October Week One Workouts: Scroll
Wish Upon A Star& Fiery Touch. Cross My Heart& Ashes to Ashes. Red Herring& Screaming Mimi.
fiery star
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Originally Written at Intrepid Racing Inc.
Ripley Marsh and Maggiletti Reynolds skirted the track rail, blue and green eyes toying with their surroundings. They were here to stake a claim for the Risorgimento Cup at Intrepid Racing. One would have a mount this year and next year so would the other. It was already planned out and hoped for. Ripley noted the horses running over the track, watching their galloping forms and noting the strength and passion that bloomed within them. Intrepid horses were renowned for their passion and raw talent. Witch Creek was known for producing rough and ready mounts every single race they were called upon via the toughest preparation. It was only natural to prepare for next years season while still shedding light on a relatively under-appreciated horse.
Well Fie was not going to be under appreciated anymore. Not with her romping victory in the Novizio Derby. The light bay filly had absolutely rolled in what had been, on paper, a close race. But a class drop recently had propelled her confidence beyond anything that existed before. Her form was spectacular and so was her incredible stamina. Her two week break after the Novizio Derby in preparation for the Hyperactive Stakes and Risorgimento Derby had her fired up and on her toes. The filly's strong start in the Hyperactive had her full of herself. She was coming back to a track she loved, perhaps a track she loved more than Green Horse Fields and The Wire. Ripley was beyond excited for the Touch Up filly's next start as well.
Maggie could feel the energy bursting off of Ripley in waves. She couldn't blame the head trainer and owner for her excitement. Fie had stunned all of the staff at Witch Creek off of her victory in the Novisio. The filly had exuded confidence and class with her front running, game changing battle tactic. Maggie hoped her filly, Wish Upon A Star, advanced in a similar way as her older counterpart. She had a Hall of Fame sire, but was not considered to be top of the class just yet. She was literally the underdog off of performances that would have been respectable and amazing any other year. However, she'd run into a wall within her own barn. Red Herring, GS Royal Crown, Cross My Heart, Mastermind and Bella Luna were all beyond grade five and considered top of the class in their respective divisions. Wish was currently honing in on the dirt division, but plans would be conflicting next year for the classic bay filly. Indian Darling would be back, a distance runner on the dirt. Wish would either face Darla or Lulu and she would have to fight to stand out unless Maggie could pick the lock to her talent.
The woman noted the wet surface of the track, pleased that maintenance was doing their job. A hard surface would not be particularly great for either Fie or Wish. Both fillies appreciated heavy surfaces to run over. Both excelled in mud and both were ready to take on Intrepid's quality race track together. They walked back up the sandy surface to where Brooks and Justin were holding their mounts. Fie was being an absolute witch to Brooks. She was rearing and bucking, threatening with pinned ears and slashing teeth. Her black mane slapped heartily against her shining neck. She looked the part of future champion. Rough, tough and ready to roll. Ripley took the reins from Brooks and rapidly backed the built filly up. Her eyes rolled as she marched backwards. Her white blaze caught the sunlight as her head tossed toward the sun. She stopped, nostrils quivering in excitement and pointedly looked at Ripley. She was ready to go.
With a quick boost from Brooks, Ripley was in the saddle aboard her ready horse. Fie tossed her head and proudly strode away along the rail, garnering some attention. Reporters would be interested to see if Fie would produce as amazing a workout this time as she had before the Novizio. And they also noted her company trailing not too far behind. Wish had no business being on the track, but it was noted that the two year old would be the companion horse for Fiery Touch.
Maggie could feel the scorn floating off of the reporters as their gazes flickered over Wish. Just three weeks ago, those same scornful snickers had been directed at Fiery Touch. Times changed at a moment's notice. Maggie asked Wish to pick up her usual classy jog and settled easily into the familiar positing rhythm. Wish had a pure technique for running, similar to what Fie's had been last year and in the beginning of the year. She would stalk easily in mid-pack and wait for her time to make her move. She was Fie's mirror image. Maggie patted the filly's cherry bay neck, smiling when she bowed it elegantly. She was a real charmer.
The woman and filly joined Ripley and Fie on the turn, becoming level with them. What's your plan Ripley? Ripley turned and eyed Wish for a quick second. Fie was calmer now that she was on the move, but still relatively full of herself. The 16.2 filly launched a buck, causing Ripley's attention to return to her. She doesn't need to flash a particular technique today. We still don't have a clue who is even going to be running against her. IRS seems to be keeping the entries a mystery. All our competition needs to know is that Fie is now deadlier than ever. She can close, stalk, lead, miss the break and still be dangerous. Everyone else has a defined style, but she is the wild card. So... to finally answer your question: we won't be doing much.
Maggie felt a little disappointed. She really had wanted to shut the reporters up with a swift kick from Wish on the race track. Wish had never worked in public before, except for her nonchalant beginning with Silver Stride Stables. She was just as much an X factor. Maggie stroked a hand down the filly's shimmering black mane and asked her for an easy gallop when Ripley signaled. If there was an award for easiest to ride, it would most definitely go to Wish Upon A Star. She was just as smooth as glass, easy going and careful. She had the potential to be a rockstar, but was still putting down the necessary roots in order to do so. The filly relaxed into a kind gallop, mouth light on the reins, keeping in stride with Fie.
Fiery Touch was heavy on the hand today. Ripley kept her hands light on the reins, forcing herself to breathe easy. The light bay filly got stronger with every stride, bowing her neck and then stretching it out for more rein. Ripley gave her the necessary length to keep her big body at ease, but would not go beyond that. If the reporters saw how on the bit Fie was, they might be more impressed with that then a blazing fast workout crushing her two year old counterpart. Ripley crooned to Fie, watching as the filly's black-rimmed ears finally tipped back in acknowledgement. Her stride became more amble and in control as they cruised into the backstretch. She wasn't the competitive sort when running alongside another horse. Neither was Wish.
It made for a good strong gallop amid a flurry of action. Wish mouthed the bit eagerly, testing Maggie who was a little surprised. She was getting a little worried with all of the horses running on the inside and outside. Maybe not worried so much as pumped. The woman guided the Everyday Hero filly in closer to Fie, nodding in contentment when she seemed to settle down. She wasn't one to go flying up on the outside all of the time. It made her anxious. She was the cute race horse everyone loved at the barn.
Fie's long stride appeared going into the far turn. She cut the corner more than Ripley would have liked, but luckily no one had been coming up the rail at that point. Fie lowered her form to the ground, neck stretching out and still mouthing at the bit. Ripley moved her hands lower on the reins, keeping her relaxed. She was settling. The big beautiful three year old had a gorgeous gallop stride. It had been the key point that Ripley had been sold on from the get-go. Her intense nature had caused Ripley to fall in love with her every passing day. Ripley let out a hoot and Fie broke from a gallop into a quick bolt.
Wish pulled heavily on the reins when Fie stormed forward. Maggie let her go, happy to feel eagerness in the otherwise collected filly. Her elegant frame careened after Fie, legs blurring beneath her. She stuck to the Touch Up daughter like glue. It felt impressive. The muscles in the filly were pumped up and eager. She was ready to run and continue running. And it appeared that she loved this track just as much as Fiery Touch seemed to.
Ripley nodded in satisfaction as the fillies marched up the homestretch side by side. Both of them were displaying good energy, rock solid stamina and a need for more speed. Neither of them needed a blitzing sprint in order to keep their energy level high. It appeared as though the early training had done its trick. It would keep them in shape while everyone else grew tired as the season progressed. The riders patted the horses' necks as they once again cranked it into the first turn, the clubhouse turn.
Both of them were relatively hard to pull up and it nearly took three quarters of another circuit to do so. Ripley and Maggie's arms were tired from the effort, but it was obviously plain to anyone still paying attention that the Witch Creek fillies coming off the track weren't even close to the same tiredness. Wish even added an exclamation point to the impressive gallops by throwing in a buck next to a reporter. Maggie secretly grinned. Guess they'd gotten a taste of the kick after all.
Ripley Marsh and Maggiletti Reynolds skirted the track rail, blue and green eyes toying with their surroundings. They were here to stake a claim for the Risorgimento Cup at Intrepid Racing. One would have a mount this year and next year so would the other. It was already planned out and hoped for. Ripley noted the horses running over the track, watching their galloping forms and noting the strength and passion that bloomed within them. Intrepid horses were renowned for their passion and raw talent. Witch Creek was known for producing rough and ready mounts every single race they were called upon via the toughest preparation. It was only natural to prepare for next years season while still shedding light on a relatively under-appreciated horse.
Well Fie was not going to be under appreciated anymore. Not with her romping victory in the Novizio Derby. The light bay filly had absolutely rolled in what had been, on paper, a close race. But a class drop recently had propelled her confidence beyond anything that existed before. Her form was spectacular and so was her incredible stamina. Her two week break after the Novizio Derby in preparation for the Hyperactive Stakes and Risorgimento Derby had her fired up and on her toes. The filly's strong start in the Hyperactive had her full of herself. She was coming back to a track she loved, perhaps a track she loved more than Green Horse Fields and The Wire. Ripley was beyond excited for the Touch Up filly's next start as well.
Maggie could feel the energy bursting off of Ripley in waves. She couldn't blame the head trainer and owner for her excitement. Fie had stunned all of the staff at Witch Creek off of her victory in the Novisio. The filly had exuded confidence and class with her front running, game changing battle tactic. Maggie hoped her filly, Wish Upon A Star, advanced in a similar way as her older counterpart. She had a Hall of Fame sire, but was not considered to be top of the class just yet. She was literally the underdog off of performances that would have been respectable and amazing any other year. However, she'd run into a wall within her own barn. Red Herring, GS Royal Crown, Cross My Heart, Mastermind and Bella Luna were all beyond grade five and considered top of the class in their respective divisions. Wish was currently honing in on the dirt division, but plans would be conflicting next year for the classic bay filly. Indian Darling would be back, a distance runner on the dirt. Wish would either face Darla or Lulu and she would have to fight to stand out unless Maggie could pick the lock to her talent.
The woman noted the wet surface of the track, pleased that maintenance was doing their job. A hard surface would not be particularly great for either Fie or Wish. Both fillies appreciated heavy surfaces to run over. Both excelled in mud and both were ready to take on Intrepid's quality race track together. They walked back up the sandy surface to where Brooks and Justin were holding their mounts. Fie was being an absolute witch to Brooks. She was rearing and bucking, threatening with pinned ears and slashing teeth. Her black mane slapped heartily against her shining neck. She looked the part of future champion. Rough, tough and ready to roll. Ripley took the reins from Brooks and rapidly backed the built filly up. Her eyes rolled as she marched backwards. Her white blaze caught the sunlight as her head tossed toward the sun. She stopped, nostrils quivering in excitement and pointedly looked at Ripley. She was ready to go.
With a quick boost from Brooks, Ripley was in the saddle aboard her ready horse. Fie tossed her head and proudly strode away along the rail, garnering some attention. Reporters would be interested to see if Fie would produce as amazing a workout this time as she had before the Novizio. And they also noted her company trailing not too far behind. Wish had no business being on the track, but it was noted that the two year old would be the companion horse for Fiery Touch.
Maggie could feel the scorn floating off of the reporters as their gazes flickered over Wish. Just three weeks ago, those same scornful snickers had been directed at Fiery Touch. Times changed at a moment's notice. Maggie asked Wish to pick up her usual classy jog and settled easily into the familiar positing rhythm. Wish had a pure technique for running, similar to what Fie's had been last year and in the beginning of the year. She would stalk easily in mid-pack and wait for her time to make her move. She was Fie's mirror image. Maggie patted the filly's cherry bay neck, smiling when she bowed it elegantly. She was a real charmer.
The woman and filly joined Ripley and Fie on the turn, becoming level with them. What's your plan Ripley? Ripley turned and eyed Wish for a quick second. Fie was calmer now that she was on the move, but still relatively full of herself. The 16.2 filly launched a buck, causing Ripley's attention to return to her. She doesn't need to flash a particular technique today. We still don't have a clue who is even going to be running against her. IRS seems to be keeping the entries a mystery. All our competition needs to know is that Fie is now deadlier than ever. She can close, stalk, lead, miss the break and still be dangerous. Everyone else has a defined style, but she is the wild card. So... to finally answer your question: we won't be doing much.
Maggie felt a little disappointed. She really had wanted to shut the reporters up with a swift kick from Wish on the race track. Wish had never worked in public before, except for her nonchalant beginning with Silver Stride Stables. She was just as much an X factor. Maggie stroked a hand down the filly's shimmering black mane and asked her for an easy gallop when Ripley signaled. If there was an award for easiest to ride, it would most definitely go to Wish Upon A Star. She was just as smooth as glass, easy going and careful. She had the potential to be a rockstar, but was still putting down the necessary roots in order to do so. The filly relaxed into a kind gallop, mouth light on the reins, keeping in stride with Fie.
Fiery Touch was heavy on the hand today. Ripley kept her hands light on the reins, forcing herself to breathe easy. The light bay filly got stronger with every stride, bowing her neck and then stretching it out for more rein. Ripley gave her the necessary length to keep her big body at ease, but would not go beyond that. If the reporters saw how on the bit Fie was, they might be more impressed with that then a blazing fast workout crushing her two year old counterpart. Ripley crooned to Fie, watching as the filly's black-rimmed ears finally tipped back in acknowledgement. Her stride became more amble and in control as they cruised into the backstretch. She wasn't the competitive sort when running alongside another horse. Neither was Wish.
It made for a good strong gallop amid a flurry of action. Wish mouthed the bit eagerly, testing Maggie who was a little surprised. She was getting a little worried with all of the horses running on the inside and outside. Maybe not worried so much as pumped. The woman guided the Everyday Hero filly in closer to Fie, nodding in contentment when she seemed to settle down. She wasn't one to go flying up on the outside all of the time. It made her anxious. She was the cute race horse everyone loved at the barn.
Fie's long stride appeared going into the far turn. She cut the corner more than Ripley would have liked, but luckily no one had been coming up the rail at that point. Fie lowered her form to the ground, neck stretching out and still mouthing at the bit. Ripley moved her hands lower on the reins, keeping her relaxed. She was settling. The big beautiful three year old had a gorgeous gallop stride. It had been the key point that Ripley had been sold on from the get-go. Her intense nature had caused Ripley to fall in love with her every passing day. Ripley let out a hoot and Fie broke from a gallop into a quick bolt.
Wish pulled heavily on the reins when Fie stormed forward. Maggie let her go, happy to feel eagerness in the otherwise collected filly. Her elegant frame careened after Fie, legs blurring beneath her. She stuck to the Touch Up daughter like glue. It felt impressive. The muscles in the filly were pumped up and eager. She was ready to run and continue running. And it appeared that she loved this track just as much as Fiery Touch seemed to.
Ripley nodded in satisfaction as the fillies marched up the homestretch side by side. Both of them were displaying good energy, rock solid stamina and a need for more speed. Neither of them needed a blitzing sprint in order to keep their energy level high. It appeared as though the early training had done its trick. It would keep them in shape while everyone else grew tired as the season progressed. The riders patted the horses' necks as they once again cranked it into the first turn, the clubhouse turn.
Both of them were relatively hard to pull up and it nearly took three quarters of another circuit to do so. Ripley and Maggie's arms were tired from the effort, but it was obviously plain to anyone still paying attention that the Witch Creek fillies coming off the track weren't even close to the same tiredness. Wish even added an exclamation point to the impressive gallops by throwing in a buck next to a reporter. Maggie secretly grinned. Guess they'd gotten a taste of the kick after all.
crossing through ashes
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley and Brooks leaned against one another standing alongside the rail. In their hands were a pair of stopwatches and in their heads was an even keener eye for time than the technology itself. Ripley and Brooks eyed the horses rolling over the track. GS Royal Crown galloped strongly over the dirt, his powerful legs stretching over the track and gripping it strongly. He looked more and more like a potential threat for the dirt with every passing day. And not far behind him, Justin was galloping Mastermind, the king of the two year old miler division. The regal chestnut zipped over the course, eyes bright with excitement. The colt was eager to return to the track and his next official workout would be soon.
We're going to have a strong contingent for this year's Breeders Cup, Ripley. Have you decided who is going where at this point... And I know you have, so don't even try to lie. Ripley turned with narrowed eyes at Brooks. The curly haired man had obviously been peeking in her desk drawers trying to find the racing calender. His blue jean eyes were bright with the "aha" look. Ripley wasn't impressed. Her lips pressed together in irritation. Why should I have to tell you when you already know? Brooks patted her hand which lightly gripped the railing. Because it's so much prettier when you say it. Ripley blushed lightly, her green eyes softened. He was such a brown noser. Well everyone has been determined except for Ashes and Crow. Ashes just might not be ready for this year's Breeders Cup. He is strong and prepared, but he falters in tough competition. By faltering obviously I mean third. We'll see. He might be next years candidate. And Crow I just have to wait and see with him. His last races have been consistent, but he just isn't showing the same zing as he had before. Both of them could skip the Breeders Cup or both of them will run, but the problem is, where?
Brooks nodded in agreement. They did have a strong string, but the string carried horses that could run over the same distances and be the top challenges for one another. Winning Touch and Fiery Touch clashed with Ashes. Red Herring and Mastermind clashed with GS Royal Crown. Next year would be easier to separate everyone. But this year they were jammed. So what do you plan on doing today with Ashes and Cross? I know you're excited for this workout of hers Ripley. You can't hide it.
Ripley grinned widely at him. He was right. This was one of her most anticipated workouts of the fall. Cross My Heart was coming off of a month and a half break. She was also in the finest condition of the season and she would be heading into the Golden Slipper Stakes versus Innocent Passion, who she had defeated a few times, and Tears of an Angel, from former home of Winning Touch and Grade Three race horse. And yet Ripley was not afraid in the least. Both of those fillies had more opportunity to run, but they ran against small fields versus lesser competition. Every race Cross ran in had been tough and she had yet to place out of the top two. She was a dog-fighter, an excitement for the press. They were eager for this race and so was Ripley.
Brooks could feel the bubbly energy coming from Ripley and felt the equally wild energy as her mount approached. Both humans turned to see Reese ponying Ashes to Ashes and Cross My Heart aboard Bella Luna. Ashes bounded alongside the six year old mare, tail waving about, mouth agape. He was coming off a strong victory over filly Ventura in the Mideem Derby Race One. He looked about as rock solid as he could be. And more than ever, he threatened Ripley's authority over the final race of Year Twelve. She appraised his glorious condition with excited eyes. The handsomest horse on the block stood before her. And on the other side of The Devil, stood the most willful.
Cross' 15.3 hand frame was leveled with Bella Luna's. Her white star reflected the weak fall sunlight amid all the shadows of the rest of her pelt. Her eyes were bright and excited, her nostrils twitched with each passing breath. She craned her neck to watch Mastermind and Crow finish off their morning gallops. Her body radiated power and intense focus. Her delicate skin twitched and she didn't stand still. Her break after her second place finish to Tears of An Angel in the Best Pal Stakes had done her wonders. And she was ready to take on that foe and more in October. She would be more than ready by the end of this workout. Ripley patted the cobalt filly's neck, grinning when she nickered. The filly had settled down. She still displayed violence toward Brooks and Clint, but she was nicer about it... If that was possible.
Brooks waited until Ripley mounted up and was giving directions to Reese for Lulu's workout before he hopped aboard Ashes. He badly wanted the blood bay colt to go into the Breeders Cup. He wanted the horse to prove Ripley wrong, that he could run with the best of the best and come out with a victory. However, even Brooks doubted the colt's mindset at the moment. He was more geared to winning in style, than just plain winning. He didn't have the dog-fighter's heart like Cross. Which was why Ripley wanted them to work together on this day. Brooks asked the colt to step out on to the track, taking pleasure in his overwhelming power. Crooked Fire had donated plenty of pizzazz to this son. He flexed his neck muscles, pricked his ears and carried his tail eye. He looked the part of a star as he stepped onto the track. He would have his due next year when he was more mature.
Ripley held Cross back as Lulu broke into a gallop up the home stretch. The mystical gray-white filly looked beautiful moving over the dirt track. Her eyes were bright and happy. She was relishing in her new found confidence. Ripley patted Cross' neck. Cross had never had a confidence problem. She'd never needed one. Her goal had been to come out on top or to go down trying hard if nothing else. She would be on the lead in the Golden Slipper Stakes, ahead of both Innocent Passion and Tears of An Angel. Both of them would press on her like Velcro. She wouldn't give in though. Every time horses pressed Cross merely ran faster. Faster and faster and faster. She would be running at her cruising clips and they would be running at their high speeds trying to tire her out. Cross would always have more at the end and when she ran out... Well, her heart and will was always twice the size of her opponents.
Ripley let the burning filly out into a trot, admiring her complexion. Cross was a strong filly, not quite intimidating due to her size, but you just could tell she had a stubborn streak a mild wide. She set after a jogging Ashes to Ashes with a bull-dog determination. Ripley posted, simply along for the ride. They caught up in a matter of no time. Ashes neighed to her in all his hustle and bustle movement. His 16.2 frame dwarfed hers, but he was ever the gentlemen. Brooks played lightly with the hot shot's mane, drawing his attention away from his new companion. The colt spread out his stride, looking like a dressage horse about to take off in graceful flight. Brooks shook his head. The colt would need to lose his big ego before next season.
So what's the plan Ripley? Ripley glanced over, light hearted green eyes brightening. Gallop a mile and work six furlongs. Sound good? Brooks nearly rubbed his hands together. A dastardly plan if he'd ever heard of one. Sounds brilliant to me. The riders cued their horses into energetic gallops, letting their bodies mold to their respective animals. Brooks was forwardly placed, ever talking and shaking his hands. Ashes needed a connected soul. Ripley sat still as a stone, light on her feet and barely gripping the reins. They communicated in silence.
Ashes allowed Cross to take the lead, going a little wide on the first turn. Cross was more than happy to take up the mantle, her delicate muzzle poking in front. She loved to be on the lead and burn off the competition. Ripley found the filly eager to relax today and it impressed her. A relaxed Cross was always more dangerous than a frighteningly fast Cross, but God help the soul who ran into the latter. She ran with her head high and tail lifted, looking the part of the wild Bedouin fillies that ran over the desert. She was keyed up and rearing to go. Her dark eyes swept over Ashes to Ashes' strong and true form. She locked him in as a potential threat and never released him from the attention of her right ear.
If this is what a bug felt like underneath a microscope, Brooks did not like it in the least. Ashes was confidently rating at Cross' barrel, but Brooks could feel the threat burning out of those red-rimmed eyes of hers. Cross was locked and loaded. Ashes had yet to find his calling and this former kill auction filly had found hers from the start. Ashes was basically a sitting duck for the moment. Brooks sang to him in his over-dramatic country twang, bringing a smile to Ripley's lips and a grunt from Ashes. The colt lurched forward, but was swiftly outdone by Cross. Yup. Sitting duck.
Ripley could feel Brooks frustration. Every way he turned he was in direct competition with someone else. He was aboard one of the most talented horses in the barn, but was dressed up with no large party to go to. Brooks was going to be out for revenge in today's six furlong workout. She'd planned on it. Cross had demolished Red last time out and now Brooks was going to get back at her aboard what he considered his future A-stringer. Brooks ran his hands over the crest of Ashes' neck quickly and firmly. The colt bowed and pulled on the bit. Ripley shook her head. Brooks was psyching the colt up for this one.
The horses cruised through the backstretch at a cruising clip. Both of them were in control of their bodies, masters of their own speed. Ashes wasn't tiring, but he wasn't exactly pressing Cross for more. Cross was settled in her normal workout mode. She was as willful as ever, pulling on the bit every time Ripley went to rate her back down. The cobalt filly was on edge with ants in her pants. Her tail whisked through the air and whipped Ripley's back. Ripley winced and silently promised swift action in the workout.
Ashes bounded forward, forelock flinging back behind him so that he looked like a black furred lion. He was absolutely full of himself today. Brooks was positive he would give Cross some trouble on this day. He leaned close to the colt's neck as they bristled into the first turn. The speed was increasing as per usual for one of Ripley's workouts and the horses were beginning to get stronger. Ashes pulled on the reins, tightening his neck muscles and really grinding on Brooks' strength. Brooks gritted his teeth, wishing that a release would come a little faster.
Cross' eyes were wide as saucers when Ashes fought to nose her out on the far turn. Ripley rolled her eyes. Her filly was going to be a slingshot midway up this stretch. Her muscles were cocked and ready to blitz this poor sucker away. Ripley shifted in the stirrups, green eyes swinging over the track. Lulu was just finishing up her gallop and pulling off to the side to make room. Cross immediately leveled out and settled in for the long haul after the final turn. She didn't cut the corner this time, preferring to force Ashes out a little and get him off her back. Brooks glared at Ripley's hands, but could not find her in charge of the light brush. His powerful colt had fanned out a little wider than usual to avoid Cross.
Brooks shook some reins between his fingers and found the colt ready for him. Ashes charged forward until the slack was tight and reluctantly rated down. Ripley didn't dare do such a thing with Cross. The midnight filly would a fit the size of an apocalypse if she did so. Cross was already having a field day with Ashes running nose to nose with her. The stretch raced by as their strides quickened and lengthened. The wire was nearing rapidly, marking not the finish, but the beginning of the workout. And suddenly Ripley could hang on no more.
The former kill auction filly surged forward like a black tornado come to life. She instantly gained three lengths on the unsuspecting Ashes to Ashes and continued to pour on more speed. A fire lit up her bright eyes, consuming her former, relaxed niceties. She was all heart, all speed. Her ears flicked backward when Brooks let loose a shouting curse in objection. Besides that, she was completely lost to the world in which she ruled as Queen.
He should have expected something like that to come out of Cross. The filly had given full indications that she was ready to explode if not on command. He did not let the reins slip through his fingers, he threw them completely at Ashes' neck. The big colt pushed heavily off his front end in response, gaining speed and propulsion from his rather large rear end. He dug into the deep earth, nearly as annoyed as his rider that once again another female had gotten the better of him. Brooks yelled and shouted, running his hands up and down the burnished colt's neck. Ashes gained speed, fire and energy and soon was right on Cross' tail in three furlongs. He was snorting with all his might. She was hard to catch up to because she wasn't stopping. If anything she was picking up more speed, engulfing whatever left over energy remained from prior exercising horses
Ripley could feel Ashes breathing on Cross' hind end. The black filly had tensed like a spring the moment he approached her. Her eyes were angered and irritated, her mane slapped against her satin black hide. She pinned her ears and cut the corner in rebuttal. Ripley clung to her whipping black mane now. Cross was flying, a jet fueled rocket. Ashes fell back a half-length, another curse and suddenly he was surging up their outside. Ripley did not pick up the reins, shake or urge Cross any further. The filly was maddened with competition. She was lost, ears pinned, not listening. She was determined to run Ashes into the ground. She picked up another gear as they raced up the backstretch, legs pushing off strongly once again. Ashes did not falter this time, though. He remained glued to her flying frame. Brooks called this a success and they were only four furlongs through the workout.
Ripley could not imagine what fear and ambitions lay within this frighteningly fast filly's brain. She was outrunning some ghosts and avoiding her demons. She was doing it all her own. She stayed one and a half strides ahead of Ashes at all times. She never grew tired and was always prepared for more. Her breaths came faster when he pulled up to her neck, but relaxed when she launched faster when it did not make sense. Ripley always remained the statue. Her filly was gutsy and brilliant. She would become even better at three, four and perhaps five. Ripley rubbed her hands together mentally.
Brooks did not become frustrated anymore with Cross' ability to defend her black walls against the likes of his charger. Few horses could stay with her this well. It pleased him to know that his horse could. Ashes inhaled a great burst of air, filling his lungs as they marched, once again, into the final turn. He did not get pushed out this time around and made a few inches on his partner. Cross, however, did not respond this time. Brooks looked up. Cross was being pulled up a little, irritably, but she was. Ripley was going to let Ashes catch up for the final furlong.
Ashes did not need any shaking or moving to catch on to this cue now. He hurtled forward, easily swallowing up the remaining ground. Brooks grinned at Ripley, who was still watching him. Her eyes were sad. She hadn't wanted to end Cross' gravity defying run. But Ashes needed a confidence boost and Cross would always recover to fight another day. And truth be told, if they had gone around another mile, Ashes would never catch up to her. Ripley felt betrayal blooming beneath her. Cross took everything to heart. It was how she had been raised. Ripley crooned and rubbed her hands up the filly's neck, asking her for some more. The betrayal shoved aside with those simple gestures and Cross began to take up her fighting assault. She did not let Ashes get the better of her. And he did not let her blow by him. Both of them were prepared for the remaining fights in Year Twelve.
We're going to have a strong contingent for this year's Breeders Cup, Ripley. Have you decided who is going where at this point... And I know you have, so don't even try to lie. Ripley turned with narrowed eyes at Brooks. The curly haired man had obviously been peeking in her desk drawers trying to find the racing calender. His blue jean eyes were bright with the "aha" look. Ripley wasn't impressed. Her lips pressed together in irritation. Why should I have to tell you when you already know? Brooks patted her hand which lightly gripped the railing. Because it's so much prettier when you say it. Ripley blushed lightly, her green eyes softened. He was such a brown noser. Well everyone has been determined except for Ashes and Crow. Ashes just might not be ready for this year's Breeders Cup. He is strong and prepared, but he falters in tough competition. By faltering obviously I mean third. We'll see. He might be next years candidate. And Crow I just have to wait and see with him. His last races have been consistent, but he just isn't showing the same zing as he had before. Both of them could skip the Breeders Cup or both of them will run, but the problem is, where?
Brooks nodded in agreement. They did have a strong string, but the string carried horses that could run over the same distances and be the top challenges for one another. Winning Touch and Fiery Touch clashed with Ashes. Red Herring and Mastermind clashed with GS Royal Crown. Next year would be easier to separate everyone. But this year they were jammed. So what do you plan on doing today with Ashes and Cross? I know you're excited for this workout of hers Ripley. You can't hide it.
Ripley grinned widely at him. He was right. This was one of her most anticipated workouts of the fall. Cross My Heart was coming off of a month and a half break. She was also in the finest condition of the season and she would be heading into the Golden Slipper Stakes versus Innocent Passion, who she had defeated a few times, and Tears of an Angel, from former home of Winning Touch and Grade Three race horse. And yet Ripley was not afraid in the least. Both of those fillies had more opportunity to run, but they ran against small fields versus lesser competition. Every race Cross ran in had been tough and she had yet to place out of the top two. She was a dog-fighter, an excitement for the press. They were eager for this race and so was Ripley.
Brooks could feel the bubbly energy coming from Ripley and felt the equally wild energy as her mount approached. Both humans turned to see Reese ponying Ashes to Ashes and Cross My Heart aboard Bella Luna. Ashes bounded alongside the six year old mare, tail waving about, mouth agape. He was coming off a strong victory over filly Ventura in the Mideem Derby Race One. He looked about as rock solid as he could be. And more than ever, he threatened Ripley's authority over the final race of Year Twelve. She appraised his glorious condition with excited eyes. The handsomest horse on the block stood before her. And on the other side of The Devil, stood the most willful.
Cross' 15.3 hand frame was leveled with Bella Luna's. Her white star reflected the weak fall sunlight amid all the shadows of the rest of her pelt. Her eyes were bright and excited, her nostrils twitched with each passing breath. She craned her neck to watch Mastermind and Crow finish off their morning gallops. Her body radiated power and intense focus. Her delicate skin twitched and she didn't stand still. Her break after her second place finish to Tears of An Angel in the Best Pal Stakes had done her wonders. And she was ready to take on that foe and more in October. She would be more than ready by the end of this workout. Ripley patted the cobalt filly's neck, grinning when she nickered. The filly had settled down. She still displayed violence toward Brooks and Clint, but she was nicer about it... If that was possible.
Brooks waited until Ripley mounted up and was giving directions to Reese for Lulu's workout before he hopped aboard Ashes. He badly wanted the blood bay colt to go into the Breeders Cup. He wanted the horse to prove Ripley wrong, that he could run with the best of the best and come out with a victory. However, even Brooks doubted the colt's mindset at the moment. He was more geared to winning in style, than just plain winning. He didn't have the dog-fighter's heart like Cross. Which was why Ripley wanted them to work together on this day. Brooks asked the colt to step out on to the track, taking pleasure in his overwhelming power. Crooked Fire had donated plenty of pizzazz to this son. He flexed his neck muscles, pricked his ears and carried his tail eye. He looked the part of a star as he stepped onto the track. He would have his due next year when he was more mature.
Ripley held Cross back as Lulu broke into a gallop up the home stretch. The mystical gray-white filly looked beautiful moving over the dirt track. Her eyes were bright and happy. She was relishing in her new found confidence. Ripley patted Cross' neck. Cross had never had a confidence problem. She'd never needed one. Her goal had been to come out on top or to go down trying hard if nothing else. She would be on the lead in the Golden Slipper Stakes, ahead of both Innocent Passion and Tears of An Angel. Both of them would press on her like Velcro. She wouldn't give in though. Every time horses pressed Cross merely ran faster. Faster and faster and faster. She would be running at her cruising clips and they would be running at their high speeds trying to tire her out. Cross would always have more at the end and when she ran out... Well, her heart and will was always twice the size of her opponents.
Ripley let the burning filly out into a trot, admiring her complexion. Cross was a strong filly, not quite intimidating due to her size, but you just could tell she had a stubborn streak a mild wide. She set after a jogging Ashes to Ashes with a bull-dog determination. Ripley posted, simply along for the ride. They caught up in a matter of no time. Ashes neighed to her in all his hustle and bustle movement. His 16.2 frame dwarfed hers, but he was ever the gentlemen. Brooks played lightly with the hot shot's mane, drawing his attention away from his new companion. The colt spread out his stride, looking like a dressage horse about to take off in graceful flight. Brooks shook his head. The colt would need to lose his big ego before next season.
So what's the plan Ripley? Ripley glanced over, light hearted green eyes brightening. Gallop a mile and work six furlongs. Sound good? Brooks nearly rubbed his hands together. A dastardly plan if he'd ever heard of one. Sounds brilliant to me. The riders cued their horses into energetic gallops, letting their bodies mold to their respective animals. Brooks was forwardly placed, ever talking and shaking his hands. Ashes needed a connected soul. Ripley sat still as a stone, light on her feet and barely gripping the reins. They communicated in silence.
Ashes allowed Cross to take the lead, going a little wide on the first turn. Cross was more than happy to take up the mantle, her delicate muzzle poking in front. She loved to be on the lead and burn off the competition. Ripley found the filly eager to relax today and it impressed her. A relaxed Cross was always more dangerous than a frighteningly fast Cross, but God help the soul who ran into the latter. She ran with her head high and tail lifted, looking the part of the wild Bedouin fillies that ran over the desert. She was keyed up and rearing to go. Her dark eyes swept over Ashes to Ashes' strong and true form. She locked him in as a potential threat and never released him from the attention of her right ear.
If this is what a bug felt like underneath a microscope, Brooks did not like it in the least. Ashes was confidently rating at Cross' barrel, but Brooks could feel the threat burning out of those red-rimmed eyes of hers. Cross was locked and loaded. Ashes had yet to find his calling and this former kill auction filly had found hers from the start. Ashes was basically a sitting duck for the moment. Brooks sang to him in his over-dramatic country twang, bringing a smile to Ripley's lips and a grunt from Ashes. The colt lurched forward, but was swiftly outdone by Cross. Yup. Sitting duck.
Ripley could feel Brooks frustration. Every way he turned he was in direct competition with someone else. He was aboard one of the most talented horses in the barn, but was dressed up with no large party to go to. Brooks was going to be out for revenge in today's six furlong workout. She'd planned on it. Cross had demolished Red last time out and now Brooks was going to get back at her aboard what he considered his future A-stringer. Brooks ran his hands over the crest of Ashes' neck quickly and firmly. The colt bowed and pulled on the bit. Ripley shook her head. Brooks was psyching the colt up for this one.
The horses cruised through the backstretch at a cruising clip. Both of them were in control of their bodies, masters of their own speed. Ashes wasn't tiring, but he wasn't exactly pressing Cross for more. Cross was settled in her normal workout mode. She was as willful as ever, pulling on the bit every time Ripley went to rate her back down. The cobalt filly was on edge with ants in her pants. Her tail whisked through the air and whipped Ripley's back. Ripley winced and silently promised swift action in the workout.
Ashes bounded forward, forelock flinging back behind him so that he looked like a black furred lion. He was absolutely full of himself today. Brooks was positive he would give Cross some trouble on this day. He leaned close to the colt's neck as they bristled into the first turn. The speed was increasing as per usual for one of Ripley's workouts and the horses were beginning to get stronger. Ashes pulled on the reins, tightening his neck muscles and really grinding on Brooks' strength. Brooks gritted his teeth, wishing that a release would come a little faster.
Cross' eyes were wide as saucers when Ashes fought to nose her out on the far turn. Ripley rolled her eyes. Her filly was going to be a slingshot midway up this stretch. Her muscles were cocked and ready to blitz this poor sucker away. Ripley shifted in the stirrups, green eyes swinging over the track. Lulu was just finishing up her gallop and pulling off to the side to make room. Cross immediately leveled out and settled in for the long haul after the final turn. She didn't cut the corner this time, preferring to force Ashes out a little and get him off her back. Brooks glared at Ripley's hands, but could not find her in charge of the light brush. His powerful colt had fanned out a little wider than usual to avoid Cross.
Brooks shook some reins between his fingers and found the colt ready for him. Ashes charged forward until the slack was tight and reluctantly rated down. Ripley didn't dare do such a thing with Cross. The midnight filly would a fit the size of an apocalypse if she did so. Cross was already having a field day with Ashes running nose to nose with her. The stretch raced by as their strides quickened and lengthened. The wire was nearing rapidly, marking not the finish, but the beginning of the workout. And suddenly Ripley could hang on no more.
The former kill auction filly surged forward like a black tornado come to life. She instantly gained three lengths on the unsuspecting Ashes to Ashes and continued to pour on more speed. A fire lit up her bright eyes, consuming her former, relaxed niceties. She was all heart, all speed. Her ears flicked backward when Brooks let loose a shouting curse in objection. Besides that, she was completely lost to the world in which she ruled as Queen.
He should have expected something like that to come out of Cross. The filly had given full indications that she was ready to explode if not on command. He did not let the reins slip through his fingers, he threw them completely at Ashes' neck. The big colt pushed heavily off his front end in response, gaining speed and propulsion from his rather large rear end. He dug into the deep earth, nearly as annoyed as his rider that once again another female had gotten the better of him. Brooks yelled and shouted, running his hands up and down the burnished colt's neck. Ashes gained speed, fire and energy and soon was right on Cross' tail in three furlongs. He was snorting with all his might. She was hard to catch up to because she wasn't stopping. If anything she was picking up more speed, engulfing whatever left over energy remained from prior exercising horses
Ripley could feel Ashes breathing on Cross' hind end. The black filly had tensed like a spring the moment he approached her. Her eyes were angered and irritated, her mane slapped against her satin black hide. She pinned her ears and cut the corner in rebuttal. Ripley clung to her whipping black mane now. Cross was flying, a jet fueled rocket. Ashes fell back a half-length, another curse and suddenly he was surging up their outside. Ripley did not pick up the reins, shake or urge Cross any further. The filly was maddened with competition. She was lost, ears pinned, not listening. She was determined to run Ashes into the ground. She picked up another gear as they raced up the backstretch, legs pushing off strongly once again. Ashes did not falter this time, though. He remained glued to her flying frame. Brooks called this a success and they were only four furlongs through the workout.
Ripley could not imagine what fear and ambitions lay within this frighteningly fast filly's brain. She was outrunning some ghosts and avoiding her demons. She was doing it all her own. She stayed one and a half strides ahead of Ashes at all times. She never grew tired and was always prepared for more. Her breaths came faster when he pulled up to her neck, but relaxed when she launched faster when it did not make sense. Ripley always remained the statue. Her filly was gutsy and brilliant. She would become even better at three, four and perhaps five. Ripley rubbed her hands together mentally.
Brooks did not become frustrated anymore with Cross' ability to defend her black walls against the likes of his charger. Few horses could stay with her this well. It pleased him to know that his horse could. Ashes inhaled a great burst of air, filling his lungs as they marched, once again, into the final turn. He did not get pushed out this time around and made a few inches on his partner. Cross, however, did not respond this time. Brooks looked up. Cross was being pulled up a little, irritably, but she was. Ripley was going to let Ashes catch up for the final furlong.
Ashes did not need any shaking or moving to catch on to this cue now. He hurtled forward, easily swallowing up the remaining ground. Brooks grinned at Ripley, who was still watching him. Her eyes were sad. She hadn't wanted to end Cross' gravity defying run. But Ashes needed a confidence boost and Cross would always recover to fight another day. And truth be told, if they had gone around another mile, Ashes would never catch up to her. Ripley felt betrayal blooming beneath her. Cross took everything to heart. It was how she had been raised. Ripley crooned and rubbed her hands up the filly's neck, asking her for some more. The betrayal shoved aside with those simple gestures and Cross began to take up her fighting assault. She did not let Ashes get the better of her. And he did not let her blow by him. Both of them were prepared for the remaining fights in Year Twelve.
burning comet
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Screaming Mimi and Red Herring took to the race track with fire burning in their eyes. Their muscles were keyed up, blood pumped aggressively beneath the well-toned hide. Each of them was coming off a victory. Mims was coming off a vacation that she had not taken any pleasure in. The Black Widow had torn up the barn, particularly her stall, while the others went out for gallops, exercises and races. She was a ball of cobalt fire, waiting to be catapulted into the enemy. There was no denying that her raw talent was finally coming to life within her powerful frame. Maggie merely sat upon the strolling beast's back as she laid claim to her domain. Three races were left to be run and while her journey had been brief with Screaming Mimi, it had been a blast.
Brooks stood tall in the stirrups as Red Herring marched unpleasantly alongside Mims. His chestnut ears were pinned, his flaxen mane slapping ungratefully against his powerful neck. He was coming to life and he would be looking for revenge next time out. A third behind a pair of fillies had dented Red's ego quite a bit and he was out for blood. The rear-stockinged colt bowed his head, baring his teeth when Mims got too close for comfort. The burly two year old had never been a big fan of hers and Brooks was sure he'd be happy when the female retired to brood at the end of the season. Brooks patted the colt's neck, grinning when he flashed him the snake eyes. A happy camper today, Red was not. Ripley was going to have fun with the colt from Arizona in the Breeders Cup Juvenile and Brooks couldn't wait for the powerhouse to muscle his way through that race. He was relatively hard to ride in a race that could be unpredictable, but he was a blast when he kicked it into high gear.
The riders guided the horses around the track for their mile long jog, now careful to keep the pair separate. There was no need for a war before the actual war. Red and Mims had been galloping with one another for most of the season, burned with loathing toward one another. Mims always got the better of Red with her longer stride and fiercer cruising speed. But Red was maturing now. He wasn't as full of himself these days. He was focusing himself, becoming that cocky horse that you knew was always going to give his best, every time, every race.
Brooks angled Red to the outside of Mims, letting the big black mare take the rail. She eagerly did so, her ears pinning as Red once again came level with her. She wasn't interested in sharing her challenging lead just at the moment. Maggie was quiet on the black dragon. They had learned how to react to one another quite well. Maggie was quiet and Mims was happy. The Black Widow need never come out and play. She bowed her neck, strutting her stuff like a stallion. Mims was the boss at Witch Creek and everyone knew it. Even the stallions Cheeto, Flamekissed, Blitzen and Positively Precious didn't mess with her. Cheeto would be her lucky date next year. The pairing would be off the charts amazing when the foal, colt or filly was born. Maggie hoped she was aboard the horse whenever it's turn came.
Red Herring snorted enthusiastically as they picked up a long striding gallop. He let loose a buck, squealing at the same time and spooked Screaming Mimi into a bolt. Maggie remained quiet through it all. Her steam engine didn't need any more help in figuring out what was wrong. She had a brain the size of a humans and she knew how to use it. The mare settled back into a gallop, glaring furiously at her younger counterpart. Red merely bobbed his head, tongue ironically sticking out at her. Brooks hid his grin from both females, but he snuck a pat. Red had that little brother aspect to him that you just had to appreciate.
The horses settled into their stamina laden gallops. Red was always pressing on Mims much to her dislike. He stuck it to her every time and Brooks was betting that was why the black dragon had become so great in the last portion of her season. She just had the attitude to do serious damage because of her barn brother. Mims' hulking frame moved from side to side, intimidating Red a little toward the rail. Maggie kept her hands quiet, knowing full well what the Crescential filly was all about. There was no such thing as fair game in Screaming Mimi's book.You either followed her lead or you got beaten to a pulp. Maggie flicked her goggles down to cover her eyes. The winter wind was burning like crazy.
Brooks did the same, letting his power house chestnut out a notch. He bounded forward off of that huge hind end of his. He ran with his neck long and his shoulders free, economically if not beautifully. He kept an ear pinned on his stable mate and the other pinned on Brooks. He was feigning his attention though. He always did this. He wasn't truly interested in what Brooks had to say unless it was the final of a race, which clearly this was not. Brooks spoke to him in a phony lilting accent and the muscled colt perked up, head flinging back wildly. The horse was certainly interesting that was for sure.
The pair cruised over the hardening track at Witch Creek. Soon all workouts would be forced onto the dirt track. The turf track would be closed until the spring time. Ripley was content with that because of the horses handled the dirt and if they didn't, they would learn. Brooks had to agree. The horses had to be tougher than the rest. Witch Creek had a reputation of steam-engine toughness. Screaming Mimi squealed when Red drew to close for comfort, reaching out with savaging teeth and just missing the burly chestnut's shoulder. It had been a mile of gallop work and she was tired of staying side by side this frustrating counterpart.
Red sped up until Mims head was at his barrel now. His gallop leaned more toward the racing stride with every jump forward he took. He too was getting bored with the usual semantics. Brooks leaned closer, careful to not move to early. They still had a quarter mile to gallop before the four furlong blitz. He glanced over and saw that Maggie was just as close to her mount, blonde hair mingling with black. Her blue eyes were sharp beneath her goggles as she took in the track. She wanted to time the attack correctly. She wanted Mims to once again show Red who exactly was boss here.
Brooks was finding that Red was really into the bit now. The hulking chestnut was pulling incredibly on the reins, ears pinned, legs flying. He usually was interested in holding it in, running alongside his competitor. But today was not his day for patience. Brooks ground his teeth, forcing himself to let out a notch and let the big guy run. Red immediately leaped forward, attacking the free space so fast that he nearly hung himself when he realized he hadn't been given the ultimate freedom. He was galloping about three quarters ahead of Mims.
Mims cheated greatly by extending her gargantuan stride to the max without pulling with her head. She was one of the most adaptable horses that Maggie knew of. The woman tucked her hands into the mare's withers, shaking her head. Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater. Mims pinned her ears briefly before they flopped back to the playful galloping ears Maggie was used to. The black mare only got down to business when absolutely necessary. Clearly it was not necessary at the moment. Though Maggie was a little concerned with the way Red Herring was tugging along. He usually moved like a freight train, but never so on his toes. Maggie wondered if the horse was finally learning what it meant to be a race horse. This was good considering he would be their Triple Crown contender for next year. But not good for the current workout against Screaming Mimi.
The pair charged past the wire together. Red was still three-quarters of a length in front of Mims, still in the choke-hold provided by Brooks. His forelegs reached high before coming down to touch the track's soil. The blaze faced colt was more than full of himself today. Brooks glanced over at Maggie. Maggie blinked her owlish blue eyes in his direction. She'd been waiting for him to turn and acknowledge her existence. A quick nodded, a flourish of fingers and Mims surged forward.
Brooks cursed his reaction time as the black dragon surged to gain the lead on Red. Red struggled briefly in Brooks' hands, but finally found relief when Brooks all but let go of the reins. He charged up the rail, a second before Mims surged into another gear. But Red was ready and he met her fire with fire. Steam poured from their nostrils as they surged into the clubhouse turn. Red butted Mims wide on the turn, causing the mare to lose a bit of her momentum. Brooks chestnut righted himself back up, athletically as you please and took advantage of Mims situation. His legs ate up the ground now, eyes rimmed with the whites of excitement. His right ear was pinned on Mims as she recuperated and suddenly appeared on his outside and gunning.
The man and woman refused to touch their horses. They were now moving at an incredible, incredible speed with almost no control. Red was a comet surging for the backstretch with the black dragon running after him. Her cobalt frame did not let him gain an inch. The turns were not exactly her forte. They were Reds. This workout was a little biased. Maggie shook the reins at Mims and she refocused. She often lost interest on the turns, going back to her high cruising gallop. She was now two lengths behind the Arizona colt.
Red was all by himself and absolutely reveling in it. Brooks grinned as the horse powered his way into the backstretch. Mims came back at his haunches, just finding her best stride and Red confidently shook her off. Brooks nearly let out a chuckle. The colt was learning and Mims was the perfect teacher. He heard Maggie let out a shout of frustration; the hot blood in her was finally coming alive. Mims took it as an alarm to run even faster and cranked into another gear. She defied Red's next attempt to crank her off and bolted through his barrel armor. The mare launched herself level with his shoulders, then chest then head.
Red snorted, pinning his ears, clearly surprised. The older warrior did not go away as easily as his two year old counterparts did. He dug in mightily, finding more from his jet propulsion in the back. The colt refused to allow Mims to get by him. The pair charged up the backstretch, hearts pounding in their large chests. They refused to let off the gas, grinding one another down quite viciously. The riders struggled to pull them up out of the workout and they were nearly off the far turn and into the homestretch before they succeeded. Panting, Maggie and Brooks looked at one another. Red had improved immensely if he was now keeping up with Mims on one of her favorite surfaces. Maggie stroked Mims' neck. You've done a great job teaching the young grasshopper. Nearly too good of a job.
Brooks stood tall in the stirrups as Red Herring marched unpleasantly alongside Mims. His chestnut ears were pinned, his flaxen mane slapping ungratefully against his powerful neck. He was coming to life and he would be looking for revenge next time out. A third behind a pair of fillies had dented Red's ego quite a bit and he was out for blood. The rear-stockinged colt bowed his head, baring his teeth when Mims got too close for comfort. The burly two year old had never been a big fan of hers and Brooks was sure he'd be happy when the female retired to brood at the end of the season. Brooks patted the colt's neck, grinning when he flashed him the snake eyes. A happy camper today, Red was not. Ripley was going to have fun with the colt from Arizona in the Breeders Cup Juvenile and Brooks couldn't wait for the powerhouse to muscle his way through that race. He was relatively hard to ride in a race that could be unpredictable, but he was a blast when he kicked it into high gear.
The riders guided the horses around the track for their mile long jog, now careful to keep the pair separate. There was no need for a war before the actual war. Red and Mims had been galloping with one another for most of the season, burned with loathing toward one another. Mims always got the better of Red with her longer stride and fiercer cruising speed. But Red was maturing now. He wasn't as full of himself these days. He was focusing himself, becoming that cocky horse that you knew was always going to give his best, every time, every race.
Brooks angled Red to the outside of Mims, letting the big black mare take the rail. She eagerly did so, her ears pinning as Red once again came level with her. She wasn't interested in sharing her challenging lead just at the moment. Maggie was quiet on the black dragon. They had learned how to react to one another quite well. Maggie was quiet and Mims was happy. The Black Widow need never come out and play. She bowed her neck, strutting her stuff like a stallion. Mims was the boss at Witch Creek and everyone knew it. Even the stallions Cheeto, Flamekissed, Blitzen and Positively Precious didn't mess with her. Cheeto would be her lucky date next year. The pairing would be off the charts amazing when the foal, colt or filly was born. Maggie hoped she was aboard the horse whenever it's turn came.
Red Herring snorted enthusiastically as they picked up a long striding gallop. He let loose a buck, squealing at the same time and spooked Screaming Mimi into a bolt. Maggie remained quiet through it all. Her steam engine didn't need any more help in figuring out what was wrong. She had a brain the size of a humans and she knew how to use it. The mare settled back into a gallop, glaring furiously at her younger counterpart. Red merely bobbed his head, tongue ironically sticking out at her. Brooks hid his grin from both females, but he snuck a pat. Red had that little brother aspect to him that you just had to appreciate.
The horses settled into their stamina laden gallops. Red was always pressing on Mims much to her dislike. He stuck it to her every time and Brooks was betting that was why the black dragon had become so great in the last portion of her season. She just had the attitude to do serious damage because of her barn brother. Mims' hulking frame moved from side to side, intimidating Red a little toward the rail. Maggie kept her hands quiet, knowing full well what the Crescential filly was all about. There was no such thing as fair game in Screaming Mimi's book.You either followed her lead or you got beaten to a pulp. Maggie flicked her goggles down to cover her eyes. The winter wind was burning like crazy.
Brooks did the same, letting his power house chestnut out a notch. He bounded forward off of that huge hind end of his. He ran with his neck long and his shoulders free, economically if not beautifully. He kept an ear pinned on his stable mate and the other pinned on Brooks. He was feigning his attention though. He always did this. He wasn't truly interested in what Brooks had to say unless it was the final of a race, which clearly this was not. Brooks spoke to him in a phony lilting accent and the muscled colt perked up, head flinging back wildly. The horse was certainly interesting that was for sure.
The pair cruised over the hardening track at Witch Creek. Soon all workouts would be forced onto the dirt track. The turf track would be closed until the spring time. Ripley was content with that because of the horses handled the dirt and if they didn't, they would learn. Brooks had to agree. The horses had to be tougher than the rest. Witch Creek had a reputation of steam-engine toughness. Screaming Mimi squealed when Red drew to close for comfort, reaching out with savaging teeth and just missing the burly chestnut's shoulder. It had been a mile of gallop work and she was tired of staying side by side this frustrating counterpart.
Red sped up until Mims head was at his barrel now. His gallop leaned more toward the racing stride with every jump forward he took. He too was getting bored with the usual semantics. Brooks leaned closer, careful to not move to early. They still had a quarter mile to gallop before the four furlong blitz. He glanced over and saw that Maggie was just as close to her mount, blonde hair mingling with black. Her blue eyes were sharp beneath her goggles as she took in the track. She wanted to time the attack correctly. She wanted Mims to once again show Red who exactly was boss here.
Brooks was finding that Red was really into the bit now. The hulking chestnut was pulling incredibly on the reins, ears pinned, legs flying. He usually was interested in holding it in, running alongside his competitor. But today was not his day for patience. Brooks ground his teeth, forcing himself to let out a notch and let the big guy run. Red immediately leaped forward, attacking the free space so fast that he nearly hung himself when he realized he hadn't been given the ultimate freedom. He was galloping about three quarters ahead of Mims.
Mims cheated greatly by extending her gargantuan stride to the max without pulling with her head. She was one of the most adaptable horses that Maggie knew of. The woman tucked her hands into the mare's withers, shaking her head. Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater. Mims pinned her ears briefly before they flopped back to the playful galloping ears Maggie was used to. The black mare only got down to business when absolutely necessary. Clearly it was not necessary at the moment. Though Maggie was a little concerned with the way Red Herring was tugging along. He usually moved like a freight train, but never so on his toes. Maggie wondered if the horse was finally learning what it meant to be a race horse. This was good considering he would be their Triple Crown contender for next year. But not good for the current workout against Screaming Mimi.
The pair charged past the wire together. Red was still three-quarters of a length in front of Mims, still in the choke-hold provided by Brooks. His forelegs reached high before coming down to touch the track's soil. The blaze faced colt was more than full of himself today. Brooks glanced over at Maggie. Maggie blinked her owlish blue eyes in his direction. She'd been waiting for him to turn and acknowledge her existence. A quick nodded, a flourish of fingers and Mims surged forward.
Brooks cursed his reaction time as the black dragon surged to gain the lead on Red. Red struggled briefly in Brooks' hands, but finally found relief when Brooks all but let go of the reins. He charged up the rail, a second before Mims surged into another gear. But Red was ready and he met her fire with fire. Steam poured from their nostrils as they surged into the clubhouse turn. Red butted Mims wide on the turn, causing the mare to lose a bit of her momentum. Brooks chestnut righted himself back up, athletically as you please and took advantage of Mims situation. His legs ate up the ground now, eyes rimmed with the whites of excitement. His right ear was pinned on Mims as she recuperated and suddenly appeared on his outside and gunning.
The man and woman refused to touch their horses. They were now moving at an incredible, incredible speed with almost no control. Red was a comet surging for the backstretch with the black dragon running after him. Her cobalt frame did not let him gain an inch. The turns were not exactly her forte. They were Reds. This workout was a little biased. Maggie shook the reins at Mims and she refocused. She often lost interest on the turns, going back to her high cruising gallop. She was now two lengths behind the Arizona colt.
Red was all by himself and absolutely reveling in it. Brooks grinned as the horse powered his way into the backstretch. Mims came back at his haunches, just finding her best stride and Red confidently shook her off. Brooks nearly let out a chuckle. The colt was learning and Mims was the perfect teacher. He heard Maggie let out a shout of frustration; the hot blood in her was finally coming alive. Mims took it as an alarm to run even faster and cranked into another gear. She defied Red's next attempt to crank her off and bolted through his barrel armor. The mare launched herself level with his shoulders, then chest then head.
Red snorted, pinning his ears, clearly surprised. The older warrior did not go away as easily as his two year old counterparts did. He dug in mightily, finding more from his jet propulsion in the back. The colt refused to allow Mims to get by him. The pair charged up the backstretch, hearts pounding in their large chests. They refused to let off the gas, grinding one another down quite viciously. The riders struggled to pull them up out of the workout and they were nearly off the far turn and into the homestretch before they succeeded. Panting, Maggie and Brooks looked at one another. Red had improved immensely if he was now keeping up with Mims on one of her favorite surfaces. Maggie stroked Mims' neck. You've done a great job teaching the young grasshopper. Nearly too good of a job.