The loud grinding noise of the tractors filled the air at the stable. The stallions high tailed it around the pastures, ears pinned and mouths agape, warning the mechanical threat away with challenging neighs. It wasn't every day that the tractor made its appearance on the dirt tracks. It was quite obvious with the horses' reactions to it. The track had to be tilled every so often otherwise it became a speedway of sorts. Times got quicker, horses got faster and injuries were more likely to occur. Most of Witch Creek's stock was known to be hardy, something Ripley was thankful for come end of the season. The auburn haired woman watched the tractors pass through the gap, away from the furious Touch Up. The hulking stallion looked furious and looked beyond satisfied when the machines hummed away. He tossed his head as if saying, "that's what I thought" and trotted off, tail in the air. Ripley chuckled at the handsome older horse, but her attention was drawn to the pastures south of the stud fields. The yearlings had been split up of fillies and colt. The separated fillies paced the fence mercilessly led by Enrapture and followed by Sweet Mimosa, Lady Timeah, Swing Dancer, Artemis and Awestruck. It was quite a little band, but even smaller was the solo form of Uno Momento. The handsome colt dashed along the fence, screaming up a storm for his fillies. The geldings Sin, Cold Mountain and Jabberwock watched the bay with interest, but none made a move to comfort him. Ripley smirked. He would settle in with the older horses not too long from now. Just like weaning, only much less traumatizing and noisy. "Hasn't quite taken the hint yet, has he?" Brooks said as he rode up on Optimus Unstoppable. The perky little bay danced on his toes, nostrils flaring in and out as he analyzed the track. He'd noticed a difference. Horses were extremely observational creatures and the slightest changes could set them off. Ripley patted the colt's bullish neck, forcing herself to relax. "Oh no, not yet. But he will. He hasn't got a choice." She turned her gaze briefly back to the group, "Though it would be a hell of a lot easier if Ennie would lead her herd away." "She's not going to do that, Rips. She's too much like The Devil. Got that same high and mighty attitude." Ripley shook her head in denial, though a part of her agreed. She was very much like the rotund retired racehorse and broodmare. "Reese, don't even say that. If you'd been around when she was racing, you'd know she was far worse." The jockeys laughed, stroking their easier mounts. Supernatural danced beneath Reese, brown eyes glittering with intelligence and eagerness. The gray filly was full of herself. She needed a good run to open her lungs and relax. Her next start in the Red Mile Series was coming up and all of the competition was targeting her. Reese eased the filly onto the dirt track, pointedly stiffening her seat. If Optimus was wary of the tilled course, God knew what Siri would think of it. Brooks let the bay step onto the track after the taller, leaner filly. Optimus snorted, arching his neck and whisking his tail over his haunches. He was a show off, a bull dog and a fighter. Allouette Divine had gotten the best of him in the Red Wine Sprint, but that was not about to happen again. He was as on his game as ever and his gallops had only gotten better since the defeat. "Four furlong breeze after a mile gallop. Don't go too fast, pl-" Ripley crossed her arms as the last of her words were cut off by pounding hoofbeats. "Damn it." The little bay freight train set out at full speed down the track, ears pinned into his mane. Supernatural tagged along briefly at his throat latch before settling into her confident long stride a length behind. The gray mare was a swift son of a gun, but she was no sprinter. Her calling was at a mile or farther though recently, she had become quite good at a mile. Reese smiled as Siri cruised along at her easy gait, counting the beats as they hit the fresh track. It was like riding in an Audi. Luxury with a hint of danger. Optimus was like the highest trim of corvettes. He trucked through the backstretch at an impressive pace. Brooks tugged gently on the reins, shaking his head when the colt slackened his speed slightly. He was disagreeable today. Brooks chalked it up to the change in his surroundings. Edginess usually got the better of sprinters, especially hot ones like Optimus. The short colt cut the turn brilliantly into the homestretch and only gave himself a breath as he rolled into the first turn. Brooks could feel the colt losing interest in the work due to the flying effort from before. However, the colt had signed his sentence. Now he had to deal with it. The gray filly tracked the little bay ominously up the backstretch. Reese knew Brooks would have thought "ominously" if he'd seen the way the Dylan Himself filly was moving. Her ears were glued to Optimus' short coupled frame and her eyes were growing increasingly more intense. The pressure on the bit became heavier and heavier now as they passed through the middle of the backstretch. It was time to go in three, two, one... "Shit," Brooks muttered. He'd heard the warning hooves, didn't bother to turn for he knew what he'd find. Optimus pinned his ears as Supernatural swarmed up on his right side. The bay colt floated the gray filly out, breaking her momentum just slightly. Her ears pinned in reaction and suddenly Siri was on top of them, pushing them toward the rail. Optimus fought courageously, pushing her back just before he hit the silver railing. Brooks didn't have time to sigh in relief. The horses were in pitched battle with one another down the lane. Under orders, the riders only sat, letting the horses duke it out as necessary. Reese did not tap into the extra speed she knew Siri had lying in wait. It was there like a diamond needing to be polished. Polishing day would come on race day. The gray filly got the better of the bay colt at the wire. Her neck victory was a measure of his toughness and her current brilliance. Race day was calling them and so was the opportunity for more success.
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