let's do a mile and a quarter gallop. Five furlong workout. She focused ahead, finished with their conversation. She knew what it was like to basically catch ride a horse. The two year old had just arrived at the farm three days ago, but everyone needed him on the track. He simply was a nuisance in the barn. Justin could work wonders with the new guy, just as he had with his prized horse Dazzling Dame. Reese leaned down, kissed Jabber's thick neck. He was a glorious animal. He liked her. They got along in a way that Jabber did not get along with anyone else. He could be affectionate with her, trusting with her and not turn a hair if something upset him as long as she was near him. Reese had built up a connection with a maiden horse. As far as she was concerned, she was stuck for the next three years.
Hokum steamrolled the racetrack as they galloped into the far turn. The colt had definitely settled down and into Justin's control. He just relaxed there in his gallops, light on the hands, kind as you pleased. Justin was not fooled into thinking that this horse had turned a new leaf. There was an edge of tension in his muscles that told a completely different story, a dark story. Justin could just not lose his adrenaline rush aboard this monstrosity of an animal. Hokum flicked his ears as if reading Justin's thoughts. He whipped his black tail over his rump, scarring Justin's wind jacket with its vicious slap. They were not off to a very good start.
The pair of colts matched strides half-way up the backstretch. They went head and head, completely relaxed with one another in a way that they hadn't been on the way to the track. It was strange how the racetrack changed every relationship. Enemies became friends, caught up in the familiar adrenaline rush of getting to the wire first. The workouts could get ugly at Witch Creek. The horses loved to lean on one another without warning or just barrel the other two paths out into the track. It was never done in the races, just at home, just so that they could show their stable buddies who was boss.
Justin and Reese crouched real close to the necks of their mounts. The winter wind beat them mercilessly and there was almost no time to recover under the fire of icy wind. Their goggles protected their eyes, as did their nose and neck armor, but it was limited. It was grueling. The only thing that kept them completely warmed up was the excitement of racing, the fire of adrenaline. Justin had to admit that Hokum could move. He was a powerhouse. Anytime that Jabberwock picked up a step, Hokum was right at his throat-latch, breathing down his neck. For a large horse, the dark bay had an extremely quick turn of foot. Justin rolled his neck muscles as they took the turn into the homestretch. Maybe the horse wasn't so bad under tack and on the track. He was impressive and intimidating. He was scary.
Reese let the reins flap around Jabber's neck and head, still maintaining control, but making sure to erase the worry of whips and other riders' reins hitting the Native Flame colt. He jumped at first, but settled into stride gradually, blinking away the black leather until it became apart of his surroundings. He kept an ear pinned on Hokum, glued like sonar. He was threatened by the colt. Hokum was larger for a young one and he looked as if he could pound on Jabber at any moment. Reese made sure to keep an eye on the youngster. Her horse had been here first, albeit only a few weeks, but he was apart of the family. He was sure to stay at Witch Creek. This new one needed to learn the rules.
The horses' muscles loosened with every giant stride they took up the track. Their eyes grew brighter as the possibility of being allowed to run drew closer. Horses are not stupid. They know exactly when it is time to move and when it is time to stay quiet. Their memories are stronger because they attach things to places and particular humans. Jabber knew a lot more than Hokum did at this point in time. But Hokum was picking up on the pounding of Jabber's heart. Jabberwock was giving away his advantage. Reese took the reins back into her hands, still maintaining light contact, but the movement caused Jabber to once again relax back into her.
Their first run had been brutal, just as Justin's would be, but their partnership had grown quickly with every gallop, workout and that one race. Justin's heart pounded in his chest as the two year old and three year old marched into the clubhouse turn for the final quarter mile of the gallop. Hokum snatched at the bit ferociously, sensing weakness in Justin's armor. He once again whipped his knife-like tail against the wind jacket, eyes rolling with red and white. The horse was full of himself and full of the intimidation factor.
Reese could sense the nerves surrounding Justin, could practically smell them. And if she could then Hokum definitely could. She lifted a hand, brought Jabber in close, knocking Hokum briefly off his stride and turning his anger toward Jabber really quickly. Jabber recoiled, but a soft word and and gentle pat from Reese had him happy once more. Justin looked at her, dark eyes thanking her for her assistance and sighed. He was still learning. He glared down at Hokum with determined eyes, blood beginning to boil. This colt was not going to get away with messing with him. Reese grinned behind her face mask. Justin looked as if he was about to throw a fit.
Ready. Set. Go. The caress of familiar hoofbeats suddenly turned into gunfire. Jabber got the jump on Hokum, but it was the narrowest of jumps. He sprinted, head high, tail flying above his rump, the wild stallion of the desert. Reese clutched Jabberwock's black mane in her fingers as he stormed up the track, ears tuned to her rival on the inside. God that son-of-a-gun could run.
Oh could he ever. Justin lost all thoughts of his worries and nerves as Hokum burst from beneath him like a rocket. For such a large horse, he didn't mind being stuck down on the rail by Jabberwock. He rumbled up until he was racing side by side with the Native Flame son. Justin grinned when he realized that his stirrups were up so high that they could not bang against the metallic railing. Hokum was a massive creature. The young man leaned close, admiring Hokum's hulking frame from his above position. Hokum ran with his neck out, head level with his chest, really taking full advantage of his massive stride. Jabber, being a large horse himself, did not have to try as hard to keep up as a smaller animal would. It made the workout all the more exciting.
The pair blitzed through the first three furlongs as if it were nothing. Their bodies collided once or twice, really sticking it to one another. Neither of them was backing down. They met eye to eye, fire to fire, muscle to muscle. The riders were nothing compared to the burning loathing for one another. It egged them on, just as the increasing adrenaline egged them on. Hokum bounded furiously over the ground, digging his hooves into the soil and really getting a grip on the surface. He poked a nose in front, Justin briefly shaking the reins at him. He grinned when the youthful colt tapped into another gear, getting a neck length advantage on Reese and Jabber.
Reese grinned. Justin was back to normal. And now that he was it was time to let him have it. She scooted forward, driving Jabber on with all her might and relinquished the reins. Instantly, Native Flame's exciting son tore away from Hokum and charged right on by him as if he'd been standing still. Reese felt the icy fear of the overwhelmed streak through her veins. Jabber's speed was incredible. She had to hang on with everything she had, for fear of being tossed back over the colt's rump. She held on, leaned close, dug in with her heels and looked back over her shoulder for Hokum. He was no longer on the inside. Surprise ripped through Reese's gaze as she heard roaring to her outside. Twisting violently in the saddle, nearly jerking Jabber off balance, Reese stared at the monster bearing down at her. Justin was pushing the colt with hands and feet and the colt was a torrid comet flaming toward them.
Reese spun back in the saddle, pumped with adrenaline and went to work on Jabber. Hokum was gaining with every dominating stride of his and Jabber was still relatively unaware of the competition. She shouted to him, catching his attention and laughed maniacally when he caught on to what was coming for him on his outside. Jabber blew through his nose, the first sign of outward frustration from the relatively quiet colt. He dug in from his rear end and then surprised Hokum with another launching kick.
Jabber and Hokum bore down on one another, scorching whatever records had existed and still making it look all too easy as they whipped into the homestretch. Ripley and Brooks stared in astonishment from on top of the outside rails. The colts blew by them, creating a roaring wind that nearly swallowed the pair of them whole. The colts had basically created a hole in the wind. Justin and Reese stopped asking as soon as they passed Ripley and Brooks. The colts kept going at it in runaway speed for two more furlongs, finishing up six furlongs, rather than the original five. Jabber continued to gallop out strongly, with Hokum shutting down at Justin's command.
A look of shock crossed Justin's face at the colt's instant obedience. The young man had nearly launched full on over the colt's head. Justin slumped over the colt's shoulders, white beneath his cocoa skin. Holy Moses! What kind of gift was this? Elephant and bloody fast!? Justin let the breath cruise out of his lungs as he turned Hokum back toward Ripley and Brooks. The colt bowed his neck, strutting his stuff once again, waving his ribboned tail. Jabber cantered by them less than a foot away and Reese slapped Justin's back heartily. Way to go cowboy! Awesome workout! Reese patted Jabber's neck just as excitedly. It was great to have some competition for her secret war machine in Year Thirteen.
Justin let Hokum do as he pleased, which was bolting after Jabber in a heart pounding gallop. But he was too jelly-legged and armed to do anything about it. That was real serious running. Dame could run, but she did it at the end of the turf race. These guys ran full out for the full the duration of the race. Yes they were monsters and they were not going to be playing out on the track come Year Thirteen.
From the sidelines Ripley's eyes were bright with excitement. The future looked as if it was going to be bloody brilliant indeed!
Ripley leaned in close to Brooks, setting her head on his shoulder. He was strong, warm and capable. He understood her better than most people did. And he was there for her like few other people had been. But he never had to be with her during her worst times. Only her best. So who was to say if he would stick around should another round of bad things come cycling back to face Ripley. Her green eyes flickered from happy to sad to furious. Her life was so good right now. Damn if she wasn't enjoying herself more than she ever had. She'd never had this kind of success doing what she loved. Well she had, but it had been living check to check earned by El Sol del Mar until the chestnut filly became a three year old sensation. But she had a whole barn-full of champions: racers and producers. More champions were being cared for in the cozy barns of the wintry Witch Creek. Witch Creek had a future Battle Brook never had even imagined.
Auburn curls whipped around pale face when Ripley turned to face the oncoming thoroughbreds. And if there was ever a future for Witch Creek it was staring right back at her in the forms of these two powerful bay thoroughbreds. Both maidens, one with only a race to his belt, loomed impressively above her. She held her breath inside her chest until it burned and released it finally when Brooks laid a hand on her shoulder. He understood that this was a big moment for Ripley. These two gigantic colts were the future. Can you believe them Brooks? Look at them. I've barely had my hands on Jabberwock for more than a month and he looks amazing. Hokum looks as if he was born ripped. She rubbed her gloved hands, creating a burning friction between them. Boy oh boy, these horses were monsters.
Monster was the word flickering through Justin's brain at just the moment. He'd thought Dame was a complete monster when she'd come to Witch Creek. But she'd settled down into the intense, tenacious racehorse that most everyone on the staff now loved. This guy, Hokum, on the other hand showed no signs of slowing down or settling in. He'd been a gift from Intrepid Racing to Ripley for the holidays. The two year old beast had to be the largest gift a person could literally receive. He was eighteen hands of power and destruction. He'd already broken through a stall door to get out of the barn. The pieces had littered the hall of the barn like pathetic crumbs. He was a Rosalind son, half-brother to the only MHS Triple Crown Winner, Admiral's Revenge. He acted like the beast his pedigree said he should behave as. A groom had almost lost his finger handling the colt.
Justin had never been afraid of a horse, but Hokum made him nervous. He was not friendly in the least. He strutted like the king of the hill and wore a bright red ribbon among his black mass of a tail. Jabberwock, the unflappable, dominating, Jabberwock, refused to get more than six feet near him. Justin lead the way aboard this elephant of a horse, in a bubble and in a world of his own. He couldn't pet the two year old for fear of setting him off bolting up the track. Ripley and Brooks stood at the opening and he wanted to keep them safe. He didn't trust Hokum any more than he could throw him. But he could feel the power, the speed, the stamina burning beneath him. All of that hungry fire damn near consumed Justin. There was nothing like Hokum on the track at Witch Creek, except for Jabberwock and Mastermind.
Reese ran a hand down Jabber's stiff neck. The bay crab walked sideways down the path toward the track behind his new stablemate. Lather poured from his jaws. The 17 hand horse had done well in his first race in Witch Creek colors but was still waiting on breaking his maiden. Races just weren't filling up and Ripley had yet to tell Reese when Jabber's next start would be. The caramel-colored woman sighed. She didn't mind waiting until Year Thirteen to race him if that was what Ripley's plan was, but goodness she felt he needed to run. The colt had otherworldly talent, otherworldly power and he was still brand new. He just needed to run and get it out of his system. Today he was just too riled up and Reese was betting that the powerhouse would be exploding before this workout was finished.
He didn't like the two year old colt strutting in front of him. Jabber would narrow his eyes on the tail of the bay horse and pin his ears flat to his head. He liked being the male boss at Witch Creek and this horse was taking over quicker than Jabber would like. Reese had to keep her hands tight on the reins, practically wrestling the bit away from Jabberwock. He wanted to chase Hokum down and beat him to a pulp. But that was not how it was done at Witch Creek. The handsome Native Flame son would go back to the stud barn at night where he now lived and forget all about Hokum. Forgetting was a lot less messier than obsessing.
Reese high fived Brooks as her and Jabber stepped out onto the dirt track. The riled up colt instantly sighed with relief, his shoulders visually dropping in relaxation. He knew that this was where he vented his frustrations. To Reese's relief, Jabber turned away from Hokum and began to act excited for work. He loved to run and workout. Loved to play over the dirt and dance around like a little yearling. He swung his rear end in a circle, planting all four hooves into the soil until he was facing the direction they would take. Reese snorted, shaking her head, patting his neck. He was a real goober sometimes. Their bond had grown over the weeks and she really felt the horse would take off the moment he hit the big time.
Justin was not having so many nice thoughts. Hokum was being a real bugger. The muscled up hellion bounded in place, crow hopping, tugging on the bit, pinning his ears. He would just not sit still, not give Justin a moment to figure out what exactly was going on. Justin glared in Ripley's direction as the colt bolted up the track. A second a later another pair of hoofbeats joined them in the run. Jabberwock had surged up to join Hokum's side. Justin gritted his teeth, attempting to pull up Hokum, but Reese reached over touching his hands. He met her stern gaze and relaxed. Her eyes were soothing mixed in with sternness. Relax Justin. Keep on going. We'll do our own routine today. Get all the kinks out.
Justin nodded, loosening his grip on the reins. Hokum stopped fighting and was now refocusing on to Jabberwock who ran steadily alongside him. Reese spoke nonsensical words to Jabber, easing up so much on the reins that a pinky held him in check. She looked at Justin, glared at his fingers. Loosen up some more. You do so well with Dame. This is just Dame on a bad day. Justin's traditional half-smile touched his lips. Reese knew Dame never acted this awful even on her bad days. I guess I just have to figure him out. He's a lot of horse.
Reese dipped her head in agreement. You'll have him all figured out before we even reach the workout. Let's do a mile and a quarter gallop. Five furlong workout. She focused ahead, finished with their conversation. She knew what it was like to basically catch ride a horse. The two year old had just arrived at the farm three days ago, but everyone needed him on the track. He simply was a nuisance in the barn. Justin could work wonders with the new guy, just as he had with his prized horse Dazzling Dame. Reese leaned down, kissed Jabber's thick neck. He was a glorious animal. He liked her. They got along in a way that Jabber did not get along with anyone else. He could be affectionate with her, trusting with her and not turn a hair if something upset him as long as she was near him. Reese had built up a connection with a maiden horse. As far as she was concerned, she was stuck for the next three years.
Hokum steamrolled the racetrack as they galloped into the far turn. The colt had definitely settled down and into Justin's control. He just relaxed there in his gallops, light on the hands, kind as you pleased. Justin was not fooled into thinking that this horse had turned a new leaf. There was an edge of tension in his muscles that told a completely different story, a dark story. Justin could just not lose his adrenaline rush aboard this monstrosity of an animal. Hokum flicked his ears as if reading Justin's thoughts. He whipped his black tail over his rump, scarring Justin's wind jacket with its vicious slap. They were not off to a very good start.
The pair of colts matched strides half-way up the backstretch. They went head and head, completely relaxed with one another in a way that they hadn't been on the way to the track. It was strange how the racetrack changed every relationship. Enemies became friends, caught up in the familiar adrenaline rush of getting to the wire first. The workouts could get ugly at Witch Creek. The horses loved to lean on one another without warning or just barrel the other two paths out into the track. It was never done in the races, just at home, just so that they could show their stable buddies who was boss.
Justin and Reese crouched real close to the necks of their mounts. The winter wind beat them mercilessly and there was almost no time to recover under the fire of icy wind. Their goggles protected their eyes, as did their nose and neck armor, but it was limited. It was grueling. The only thing that kept them completely warmed up was the excitement of racing, the fire of adrenaline. Justin had to admit that Hokum could move. He was a powerhouse. Anytime that Jabberwock picked up a step, Hokum was right at his throat-latch, breathing down his neck. For a large horse, the dark bay had an extremely quick turn of foot. Justin rolled his neck muscles as they took the turn into the homestretch. Maybe the horse wasn't so bad under tack and on the track. He was impressive and intimidating. He was scary.
Reese let the reins flap around Jabber's neck and head, still maintaining control, but making sure to erase the worry of whips and other riders' reins hitting the Native Flame colt. He jumped at first, but settled into stride gradually, blinking away the black leather until it became apart of his surroundings. He kept an ear pinned on Hokum, glued like sonar. He was threatened by the colt. Hokum was larger for a young one and he looked as if he could pound on Jabber at any moment. Reese made sure to keep an eye on the youngster. Her horse had been here first, albeit only a few weeks, but he was apart of the family. He was sure to stay at Witch Creek. This new one needed to learn the rules.
The horses' muscles loosened with every giant stride they took up the track. Their eyes grew brighter as the possibility of being allowed to run drew closer. Horses are not stupid. They know exactly when it is time to move and when it is time to stay quiet. Their memories are stronger because they attach things to places and particular humans. Jabber knew a lot more than Hokum did at this point in time. But Hokum was picking up on the pounding of Jabber's heart. Jabberwock was giving away his advantage. Reese took the reins back into her hands, still maintaining light contact, but the movement caused Jabber to once again relax back into her.
Their first run had been brutal, just as Justin's would be, but their partnership had grown quickly with every gallop, workout and that one race. Justin's heart pounded in his chest as the two year old and three year old marched into the clubhouse turn for the final quarter mile of the gallop. Hokum snatched at the bit ferociously, sensing weakness in Justin's armor. He once again whipped his knife-like tail against the wind jacket, eyes rolling with red and white. The horse was full of himself and full of the intimidation factor.
Reese could sense the nerves surrounding Justin, could practically smell them. And if she could then Hokum definitely could. She lifted a hand, brought Jabber in close, knocking Hokum briefly off his stride and turning his anger toward Jabber really quickly. Jabber recoiled, but a soft word and and gentle pat from Reese had him happy once more. Justin looked at her, dark eyes thanking her for her assistance and sighed. He was still learning. He glared down at Hokum with determined eyes, blood beginning to boil. This colt was not going to get away with messing with him. Reese grinned behind her face mask. Justin looked as if he was about to throw a fit.
Ready. Set. Go. The caress of familiar hoofbeats suddenly turned into gunfire. Jabber got the jump on Hokum, but it was the narrowest of jumps. He sprinted, head high, tail flying above his rump, the wild stallion of the desert. Reese clutched Jabberwock's black mane in her fingers as he stormed up the track, ears tuned to her rival on the inside. God that son-of-a-gun could run.
Oh could he ever. Justin lost all thoughts of his worries and nerves as Hokum burst from beneath him like a rocket. For such a large horse, he didn't mind being stuck down on the rail by Jabberwock. He rumbled up until he was racing side by side with the Native Flame son. Justin grinned when he realized that his stirrups were up so high that they could not bang against the metallic railing. Hokum was a massive creature. The young man leaned close, admiring Hokum's hulking frame from his above position. Hokum ran with his neck out, head level with his chest, really taking full advantage of his massive stride. Jabber, being a large horse himself, did not have to try as hard to keep up as a smaller animal would. It made the workout all the more exciting.
The pair blitzed through the first three furlongs as if it were nothing. Their bodies collided once or twice, really sticking it to one another. Neither of them was backing down. They met eye to eye, fire to fire, muscle to muscle. The riders were nothing compared to the burning loathing for one another. It egged them on, just as the increasing adrenaline egged them on. Hokum bounded furiously over the ground, digging his hooves into the soil and really getting a grip on the surface. He poked a nose in front, Justin briefly shaking the reins at him. He grinned when the youthful colt tapped into another gear, getting a neck length advantage on Reese and Jabber.
Reese grinned. Justin was back to normal. And now that he was it was time to let him have it. She scooted forward, driving Jabber on with all her might and relinquished the reins. Instantly, Native Flame's exciting son tore away from Hokum and charged right on by him as if he'd been standing still. Reese felt the icy fear of the overwhelmed streak through her veins. Jabber's speed was incredible. She had to hang on with everything she had, for fear of being tossed back over the colt's rump. She held on, leaned close, dug in with her heels and looked back over her shoulder for Hokum. He was no longer on the inside. Surprise ripped through Reese's gaze as she heard roaring to her outside. Twisting violently in the saddle, nearly jerking Jabber off balance, Reese stared at the monster bearing down at her. Justin was pushing the colt with hands and feet and the colt was a torrid comet flaming toward them.
Reese spun back in the saddle, pumped with adrenaline and went to work on Jabber. Hokum was gaining with every dominating stride of his and Jabber was still relatively unaware of the competition. She shouted to him, catching his attention and laughed maniacally when he caught on to what was coming for him on his outside. Jabber blew through his nose, the first sign of outward frustration from the relatively quiet colt. He dug in from his rear end and then surprised Hokum with another launching kick.
Jabber and Hokum bore down on one another, scorching whatever records had existed and still making it look all too easy as they whipped into the homestretch. Ripley and Brooks stared in astonishment from on top of the outside rails. The colts blew by them, creating a roaring wind that nearly swallowed the pair of them whole. The colts had basically created a hole in the wind. Justin and Reese stopped asking as soon as they passed Ripley and Brooks. The colts kept going at it in runaway speed for two more furlongs, finishing up six furlongs, rather than the original five. Jabber continued to gallop out strongly, with Hokum shutting down at Justin's command.
A look of shock crossed Justin's face at the colt's instant obedience. The young man had nearly launched full on over the colt's head. Justin slumped over the colt's shoulders, white beneath his cocoa skin. Holy Moses! What kind of gift was this? Elephant and bloody fast!? Justin let the breath cruise out of his lungs as he turned Hokum back toward Ripley and Brooks. The colt bowed his neck, strutting his stuff once again, waving his ribboned tail. Jabber cantered by them less than a foot away and Reese slapped Justin's back heartily. Way to go cowboy! Awesome workout! Reese patted Jabber's neck just as excitedly. It was great to have some competition for her secret war machine in Year Thirteen.
Justin let Hokum do as he pleased, which was bolting after Jabber in a heart pounding gallop. But he was too jelly-legged and armed to do anything about it. That was real serious running. Dame could run, but she did it at the end of the turf race. These guys ran full out for the full the duration of the race. Yes they were monsters and they were not going to be playing out on the track come Year Thirteen.
From the sidelines Ripley's eyes were bright with excitement. The future looked as if it was going to be bloody brilliant indeed!
winning majesty
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Brooks tugged up his scarf around his face as Connor came trotting down the hill aboard Cross while ponying Winning Touch and Fleet Majesty. The boy's eyes were bright with excitement even against the whipping wind of the cold air. It warmed Brooks' heart a little to know that the older brother of Justin was finally settling in and enjoying the farm life. Hey there ladies and man. Connor rolled his eyes at Brookson's playful tone, but secretly delighted in the attention. Kindness was not something that he'd been given his whole life. Only recently at Witch Creek.
Brooks gently took the reins of Fleet Majesty, stroking the filly's tea cup gray nose. Her eyes were gleaming with the chase and her shod hooves tapped across the dirt leading to the track. Her excitable brain had enjoyed the process of coming to the track more than usual. Brooks grinned as she pushed her head into his chest and shoved him backwards. Sorry. I meant "pretty" lady. Brooks chuckled and patted the filly's speckled shoulder. She was such a flirt this one and she knew it too. Where's Maggie?
Connor lifted his hand, pointing back toward the barn. She's ponying Dame and Lulu down. Ripley wants us to gallop over the dirt track since we're closing the turf one down until spring. Brooks nodded. Lulu will treat you nice. Where's Reese heading off to? A wolf whistle announced the woman in question's presence. Both boy and man turned as Reese trotted through the gap aboard Jabberwock. Reese has got a hot date with four prickly studs and an overwhelmed farrier after her workout with Winnie. Brooks winced. Ah, glad to see Ripley pushed that duty onto you. Reese pulled her face mask down and stuck her tongue out at Brooks before turning to Connor. Be good to my little lady. The 19 year old saluted her as she nudged Jabber into a trot toward his new home in the stud barn.
Brooks shook his head and then swung aboard his prancing dappled gray filly. Mage let loose a little buck and whinnied after Jabberwock. Jabber pranced a few feet in response. A shout from Reese had the stud-like three year old back in command. Don't go messing with Reese, Mage. She's the jealous sort. Brooks asked the filly to step onto the track, eyeing Ripley as she spoke with Justin eagerly. Hokum, the eighteen hand Goliath, towered over Ripley's small frame. He narrowed his gaze upon the three fillies coming out on the track. A soft touch onto his muscled bay shoulder had the colt returning to attention. Brooks and Justin both had flickers of jealousy run through their brains. How Ripley could get away with such gentle attention toward even the most disgruntled of horses, they would never know.
Justin leaped from Hokum's back when Dame appeared at the gap. Ripley and Justin lead Hokum to Maggie, who promptly mounted the ill-tempered horse. Maggie turned the fire-breathing dragon in the direction of the barn and left with a grin on her face. Justin and Ripley mounted Dame and Cross while Connor hopped aboard Lulu. Ripley turned to Brooks. Just wait for Reese to come back before you start the workout. You can pony Winnie for a mile and a quarter warm up. Brooks nodded, leaned over to kiss her cheek and took a hold of Winnie's reins with his right hand. The blaze faced dark bay miss pricked her ears and stepped up to Mage's shoulder. The dappled filly, twisted her head and played with Winnie's mane. Brooks smiled and patted both of their necks. At least some horses at Witch Creek knew how to get along.
Brooks nudged Mage into a sweeping trot, admiring the quietness of her hoof steps. Mage moved like a deer, elegant and graceful, with a delicate presence. She was dainty compared to Winning Touch. Her frame was lean where her workmate's was tough and thick. She possessed the build of a turf horse where Winnie possessed that of a dirt horse. Winnie's thick shoulder muscles and chest muscles reflected her maturity and Mage's reflected the youth of a two year old with relatively little track time. Brooks loved them both for who they were and how they behaved. The two fillies snorted eagerly, holding a secret conversation as they rounded the first turn in a sweeping canter.
The assistant trainer held on to the reins lightly with his right hand. Winnie was kind on his hands. She didn't stop and mule it like some horses naturally would at Witch Creek. She was a classy lady with a classy brain in that head of hers. Her heavy stride kept her even with the stride of Fleet Majesty. The dappled gray was on absolute cruise control. Of all of the two year olds, Mage had the most sense of her speed. Perhaps a little better than Mastermind, king of pacing. Brooks leaned closer, asking for more as they headed into the backstretch, still maintaining easy contact with Winning Touch. Mage's ears were pricked straight ahead, while her eyes gleamed in excitement. This was a new kind of workout and she was taking it all in like a pro. Brooks could not be more appreciative of the filly that had cost next to nothing.
Winning Touch let out a squeal as they headed into the far turn at a swifter gallop. She ran level to Mage now, the leather gleaming over her shimmering dark back. Brooks called to her, whistled, anything to draw her attention from blazing on by the pace set by Mage. Winnie was not so open minded to this kind of workout. Her powerful frame whipped wide on the far turn, nearly dragging Mage off of her dainty hooves. Brooks grumbled quietly, but eased Mage quickly up to the same speed as Winning Touch. If you couldn't beat them, join them. The gallop grew intense as the pair spirited up the home stretch. Their tails drifted on the cold breeze as they galloped over the loamy soil. The cold did not affect them as it did Brooks. They were playful and eager and just cruising along.
The clubhouse turn once again came around and Mage began to step it up. She didn't like being dragged around by Winnie anymore than he did. The breeze became a roaring wind as Fleet Majesty bolted on the turn. His arm cranked back when Winnie chose not to come with them at first. A moment of nerves flickered through Brook's veins, but it settled when suddenly Winnie caught on. The Touch Up filly roared up to Mage's outside and the gray responded with a nice kick of speed, knocking her back again. Brooks narrowed his eyes, enjoying and not enjoying this performance at the same time. It was nice to see some competitive flair in Mage, but it was the wrong time for such a display.
The final quarter mile of the gallop did not come soon enough, but when it came, Brooks managed to take the fillies down a notch. They argued at first, Winnie bolting so that Mage had to keep up unless Brookson wanted to lose his fingers. The pair were in a confident jog however, by the time they rounded back into the homestretch. Reese was giggling up a storm at the gap. Her tanned face and dark brown eyes expressed her laughter plain and simple. Brooks glared at her as he brought the fillies to a halt. Laugh all you want, but I bet you couldn't do nearly as good a job.
Reese stock out her tongue and clambered aboard Winning Touch. Both riders had to smile when the bay simply let all the air out of her frame in a sigh. I bet Winnie doesn't agree with what you just said. Brooks rolled his eyes and leaned forward. Mage cleverly responded with a sweeping gallop, burying Reese in her dust. Reese snorted. So that's how he wants to play it? So be it. Reese spun Winnie around, digging her heels into the grade three filly's barrel and sent her barreling after her younger stablemate. Power cranked through Reese's system. Goodness Winnie had a solid kick whenever she wanted to use it.
Brooks grinned when Reese caught up. The woman was as tenacious as a terrier. The appearance of her stable-mate had Fleet Majesty kicking it into gear for their planned four furlong workout. The dappled gray filly stretched out her elegant body over the dirt track, kicking off of it like a kangaroo and brought herself a half-length in front of Winning Touch. Reese did not egg her three year old filly on to keep up. Better to let Mage and Brooks draw away at the moment, then to egg on the dog-fighting spirit of a filly who seemed to relish in it. Winning Touch steamrolled over the dirt course at Witch Creek. She was nice and limber, happy as a clam here. Reese would miss her when she was gone in December and probably after that too. It was different when you lived with the horses every day as their jock, groomer, cuddle-mate and trainer. It was different and better than what she'd had as a catch-riding jock in South America.
Brooks flicked his fingers and brought Mage back into control. She settled down nice as can be, allowing once again for Winning Touch to draw even. It was fun having a horse that could just rate like this. It made the running more exciting because toying with competition was so cat and mouse. Reese was not enjoying the game quite as much as Brooks. Winnie was more of a one run horse than a play all day with your competition type. She was snorting and pinning her ears in frustration from being held back for three straight furlongs. She didn't want to stay with Mage, especially because the filly wouldn't stop darting around like a fish.
Brooks lifted his fingers in a signal and finally released the cheetah in Fleet Majesty. A grunt of frustration had Reese releasing hers as well. Mage sprinted away, fluttering that quick turn of foot that everyone had not expected to come from her. Winnie took three strides to get going and was now two lengths behind her younger counterpart. Reese drove the filly forward with her hands and voice, calling on all of her energy. Like a speed boat setting in motion, Winning Touch responded. Her body streaked across the track, closing the distance between herself and the two year old. She roared up to Mage's haunches, ears pinned and eyes flashing. Mage whipped her tail in the first sign of annoyance. She'd grown tired of playing with a horse that wouldn't react to her taunting.
The silver dappled filly surged forward, flying now in an attempt to once again throw Winning Touch off. But it was no use. The lioness within the Winning Touch daughter was awakened and she was gunning for the thin cheetah. With temper bursting within her frame, the classy Winning Touch dug in with her rear end and surged up to join Fleet Majesty's lean run. She met the filly's excited eyes with her older, more experienced ones in an attempt to beat her back with intimidation. Brooks called to Mage, breaking the contact and pushed her forward with his urgent hands. The silver filly responded, but Winnie went with her. The pair were flying as if their lives depended on it. Neither could be counted out when it was most important. Reese supposed that was why letting Winnie go would be hard for her. Consistency and long term support were hard traits to find.
The fillies drew up, pumped with energy and with wide eyes. Brooks was lit up like a Christmas tree and lost in thoughts for what the rest of Year Twelve held for his two year old gray. Reese was quiet as a church mouse, lost in thought.
Brooks gently took the reins of Fleet Majesty, stroking the filly's tea cup gray nose. Her eyes were gleaming with the chase and her shod hooves tapped across the dirt leading to the track. Her excitable brain had enjoyed the process of coming to the track more than usual. Brooks grinned as she pushed her head into his chest and shoved him backwards. Sorry. I meant "pretty" lady. Brooks chuckled and patted the filly's speckled shoulder. She was such a flirt this one and she knew it too. Where's Maggie?
Connor lifted his hand, pointing back toward the barn. She's ponying Dame and Lulu down. Ripley wants us to gallop over the dirt track since we're closing the turf one down until spring. Brooks nodded. Lulu will treat you nice. Where's Reese heading off to? A wolf whistle announced the woman in question's presence. Both boy and man turned as Reese trotted through the gap aboard Jabberwock. Reese has got a hot date with four prickly studs and an overwhelmed farrier after her workout with Winnie. Brooks winced. Ah, glad to see Ripley pushed that duty onto you. Reese pulled her face mask down and stuck her tongue out at Brooks before turning to Connor. Be good to my little lady. The 19 year old saluted her as she nudged Jabber into a trot toward his new home in the stud barn.
Brooks shook his head and then swung aboard his prancing dappled gray filly. Mage let loose a little buck and whinnied after Jabberwock. Jabber pranced a few feet in response. A shout from Reese had the stud-like three year old back in command. Don't go messing with Reese, Mage. She's the jealous sort. Brooks asked the filly to step onto the track, eyeing Ripley as she spoke with Justin eagerly. Hokum, the eighteen hand Goliath, towered over Ripley's small frame. He narrowed his gaze upon the three fillies coming out on the track. A soft touch onto his muscled bay shoulder had the colt returning to attention. Brooks and Justin both had flickers of jealousy run through their brains. How Ripley could get away with such gentle attention toward even the most disgruntled of horses, they would never know.
Justin leaped from Hokum's back when Dame appeared at the gap. Ripley and Justin lead Hokum to Maggie, who promptly mounted the ill-tempered horse. Maggie turned the fire-breathing dragon in the direction of the barn and left with a grin on her face. Justin and Ripley mounted Dame and Cross while Connor hopped aboard Lulu. Ripley turned to Brooks. Just wait for Reese to come back before you start the workout. You can pony Winnie for a mile and a quarter warm up. Brooks nodded, leaned over to kiss her cheek and took a hold of Winnie's reins with his right hand. The blaze faced dark bay miss pricked her ears and stepped up to Mage's shoulder. The dappled filly, twisted her head and played with Winnie's mane. Brooks smiled and patted both of their necks. At least some horses at Witch Creek knew how to get along.
Brooks nudged Mage into a sweeping trot, admiring the quietness of her hoof steps. Mage moved like a deer, elegant and graceful, with a delicate presence. She was dainty compared to Winning Touch. Her frame was lean where her workmate's was tough and thick. She possessed the build of a turf horse where Winnie possessed that of a dirt horse. Winnie's thick shoulder muscles and chest muscles reflected her maturity and Mage's reflected the youth of a two year old with relatively little track time. Brooks loved them both for who they were and how they behaved. The two fillies snorted eagerly, holding a secret conversation as they rounded the first turn in a sweeping canter.
The assistant trainer held on to the reins lightly with his right hand. Winnie was kind on his hands. She didn't stop and mule it like some horses naturally would at Witch Creek. She was a classy lady with a classy brain in that head of hers. Her heavy stride kept her even with the stride of Fleet Majesty. The dappled gray was on absolute cruise control. Of all of the two year olds, Mage had the most sense of her speed. Perhaps a little better than Mastermind, king of pacing. Brooks leaned closer, asking for more as they headed into the backstretch, still maintaining easy contact with Winning Touch. Mage's ears were pricked straight ahead, while her eyes gleamed in excitement. This was a new kind of workout and she was taking it all in like a pro. Brooks could not be more appreciative of the filly that had cost next to nothing.
Winning Touch let out a squeal as they headed into the far turn at a swifter gallop. She ran level to Mage now, the leather gleaming over her shimmering dark back. Brooks called to her, whistled, anything to draw her attention from blazing on by the pace set by Mage. Winnie was not so open minded to this kind of workout. Her powerful frame whipped wide on the far turn, nearly dragging Mage off of her dainty hooves. Brooks grumbled quietly, but eased Mage quickly up to the same speed as Winning Touch. If you couldn't beat them, join them. The gallop grew intense as the pair spirited up the home stretch. Their tails drifted on the cold breeze as they galloped over the loamy soil. The cold did not affect them as it did Brooks. They were playful and eager and just cruising along.
The clubhouse turn once again came around and Mage began to step it up. She didn't like being dragged around by Winnie anymore than he did. The breeze became a roaring wind as Fleet Majesty bolted on the turn. His arm cranked back when Winnie chose not to come with them at first. A moment of nerves flickered through Brook's veins, but it settled when suddenly Winnie caught on. The Touch Up filly roared up to Mage's outside and the gray responded with a nice kick of speed, knocking her back again. Brooks narrowed his eyes, enjoying and not enjoying this performance at the same time. It was nice to see some competitive flair in Mage, but it was the wrong time for such a display.
The final quarter mile of the gallop did not come soon enough, but when it came, Brooks managed to take the fillies down a notch. They argued at first, Winnie bolting so that Mage had to keep up unless Brookson wanted to lose his fingers. The pair were in a confident jog however, by the time they rounded back into the homestretch. Reese was giggling up a storm at the gap. Her tanned face and dark brown eyes expressed her laughter plain and simple. Brooks glared at her as he brought the fillies to a halt. Laugh all you want, but I bet you couldn't do nearly as good a job.
Reese stock out her tongue and clambered aboard Winning Touch. Both riders had to smile when the bay simply let all the air out of her frame in a sigh. I bet Winnie doesn't agree with what you just said. Brooks rolled his eyes and leaned forward. Mage cleverly responded with a sweeping gallop, burying Reese in her dust. Reese snorted. So that's how he wants to play it? So be it. Reese spun Winnie around, digging her heels into the grade three filly's barrel and sent her barreling after her younger stablemate. Power cranked through Reese's system. Goodness Winnie had a solid kick whenever she wanted to use it.
Brooks grinned when Reese caught up. The woman was as tenacious as a terrier. The appearance of her stable-mate had Fleet Majesty kicking it into gear for their planned four furlong workout. The dappled gray filly stretched out her elegant body over the dirt track, kicking off of it like a kangaroo and brought herself a half-length in front of Winning Touch. Reese did not egg her three year old filly on to keep up. Better to let Mage and Brooks draw away at the moment, then to egg on the dog-fighting spirit of a filly who seemed to relish in it. Winning Touch steamrolled over the dirt course at Witch Creek. She was nice and limber, happy as a clam here. Reese would miss her when she was gone in December and probably after that too. It was different when you lived with the horses every day as their jock, groomer, cuddle-mate and trainer. It was different and better than what she'd had as a catch-riding jock in South America.
Brooks flicked his fingers and brought Mage back into control. She settled down nice as can be, allowing once again for Winning Touch to draw even. It was fun having a horse that could just rate like this. It made the running more exciting because toying with competition was so cat and mouse. Reese was not enjoying the game quite as much as Brooks. Winnie was more of a one run horse than a play all day with your competition type. She was snorting and pinning her ears in frustration from being held back for three straight furlongs. She didn't want to stay with Mage, especially because the filly wouldn't stop darting around like a fish.
Brooks lifted his fingers in a signal and finally released the cheetah in Fleet Majesty. A grunt of frustration had Reese releasing hers as well. Mage sprinted away, fluttering that quick turn of foot that everyone had not expected to come from her. Winnie took three strides to get going and was now two lengths behind her younger counterpart. Reese drove the filly forward with her hands and voice, calling on all of her energy. Like a speed boat setting in motion, Winning Touch responded. Her body streaked across the track, closing the distance between herself and the two year old. She roared up to Mage's haunches, ears pinned and eyes flashing. Mage whipped her tail in the first sign of annoyance. She'd grown tired of playing with a horse that wouldn't react to her taunting.
The silver dappled filly surged forward, flying now in an attempt to once again throw Winning Touch off. But it was no use. The lioness within the Winning Touch daughter was awakened and she was gunning for the thin cheetah. With temper bursting within her frame, the classy Winning Touch dug in with her rear end and surged up to join Fleet Majesty's lean run. She met the filly's excited eyes with her older, more experienced ones in an attempt to beat her back with intimidation. Brooks called to Mage, breaking the contact and pushed her forward with his urgent hands. The silver filly responded, but Winnie went with her. The pair were flying as if their lives depended on it. Neither could be counted out when it was most important. Reese supposed that was why letting Winnie go would be hard for her. Consistency and long term support were hard traits to find.
The fillies drew up, pumped with energy and with wide eyes. Brooks was lit up like a Christmas tree and lost in thoughts for what the rest of Year Twelve held for his two year old gray. Reese was quiet as a church mouse, lost in thought.