Snowflakes drifted down from the sky in careless, spirited motion, dotting out the color of the world and turning everything brown or white. Horses in the pasture ran around, tails lifted, nostrils flaring as they snorted excitedly. The winter had been tough so far with storms every week, restricting training to the indoor synthetic. Ripley had grown a bit testy at that, but the horses were in fine fettle and the snow made them work hard out in the pasture. The juveniles were benefiting the most from the relaxed period as they were allowed to grow into their forms and become the fierce chargers that they were meant to be. Two of those changeling horses stood before her at the gap of the dirt track. One glistened like ruby, looked like the odd narrow horse that seemed to be the image of racehorses of old. The other looked the spitting image of the modern horse, thick with muscle, fierce of eye and heart. Spotlight Pride and Casualty of War looked every inch the promising horses that they had turned into. Both were sitting on the edge of grade three. One had found his calling at a mile or less over the turf tracks, the other had once been thought of as the turf king, but instead appeared to roll on the dirt. Ripley appreciated them both for who they were and was excited for what they would become. Spotlight Pride mouthed the bit, ears pricked down the track. Sultan pawed the earth, muscles roiling beneath his dappled out dark chocolate hide. The colts used to hate each other; Sultan had been a fierce bully to Pride. Now Pride stood ignoring his old attacker, his twitching skin the only hint that Sultan bothered him a little. The tough Man O' War colt was relentless in his stony gaze, but a clap of Ripley's hands drew everyone's attention to her. The auburn haired miss was cloaked in a thick black wool jacket, her hair plaited down her back. "Take it easy today. Mal said the track was getting a little slick out there during the two year old gallops. I want a four furlong gallop followed by a four furlong breeze. Breeze!" Reese cocked a brow, winged a look at Justin. "As long as his colt doesn't press the issue, we will be just fine." Justin shrugged, would have played back if Ripley hadn't kept a level look on him until he nodded. "Yeah, breeze will be easy." "It better be," Ripley stated as she walked to the rail and took up her customary spot beside Brooks. The blonde didn't touch her, sensing the electricity in the mother to be. She was always a little more tense right before the Breeders' Cup and the new year. Anything that happened now would impact the goals in early spring, particularly for Casualty of War. The riders broke off at a trot, but moving into a lope past the wire. Pride bowed his neck, still mouthing the bit as though he wanted to do more. The flecks of snow forced the riders to pull down their goggles. Its fierce bite undid the romantic look quite quickly. Justin kept his hands at Sultan's neck, appreciating the long striding colt. Casualty of War was turning into something quite special. The dappled out colt had a confident air to him and he never seemed to be trying too hard. Justin liked his effortless movement and thought this could be the horse to watch out of the Y12 crop. Where Casualty of War was the picture of calm, Pride was the picture of energy. He ran with his head high now and his tail lifted, his nostrils flaring to the size of tea saucers. He remembered his battles with Casualty of War, their rivalry second to none within the WCS ranks. Reese was strict on letting out the rein, not wanting her Breeders' Cup Juvenile Turf mount to blow it. In this way, the brilliant chestnut had been slow to mature. He was absolutely show stopping in full flight, running his other front running opponents into the ground, but he never seemed to be able to hold off the closers at the end of 9 furlongs or more. It was time to change that. The chestnut and dark bay galloped powerfully down the stretch, Pride maintaining his lead, although he had settled down now. Casualty of War kept close tabs on his rival, ears sliding back into his mane when the chestnut threatened to lean on him. Justin kept Sultan straight, daring Pride to move out. Pride's flighty nature needed some schooling and Sultan would be just the horse to be the teacher. Reese, however, was not looking to cause her horse his confidence. Just the fact that he wasn't intimidated by the larger two year old impressed her considerably. He'd gone from fearful peasant to noble prince. She egged him on slightly, putting another half length between her fireball and the shadow. Casualty of War's hooves thundered over the hardening ground, breaking rhythm once when Justin chided him. Pride's ears shot back up as he galloped strongly into the far turn and lit for home. Brooks clicked the stopwatch then, eyes glowing as Pride appeared to dominate the set. Reese wasn't moving and the chestnut horse was flying. Casualty of War moved with him, but was carried by centrifugal force to the three path. Ripley kept her eyes on him as Pride put another length and a half between them with relative ease. Justin urged Sultan to keep up, clucking and nudging him with his boots. The big colt looked ferocious as he gathered himself. In an impressive demonstration of strength of will, Sultan dashed aside Pride's lead and was at his throat halfway down the stretch. The pair surged to the wire, breaking Ripley's rules of easy, but she cared little. They were straight and strong and away from the more slippery turns. Pride was practically flat to the ground as Casualty of War bore down on him. The fierceness of the smaller horse's fight was thrilling to both rider and trainers. Casualty of War's ease of movement was chilling. Both of them looked stupendous as they galloped through the line and back into the first turn, pulling up on command. "Now tell me Pride won't get that nine furlongs in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile," Ripley dared, clapping her hands. "Tell me Brooks! If we school him right, he's as dangerous as the next animal." Instead, Brooks picked Ripley up and swung her in a circle. "They'll both get nine furlongs and beyond. And we'll be ready for Year Fifteen with our cavalry charge of colts!"
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