September Week One Workouts: Scroll
Fiery Touch. GS Royal Crown& Fleet Majesty. Mastermind& Jabberwock.
arsonist
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Originally Written on Intrepid Racing Inc.
Ripley Marsh had to say she was quite impressed with herself. She'd broken records to get to Intrepid Racing Stable and hadn't gotten stopped once by a cop. They might have been stunned to see how fast the powerful thoroughbred horse trailer had been going on the freeway. Ripley hadn't minded their frozen activity one bit. She had a filly that needed to be somewhere before she had a melt down of apocalyptic proportions. Witch Creek Stable's owner was used to making her own rules and was certainly not used to obeying a rival stable. In order to run in the Novisio Derby the competitors had to have at least one workout over the course.
Ripley grumbled as she tied Fie to the trailer. The woman liked shipping in the day of the race and then shipping out as soon as everyone had run. She had strong training regimens that could not be messed with for particular individuals because the horses at Witch Creek were tied together like a delicate spider's web. Intrepid's rule to ship in was beyond obnoxious for Ripley, but she would deal with it the way she always dealt with such things. She wanted to run in the Risorgimento Series. The Novisio Derby was the first. Fiery Touch would be running in this race. It was meant for Maidens, Grade Fives and Grade Fours. There was another race, a week later, that also counted grade four, alongside grade threes. However, this race worked better for Fie's schedule.
The blaze faced three year old was not particularly impressed with the traveling arrangements. She was used to shipping in packs to either GHF or TW. Her eyes had brightened the moment the trailer had arrived and gone semi-insane when she realized that she was the only horse going for a ride. Thankfully, the 16.2 hand filly was slightly more subdued than she had been on the way up.
Brooks, Justin, Maggie and Reese gathered around to watch Ripley's handling of Fiery Touch. The tough bay daughter of Touch Up looked absolutely glorious in this lighting. Her body gleamed, her eyes were lit with a fire that extended to her outer shell. Her rump was decked out in beautiful dapples. If Fie had ever been in the best shape of her career, this was certainly a good to be in it. She had been a surprisingly strong figure in the three year old filly ranks, placing in two legs of the Triple Tiara. She was ready and on a roll of sorts. Her last three starts had resulted in two victories and a second place finish.
Ripley quickly tacked the filly up and leaped into the saddle. Fie spun on her heels, ears pricked up and eyes uncertain for a moment. She could sense the track, feel it burning in her heart. She needed to be there, to feel the dirt beneath her hooves, kicking it back behind her. Fiery Touch was extremely adjustable to any situation. And this race at Intrepid was a situation.
Ripley ignored her staff, completely surrounded by the confident filly beneath her. The competition was extremely strong. A blue blooded two year old colt, a rolling grade four two year old filly, and a very consistent three year old filly. This was a strong field and would help to place exactly where Fie stood at this moment in time. She was developing, changing. She had a secret tactic that had been formulating every workout since the Triple Tiara. Fie was no longer a stone cold closer.
It happened often in a horse's career. They changed to fit the circumstances, situations and sometimes equipment changes helped as well. But the most important factor was their attitude. And Fiery Touch's attitude had changed for the better. She used to be mild mannered, easy going and willing to please in her workouts. Now she was demanding and only willing to please herself with some side guidance of course.
Even now the bay filly with the odd shaped blaze boldly made her way between the barns and out onto the dirt track. She stopped and stared about, round eyes wide as saucers, nostrils flared. Horses galloped around the track. It was relatively quiet compared to The Wire and Green Horse Fields. More private and definitely more like what Fie was used to at Witch Creek. It would not be so bad after all. Fie bowed her neck, snorting as cameras snapped her way. She was a very beautiful filly to look at.
Ripley signaled for Fie to break into a jog and Fie was already moving. Her strong limbs propelled her over the surface, her mouth moved around the bit. She was excited and ready. A force to be reckoned with. She turned her head to acknowledge her public and then focused on what was ahead of her. That was the biggest change of all. Fiery Touch had more focus, more drive, more intensity. She was becoming the big gal in the house, competing for leadership once again with Dame and Mimi.
Ripley patted the filly's sleek neck. Definitely an improvement on the original model. Fie twitched her ears, accepting the affection she was used to. Their bond was growing with every wide. Ripley looked forward to their rides and didn't want to pass her off on someone else. The more intense Fie became, the more Ripley wanted to keep her all to herself.
The grade four filly marched around the oval, stride lengthening and stretching out. She was enjoying the surface immensely and a few times she ripped a few joyous bucks much to the delight of the people along the rail. Witch Creek always brought some drama to the gate. Ripley glanced over her shoulder, noting the emptiness along the rail. Perfect for Fie to flash her goal for the Novisio Derby.
Fie picked up a dramatic gallop, hooves skimming over the sand and dirt mixture. Her eyes were searching for competition. She was going to get a good workout today. Something to make everyone remember her by. Ripley wanted a mile gallop and four furlong blitz. Nothing Fie couldn't handle. Ripley leaned into the filly's gliding gallop. Fiery Touch was so perfect in her movement, perfect in conformation. She was glorious. Her mane and tail flickered behind her form, a shifting liner to the glorious brown package.
She bowed her neck, mouthing the bit, lather drifting from it. Ripley smirked. Yes, let them see what Fiery Touch had turned into over her break. She was on the muscle. Ripley crooned to the filly, steadying her when she took the turn with growing strength. A tug on the right rein had the Touch Up filly slowing a little, but not much. She wanted to run. Ripley kept a light hand on the reins, forcing herself to relax. It wasn't about speed, at least this portion anyway. Fie just needed to get comfortable and by all accounts she truly was. Fie carried her track wherever she went.
Ripley laughed as the filly bounded forward, muscles bunching and releasing. She began to snort as they raced up the track, not quite at sprinting speed. Her stride was already long, but it increased with every moment. Fie tossed her head, fighting for more control. Ripley eased a little rein through her fingers as they slipped into the final turn. An unidentifiable horse was running up the early homestretch, Fie's ears were locked on him. Ripley gritted her teeth. This was not exactly what Fie needed at this point in time. She didn't need to close. That wasn't what they had perfected. Ripley guided her to the outer lanes and ran her down the center of the homestretch, enjoying the breeze of Fie's creation.
Fiery Touch flicked her ears when the horse got too far ahead. She was listening to Ripley for a second. The first time really in the entire workout thus far. The public was interested in what Fie would do. Ripley ran a hand down the filly's black mane as they neared the clubhouse turn again. Their moment was here. Ripley cranked the right rein, angled her body and then let Fie go.
Touch Up's third daughter whipped into high gear as if she had just broken from the actual starting gate. Her hooves pushed eagerly through the track, gripping in eagerness. She'd found a very welcoming track. Fiery Touch blew into a swift sprint, cornering a path wide in the turn. Ripley leaned close and kept her hands off the reins for a second. She was enjoying this whirlwind of action. Fie barreled through the turn, knees lifting and pumping. She stretched out like a greyhound over the track, drawing in close to the rail.
Ripley knew if she'd been keeping track of time with Fie she would have had a mess on her hands. This particular filly did not clock well. She just ran too fast to measure based on her stride. Her stride was literally so long her mental times came out slower than they actually were. Ripley just rode with the flow, her cat green eyes covered by goggles. Fie charged into the backstretch and after her opponent whose workout was drawing to a close. He drifted to the outside and Fie darted toward the rail and his inside.
Ripley allowed this domineering trait flicker through Fie. It simply improved her race running by miles. Fie tore the track up and spat it out. All the worry about her not handling it hadn't bothered Ripley as much as it did the press. And now she really wasn't worry. Ripley shut Fie down a stride after mid-backstretch. She bowed her head, tugging for more and continued, fore legs flinging across the dirt surface. She squealed and pulled up with a saucy buck.
Tactics were changing. Fie was not going to be doing what everyone else would be doing. GS Super Charged and Nightshade were closers. Mizadori was a mid-pack runner who was expected to go to the lead. But Witch Creek did the unexpected and Fie was really going to be apart of the unexpected on this race day. Ripley stroked the filly's pulsing neck as they jogged by the clockers and press. They were buzzing with excitement. No doubt because of Fie's little show. Ripley had warned them that her filly was going to be real good by the end of Year Twelve.
Witch Creek's finest dirt filly was going for the lead in the Novizio Derby. And if that didn't work because of some unseen race malfunction. Well Fie would be there at the end of the race. Ripley's eyes flashed and she bent over, hugging Fie's neck. They were going to see how far they could get without stopping. Fie snorted, eyes mellowing into a warm determination. She was ready.
Ripley Marsh had to say she was quite impressed with herself. She'd broken records to get to Intrepid Racing Stable and hadn't gotten stopped once by a cop. They might have been stunned to see how fast the powerful thoroughbred horse trailer had been going on the freeway. Ripley hadn't minded their frozen activity one bit. She had a filly that needed to be somewhere before she had a melt down of apocalyptic proportions. Witch Creek Stable's owner was used to making her own rules and was certainly not used to obeying a rival stable. In order to run in the Novisio Derby the competitors had to have at least one workout over the course.
Ripley grumbled as she tied Fie to the trailer. The woman liked shipping in the day of the race and then shipping out as soon as everyone had run. She had strong training regimens that could not be messed with for particular individuals because the horses at Witch Creek were tied together like a delicate spider's web. Intrepid's rule to ship in was beyond obnoxious for Ripley, but she would deal with it the way she always dealt with such things. She wanted to run in the Risorgimento Series. The Novisio Derby was the first. Fiery Touch would be running in this race. It was meant for Maidens, Grade Fives and Grade Fours. There was another race, a week later, that also counted grade four, alongside grade threes. However, this race worked better for Fie's schedule.
The blaze faced three year old was not particularly impressed with the traveling arrangements. She was used to shipping in packs to either GHF or TW. Her eyes had brightened the moment the trailer had arrived and gone semi-insane when she realized that she was the only horse going for a ride. Thankfully, the 16.2 hand filly was slightly more subdued than she had been on the way up.
Brooks, Justin, Maggie and Reese gathered around to watch Ripley's handling of Fiery Touch. The tough bay daughter of Touch Up looked absolutely glorious in this lighting. Her body gleamed, her eyes were lit with a fire that extended to her outer shell. Her rump was decked out in beautiful dapples. If Fie had ever been in the best shape of her career, this was certainly a good to be in it. She had been a surprisingly strong figure in the three year old filly ranks, placing in two legs of the Triple Tiara. She was ready and on a roll of sorts. Her last three starts had resulted in two victories and a second place finish.
Ripley quickly tacked the filly up and leaped into the saddle. Fie spun on her heels, ears pricked up and eyes uncertain for a moment. She could sense the track, feel it burning in her heart. She needed to be there, to feel the dirt beneath her hooves, kicking it back behind her. Fiery Touch was extremely adjustable to any situation. And this race at Intrepid was a situation.
Ripley ignored her staff, completely surrounded by the confident filly beneath her. The competition was extremely strong. A blue blooded two year old colt, a rolling grade four two year old filly, and a very consistent three year old filly. This was a strong field and would help to place exactly where Fie stood at this moment in time. She was developing, changing. She had a secret tactic that had been formulating every workout since the Triple Tiara. Fie was no longer a stone cold closer.
It happened often in a horse's career. They changed to fit the circumstances, situations and sometimes equipment changes helped as well. But the most important factor was their attitude. And Fiery Touch's attitude had changed for the better. She used to be mild mannered, easy going and willing to please in her workouts. Now she was demanding and only willing to please herself with some side guidance of course.
Even now the bay filly with the odd shaped blaze boldly made her way between the barns and out onto the dirt track. She stopped and stared about, round eyes wide as saucers, nostrils flared. Horses galloped around the track. It was relatively quiet compared to The Wire and Green Horse Fields. More private and definitely more like what Fie was used to at Witch Creek. It would not be so bad after all. Fie bowed her neck, snorting as cameras snapped her way. She was a very beautiful filly to look at.
Ripley signaled for Fie to break into a jog and Fie was already moving. Her strong limbs propelled her over the surface, her mouth moved around the bit. She was excited and ready. A force to be reckoned with. She turned her head to acknowledge her public and then focused on what was ahead of her. That was the biggest change of all. Fiery Touch had more focus, more drive, more intensity. She was becoming the big gal in the house, competing for leadership once again with Dame and Mimi.
Ripley patted the filly's sleek neck. Definitely an improvement on the original model. Fie twitched her ears, accepting the affection she was used to. Their bond was growing with every wide. Ripley looked forward to their rides and didn't want to pass her off on someone else. The more intense Fie became, the more Ripley wanted to keep her all to herself.
The grade four filly marched around the oval, stride lengthening and stretching out. She was enjoying the surface immensely and a few times she ripped a few joyous bucks much to the delight of the people along the rail. Witch Creek always brought some drama to the gate. Ripley glanced over her shoulder, noting the emptiness along the rail. Perfect for Fie to flash her goal for the Novisio Derby.
Fie picked up a dramatic gallop, hooves skimming over the sand and dirt mixture. Her eyes were searching for competition. She was going to get a good workout today. Something to make everyone remember her by. Ripley wanted a mile gallop and four furlong blitz. Nothing Fie couldn't handle. Ripley leaned into the filly's gliding gallop. Fiery Touch was so perfect in her movement, perfect in conformation. She was glorious. Her mane and tail flickered behind her form, a shifting liner to the glorious brown package.
She bowed her neck, mouthing the bit, lather drifting from it. Ripley smirked. Yes, let them see what Fiery Touch had turned into over her break. She was on the muscle. Ripley crooned to the filly, steadying her when she took the turn with growing strength. A tug on the right rein had the Touch Up filly slowing a little, but not much. She wanted to run. Ripley kept a light hand on the reins, forcing herself to relax. It wasn't about speed, at least this portion anyway. Fie just needed to get comfortable and by all accounts she truly was. Fie carried her track wherever she went.
Ripley laughed as the filly bounded forward, muscles bunching and releasing. She began to snort as they raced up the track, not quite at sprinting speed. Her stride was already long, but it increased with every moment. Fie tossed her head, fighting for more control. Ripley eased a little rein through her fingers as they slipped into the final turn. An unidentifiable horse was running up the early homestretch, Fie's ears were locked on him. Ripley gritted her teeth. This was not exactly what Fie needed at this point in time. She didn't need to close. That wasn't what they had perfected. Ripley guided her to the outer lanes and ran her down the center of the homestretch, enjoying the breeze of Fie's creation.
Fiery Touch flicked her ears when the horse got too far ahead. She was listening to Ripley for a second. The first time really in the entire workout thus far. The public was interested in what Fie would do. Ripley ran a hand down the filly's black mane as they neared the clubhouse turn again. Their moment was here. Ripley cranked the right rein, angled her body and then let Fie go.
Touch Up's third daughter whipped into high gear as if she had just broken from the actual starting gate. Her hooves pushed eagerly through the track, gripping in eagerness. She'd found a very welcoming track. Fiery Touch blew into a swift sprint, cornering a path wide in the turn. Ripley leaned close and kept her hands off the reins for a second. She was enjoying this whirlwind of action. Fie barreled through the turn, knees lifting and pumping. She stretched out like a greyhound over the track, drawing in close to the rail.
Ripley knew if she'd been keeping track of time with Fie she would have had a mess on her hands. This particular filly did not clock well. She just ran too fast to measure based on her stride. Her stride was literally so long her mental times came out slower than they actually were. Ripley just rode with the flow, her cat green eyes covered by goggles. Fie charged into the backstretch and after her opponent whose workout was drawing to a close. He drifted to the outside and Fie darted toward the rail and his inside.
Ripley allowed this domineering trait flicker through Fie. It simply improved her race running by miles. Fie tore the track up and spat it out. All the worry about her not handling it hadn't bothered Ripley as much as it did the press. And now she really wasn't worry. Ripley shut Fie down a stride after mid-backstretch. She bowed her head, tugging for more and continued, fore legs flinging across the dirt surface. She squealed and pulled up with a saucy buck.
Tactics were changing. Fie was not going to be doing what everyone else would be doing. GS Super Charged and Nightshade were closers. Mizadori was a mid-pack runner who was expected to go to the lead. But Witch Creek did the unexpected and Fie was really going to be apart of the unexpected on this race day. Ripley stroked the filly's pulsing neck as they jogged by the clockers and press. They were buzzing with excitement. No doubt because of Fie's little show. Ripley had warned them that her filly was going to be real good by the end of Year Twelve.
Witch Creek's finest dirt filly was going for the lead in the Novizio Derby. And if that didn't work because of some unseen race malfunction. Well Fie would be there at the end of the race. Ripley's eyes flashed and she bent over, hugging Fie's neck. They were going to see how far they could get without stopping. Fie snorted, eyes mellowing into a warm determination. She was ready.
crowning majesty
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
This was going to be an extremely interesting workout. Not that most workouts at Witch Creek Stable weren't interesting. Most of them were. The horses here were the rough and tumble type. They created excitement the second they stepped hoof on the track. Fiery Touch had already received her workout at Intrepid Racing and Ripley was the only one to stay behind. She wanted to be back for the next set, but she had faith in Brooks to manage while she was away.
Brooks would manage and he would have a whole boat load of details for the head trainer. She would expect no less. The blonde man glanced around the track. Justin was galloping Dazzling Dame over the dirt course; the stocky bay miss was having a ball playing in the sand. Connor was trotting Cross My Heart around the outside rail. The recently named July Horse of The Month at Green Horse Fields was getting a couple months off even though she was really on the ball. Brooks was impressed that Connor was even riding her or that Ripley had even allowed the kid to ride the black two year old. Ripley usually didn't like to share. He understood that quite well. He reached down and slapped the filly's neck wholeheartedly. Fleet Majesty bowed it, muscles flexing beneath her speckled gray hide. He wasn't going to share her for anything. Every gallop and workout at Witch Creek had him falling more in love with her.
Maggie narrowed her baby blues on Brooks as she trotted GS Royal Crown up and down the track. Crow had dropped his last few races and he was starting to get very annoyed. The blocky chested son of Seabiscuit powered up and down the stretch, tail flicking about his rump. They had just gone through a rodeo session with Maggie coming out with a W in her column. Crow mouthed the bit, eyes rolling to show the whites. He was fighting for his position to stay in the Breeders Cup ranks. With so many horses doing so well and with Mastermind being in direct competition with either Crow or Red Herring, it was a mystery if Ripley Marsh would send all or a few juveniles to the Breeders Cup. Maggie desperately wanted GS Royal Crown in the Breeders Cup. He was a classy two year old.
Brooks stroked Mage's ears when she turned to look at him. She was a cute filly, but even when she was content she never stopped moving. Her hooves danced over the dirt, bringing her within a few strides of Crow. The steel gray colt pinned his ears and squealed, pawing the ground boldly. Mage lifted her head up, bringing herself to full height, and pawed as well. The riders grinned at one another. Nothing was ever boring around here. Crow snorted angrily and turned away, pouting. So Ripley is going to be back in time to workout Mastermind? Maggie asked. Brooks nodded, thinking. Yeah. She isn't going to let Reese and Jabber make a fool out of him. Though Mastermind would probably do well even without Rip. He's just that type of colt.
Maggie murmured agreement, watching Dame leave the track, covered in dust and dirt. Justin rubbed mud off of his goggles, a white grin separating his gritty complexion. The boy was pleased. He had one month until he was a full-time jock for Witch Creek. What do you want to do with these guys? Brooks had thought about this long and hard. He'd loved the way Crow had worked over the dirt track the other day and for all of Mage's supposed weaknesses on the track, she'd handled it quite well herself. She was a brilliant filly in a maiden's body. Brooks knew if they went head and head on the turf track, Mage wouldn't be able to put herself out there and keep up with Crow just yet. He was in fantastic shape. Maggie had him really keyed up for his next start.
I want them on this track. They'll handle it. I need to know what she will do on the flat while running head and head with somebody. Maggie purred agreement as Crow leaped forward into a canter. He didn't want to stick around with Mage any longer. His long stride covered the dirt track magnificently. He felt fast and rearing to go. Maggie kept her hands light, nodding when Mage caught up. She really spreads herself out Brooks. You usually don't see two year olds use their whole frame when they run.
Brooks smiled. I know. She just has this way about her. You'll see when we're working out. The two year olds cantered gallantly about the track, avoiding Cross as she threw a tantrum after her jog. Connor sat into her though and rode it out, giving Brooks the the thumbs up on his way out. Cross was such a girl sometimes. Mage watched Cross My Heart head back to the stable, craning her head. Brooks narrowed his eyes. She had been just as unfocused before her gallops and workouts before she ran. Luckily, the greenness stopped as soon as they really got moving. It would be a pain to add blinkers to the equipment all of a sudden before her first start under Witch Creek.
Crow was intensely focused on Fleet Majesty. Maggie could feel his skin twitching in annoyance. His white marked face was not exactly turned in her direction, but every fiber of his being was keyed into her actions. His ear and left eye were glued to her. She moved on the inside, content and eager at the same time. Crow was full of himself. He tossed his head, slapping Maggie with his mane. She let the reins slide through her fingers a little to counteract the movement and he bolted, flinging dust in his wake. Mage didn't let him go though. Brooks was actually surprised when his lean-as-a-greyhound filly took off, flying up the inside to get a full measure of her competitor. Brooks' face lit up. She reminded him a little of Bella Luna. She was a tough son-of-a-gun.
Crow squealed and snorted his displeasure. Maggie tugged quickly on the outside rein, drawing him away from Mage. Or attempting to. Fleet Majesty wasn't interested in playing nice today. The moment Crow moved to the outside path, her dappled gray form was moving with him. Maggie shook her head and gritted her teeth. This was going to be an extremely interesting workout. How long Brookson Wells?
Brooks could hear the tension growling in the pit of Maggiletti's throat. He couldn't help but smile with his younger brother smile. She was like a sister to him, a sister he enjoyed picking on. A mile and a quarter. Five furlong workout. We've still got a mile to go in the gallop portion. Maggie's eyes went stony, but she settled in for the long haul. Brooks drew Mage's attention off of Crow by gently lifting the inside rein. She refocused, her ears went from tall to floppy. Her stride grew longer and more relaxed. He could feel the tension flutter out of Maggie for the moment.
GS Royal Crown and Fleet Majesty bounded over the track, bodies loosening up over the straightaway. Both horses were reveling in the new surface. It was a little muddy today. Both of them would come back covered in the track. A little dirt wouldn't hurt them in their next turf starts either. It would only wake them up when they hit the track at The Wire. Maggie and Brooks leaned casually in the light saddles, conveying no excitement or adrenaline rush. One little chemical signal would have these two lighting up like Christmas trees. The gray horses, steel and dapple, began to enjoy each others company. The competitive buzz was still there, but they happy to settle into the warm up phase. The warm up phase did wonders for the horse's frame of mind.
The pair rumbled up the track, pushing off the sand enthusiastically. Their galloping stride became quicker. Maggie got that rush of adrenaline that usually came with GS Royal Crown. Her colt felt like he was flying when all he was doing was galloping. He was a true keg of powder. It was impressive, but Maggie was always in a constant state of fear aboard the colt. He was not so in control of his temperament as some of the other horses were. He tossed his head even now, dancing sideways in excitement at a gallop. Maggie ran her hands over his neck, crooning, trying to settle him down.
Fleet Majesty conquered the mile and a quarter quite well. Brooks was a little surprised. He'd thought she'd be a little behind in her training, but she definitely wasn't. She stuck to GS Royal Crown like Velcro and even got the better of him at the end of the gallop. Because of this, Crow didn't bother sticking around for niceties. The second he felt the energy change in Maggie, he was off and running. His body steamrolled over the track, eyes furious. Maggie felt the heat and adrenaline whip through them both as they created a hurricane. Brooks and Mage would not be able to keep up if Crow was full out. Crow was on a different level. He was a grade four and she was merely a maiden. He was considered top of the class on the turf.
Well at least that's what Maggie and Brooks thought.
Two strides after Crow took off, Mage began to fight. Her dappled head pulled and pulled viciously on his hands. She wanted more rein. Her back legs ground into the earth and she hopped forward mid run. Brooks gawked in shock when she leaped sideways three strides. She was all athleticism. Brooks had to let her go or she would be going bonkers. He tossed the reins to the wind and held on for dear life. Mage lifted off like a fighter jet plane, legs reaching and firing over the earth. She propelled herself forward with her newly found freedom. Brooks let out a hoot when she was at GS Royal Crown's powerful haunches. The steel gray colt heard, pinned his ears and kicked into another gear.
Mage went with him, stuck like a burr. She was flying and Brooks had limited control. When Crow pushed her wide, she pushed back, even going so far as to knock him to paths in. She was a light filly, but she fought just as hard as the boys. Maggie steadied her two year old, glaring at Mage, but softened when she saw the excited, youthful look in her gaze. She was enjoying herself. Maggie tightened the reins briefly and Crow let off the pedal. He was rateable and Mage drew to a half-length advantage. Crow snapped back to attention, forgetting his woes with the dappled filly. Maggie was more important than some new kid.
The pair swept up the backstretch. While Crow had rated, Mage had merely increased the pace over the dirt course. So while he had backed off, the general speed of the workout had jumped five notches. Manes and tails streamed behind them in a wind of their own making. Their riders hung on, one in control, the other enjoying his lack of control. Mage was out of this world awesome. She was a fighter. Not quite the dog-fighter as Cross, but a powerful, fluid one. She was incredible.
GS Royal Crown mouthed the bit as he settled, content with the pace. They whipped through the final turn and into the backstretch. Both horses were confident and happy. The pace was rigid, but it was something they could live with. They kicked up dirt, buried themselves in it, pushed one another and raced to the wire. Not even tapping into all they had. Save it for the races ladies and gents! Brooks crowed. Maggie laughed.
The horses galloped out strongly and reverted back to their competitive ways. As was natural between stable mates.
Brooks would manage and he would have a whole boat load of details for the head trainer. She would expect no less. The blonde man glanced around the track. Justin was galloping Dazzling Dame over the dirt course; the stocky bay miss was having a ball playing in the sand. Connor was trotting Cross My Heart around the outside rail. The recently named July Horse of The Month at Green Horse Fields was getting a couple months off even though she was really on the ball. Brooks was impressed that Connor was even riding her or that Ripley had even allowed the kid to ride the black two year old. Ripley usually didn't like to share. He understood that quite well. He reached down and slapped the filly's neck wholeheartedly. Fleet Majesty bowed it, muscles flexing beneath her speckled gray hide. He wasn't going to share her for anything. Every gallop and workout at Witch Creek had him falling more in love with her.
Maggie narrowed her baby blues on Brooks as she trotted GS Royal Crown up and down the track. Crow had dropped his last few races and he was starting to get very annoyed. The blocky chested son of Seabiscuit powered up and down the stretch, tail flicking about his rump. They had just gone through a rodeo session with Maggie coming out with a W in her column. Crow mouthed the bit, eyes rolling to show the whites. He was fighting for his position to stay in the Breeders Cup ranks. With so many horses doing so well and with Mastermind being in direct competition with either Crow or Red Herring, it was a mystery if Ripley Marsh would send all or a few juveniles to the Breeders Cup. Maggie desperately wanted GS Royal Crown in the Breeders Cup. He was a classy two year old.
Brooks stroked Mage's ears when she turned to look at him. She was a cute filly, but even when she was content she never stopped moving. Her hooves danced over the dirt, bringing her within a few strides of Crow. The steel gray colt pinned his ears and squealed, pawing the ground boldly. Mage lifted her head up, bringing herself to full height, and pawed as well. The riders grinned at one another. Nothing was ever boring around here. Crow snorted angrily and turned away, pouting. So Ripley is going to be back in time to workout Mastermind? Maggie asked. Brooks nodded, thinking. Yeah. She isn't going to let Reese and Jabber make a fool out of him. Though Mastermind would probably do well even without Rip. He's just that type of colt.
Maggie murmured agreement, watching Dame leave the track, covered in dust and dirt. Justin rubbed mud off of his goggles, a white grin separating his gritty complexion. The boy was pleased. He had one month until he was a full-time jock for Witch Creek. What do you want to do with these guys? Brooks had thought about this long and hard. He'd loved the way Crow had worked over the dirt track the other day and for all of Mage's supposed weaknesses on the track, she'd handled it quite well herself. She was a brilliant filly in a maiden's body. Brooks knew if they went head and head on the turf track, Mage wouldn't be able to put herself out there and keep up with Crow just yet. He was in fantastic shape. Maggie had him really keyed up for his next start.
I want them on this track. They'll handle it. I need to know what she will do on the flat while running head and head with somebody. Maggie purred agreement as Crow leaped forward into a canter. He didn't want to stick around with Mage any longer. His long stride covered the dirt track magnificently. He felt fast and rearing to go. Maggie kept her hands light, nodding when Mage caught up. She really spreads herself out Brooks. You usually don't see two year olds use their whole frame when they run.
Brooks smiled. I know. She just has this way about her. You'll see when we're working out. The two year olds cantered gallantly about the track, avoiding Cross as she threw a tantrum after her jog. Connor sat into her though and rode it out, giving Brooks the the thumbs up on his way out. Cross was such a girl sometimes. Mage watched Cross My Heart head back to the stable, craning her head. Brooks narrowed his eyes. She had been just as unfocused before her gallops and workouts before she ran. Luckily, the greenness stopped as soon as they really got moving. It would be a pain to add blinkers to the equipment all of a sudden before her first start under Witch Creek.
Crow was intensely focused on Fleet Majesty. Maggie could feel his skin twitching in annoyance. His white marked face was not exactly turned in her direction, but every fiber of his being was keyed into her actions. His ear and left eye were glued to her. She moved on the inside, content and eager at the same time. Crow was full of himself. He tossed his head, slapping Maggie with his mane. She let the reins slide through her fingers a little to counteract the movement and he bolted, flinging dust in his wake. Mage didn't let him go though. Brooks was actually surprised when his lean-as-a-greyhound filly took off, flying up the inside to get a full measure of her competitor. Brooks' face lit up. She reminded him a little of Bella Luna. She was a tough son-of-a-gun.
Crow squealed and snorted his displeasure. Maggie tugged quickly on the outside rein, drawing him away from Mage. Or attempting to. Fleet Majesty wasn't interested in playing nice today. The moment Crow moved to the outside path, her dappled gray form was moving with him. Maggie shook her head and gritted her teeth. This was going to be an extremely interesting workout. How long Brookson Wells?
Brooks could hear the tension growling in the pit of Maggiletti's throat. He couldn't help but smile with his younger brother smile. She was like a sister to him, a sister he enjoyed picking on. A mile and a quarter. Five furlong workout. We've still got a mile to go in the gallop portion. Maggie's eyes went stony, but she settled in for the long haul. Brooks drew Mage's attention off of Crow by gently lifting the inside rein. She refocused, her ears went from tall to floppy. Her stride grew longer and more relaxed. He could feel the tension flutter out of Maggie for the moment.
GS Royal Crown and Fleet Majesty bounded over the track, bodies loosening up over the straightaway. Both horses were reveling in the new surface. It was a little muddy today. Both of them would come back covered in the track. A little dirt wouldn't hurt them in their next turf starts either. It would only wake them up when they hit the track at The Wire. Maggie and Brooks leaned casually in the light saddles, conveying no excitement or adrenaline rush. One little chemical signal would have these two lighting up like Christmas trees. The gray horses, steel and dapple, began to enjoy each others company. The competitive buzz was still there, but they happy to settle into the warm up phase. The warm up phase did wonders for the horse's frame of mind.
The pair rumbled up the track, pushing off the sand enthusiastically. Their galloping stride became quicker. Maggie got that rush of adrenaline that usually came with GS Royal Crown. Her colt felt like he was flying when all he was doing was galloping. He was a true keg of powder. It was impressive, but Maggie was always in a constant state of fear aboard the colt. He was not so in control of his temperament as some of the other horses were. He tossed his head even now, dancing sideways in excitement at a gallop. Maggie ran her hands over his neck, crooning, trying to settle him down.
Fleet Majesty conquered the mile and a quarter quite well. Brooks was a little surprised. He'd thought she'd be a little behind in her training, but she definitely wasn't. She stuck to GS Royal Crown like Velcro and even got the better of him at the end of the gallop. Because of this, Crow didn't bother sticking around for niceties. The second he felt the energy change in Maggie, he was off and running. His body steamrolled over the track, eyes furious. Maggie felt the heat and adrenaline whip through them both as they created a hurricane. Brooks and Mage would not be able to keep up if Crow was full out. Crow was on a different level. He was a grade four and she was merely a maiden. He was considered top of the class on the turf.
Well at least that's what Maggie and Brooks thought.
Two strides after Crow took off, Mage began to fight. Her dappled head pulled and pulled viciously on his hands. She wanted more rein. Her back legs ground into the earth and she hopped forward mid run. Brooks gawked in shock when she leaped sideways three strides. She was all athleticism. Brooks had to let her go or she would be going bonkers. He tossed the reins to the wind and held on for dear life. Mage lifted off like a fighter jet plane, legs reaching and firing over the earth. She propelled herself forward with her newly found freedom. Brooks let out a hoot when she was at GS Royal Crown's powerful haunches. The steel gray colt heard, pinned his ears and kicked into another gear.
Mage went with him, stuck like a burr. She was flying and Brooks had limited control. When Crow pushed her wide, she pushed back, even going so far as to knock him to paths in. She was a light filly, but she fought just as hard as the boys. Maggie steadied her two year old, glaring at Mage, but softened when she saw the excited, youthful look in her gaze. She was enjoying herself. Maggie tightened the reins briefly and Crow let off the pedal. He was rateable and Mage drew to a half-length advantage. Crow snapped back to attention, forgetting his woes with the dappled filly. Maggie was more important than some new kid.
The pair swept up the backstretch. While Crow had rated, Mage had merely increased the pace over the dirt course. So while he had backed off, the general speed of the workout had jumped five notches. Manes and tails streamed behind them in a wind of their own making. Their riders hung on, one in control, the other enjoying his lack of control. Mage was out of this world awesome. She was a fighter. Not quite the dog-fighter as Cross, but a powerful, fluid one. She was incredible.
GS Royal Crown mouthed the bit as he settled, content with the pace. They whipped through the final turn and into the backstretch. Both horses were confident and happy. The pace was rigid, but it was something they could live with. They kicked up dirt, buried themselves in it, pushed one another and raced to the wire. Not even tapping into all they had. Save it for the races ladies and gents! Brooks crowed. Maggie laughed.
The horses galloped out strongly and reverted back to their competitive ways. As was natural between stable mates.
masterful jab
Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos.
Ripley Marsh flew out of her truck as soon as she parked at the top of the drive. Her green eyes swept over the terrain quickly and with fevered excitement. She had not wanted to miss this workout for anything, had put it off until four o'clock in the evening and now it was getting dark. Her competitive fires were burning in her slim frame. This was one workout she wanted to participate in more than ever. Mastermind versus Jabberwock at Witch Creek's home track. The race would likely never occur at the races, but in a workout, almost as much could be proven.
She caught sight of Reese walking up and down the dirt track aboard Jabberwock. The large bay colt moved effortlessly over the course, stride engulfing everything in his wake. He was the vision of power and even from the distance Ripley had to say he commanded respect. And all this coming from a maiden colt. Brooks was holding the bridle of a fired up horse at the edge of the track from aboard The Devil's Touch. Ripley's two favorite horses were colliding and neither was content with the other. The auburn haired woman snorted as The Devil pinned her ears when Mastermind drew too close. The son of Speed Demon similarly pinned his ears, flashing his forelock back over his ears in irritation. He wanted none of this bruiser. Ripley raced down the hill, keen on keeping her footing. It would do no good if she got hurt before her most anticipated workout.
Reese caught sight of Ripley running and halted Jabber. The colt pricked his ears at her human form and stood in silence, tail waving over his butt. Reese ran a hand down his neck, feeling the muscle and power. She eyed Mastermind. She would be lying if she said she wasn't excited for this workout. Mastermind was one of the most eagerly awaited for colts in the division. When he ran everyone took notice. His seven race win record and his romping victories made you take notice. But what happens when a brilliant grade three colt takes on an equally brilliant maiden colt? Reese could not wait to answer this question. She was beyond sure that Jabberwock was the best horse she'd ridden at Witch Creek so far. Amid the horses she had ridden were Winning Touch, grade three, and Bella Luna, streaking with two wins. Both were special fillies, but this was a special colt and she would be apart of his career from the get go. Reese grinned when he danced sideways as Ripley reached Mastermind. The woman had the indecency to not even be out of breath. Reese loathed her with a passion. Ripley's fitness level was incredible for a thirty year old woman.
Ripley stuck her tongue out at Reese's hateful look. She kissed Brooks' cheek and leaped aboard her 16 hand colt. Mastermind instantly puffed himself up. Jabberwock stiffened beneath Reese, sensing that competition was about to brew. Mastermind's dark eyes swept over Jabberwock and Ripley was pleased. Mastermind had gotten over his intimidation problems just before his gritty dead heat with Tears of Blood in the Azalea Cup Colts. Now he was more than ready to handle this overbearing monster of a horse. Ripley grinned, patted the colt's muscular neck and guided him right on by Jabber.
Jabber called lovingly once to The Devil who swung around, unimpressed. She did not like the boys very much. Reese urged Jabber forward and the dark bay colt flashed her the evil eye over his shoulder. She hissed at him, a wild irritation coming to her throat. The colt pinned his ears, but moved off, casting a regretful glance The Devil's way. Once by that obstacle though, Mastermind was all that was on Jabberwock's brain. Reese was worried as well. She knew the kind of partnership Ripley had with the two year old. A partnership that melted down the difference between age and maturity and brought a level playing field.
Ripley stroked Mastermind's neck, talking to him in a high pitched girly voice. She was excited for this move. More than excited as a trainer, but excited as a fan as well. Mastermind was training brilliantly these days. He could handle two and a half mile gallops and nine furlong workouts. He was a creation that only came from the best of the best. He was showing more and more of his mother's raw ability and Ripley had to admit she was pretty darn excited for the next three seasons with the colt. The woman turned around and glanced at Jabberwock as he jogged up. He was a whole other story. The woman loved the colt. He was a bit of a wild card in her barn. He had tremendous talent, but he was getting a late training start. There was no way he'd make the Breeders Cup and nowhere to even run him. But if Reese was right and if Ripley's eyes hadn't been lying to her, Jabberwock was going to create more than a few stirs next season.
Reese stroked a hand down the puffed up colt's mane. He was full of himself today. He bowed his neck and pranced along, moving quietly yet moving like a canon about to explode. He was something out of this world. Reese wasn't worried for this particular workout. She didn't have anything to worry about when she was riding the big gun. What's your plan Ripley? Seeing as you always have to have a plan? Ripley glared at the caramel-colored woman. So far my plans have never failed except when I've wanted them to. Reese nodded, knowing that the auburn woman was speaking of her sabbatical away from the racing scene. As much as Reese wanted to hold it against her, she just couldn't.
We'll go a mile gallop with a six furlong workout. After a half mile we'll start quickening. I want every furlong faster than the last. A gradual increase of speed and pressure to build up stamina. Ripley was excited to try this workout out. It was a new one, but she thought it might help all of her horses in the long run. And who better to try it on then a grade three two year old and a barely trained maiden three year old. Reese nodded in agreement, knowing where Ripley was going with her plans. The woman had clever tendencies. Sounds fine to me.
The women asked their horses for a good solid gallop to start with. Jabber and Mastermind moved as one along the clubhouse turn. Their chestnut and dark bay frames gleamed in the late sunlight. Jabber towered over Mastermind on the outside, his rumbling body a shadow to his younger counterpart. Mastermind was not threatened in the least. He bowed his head and strode out, knees lifting strongly. He was a king at Witch Creek. Jabberwock had just joined and had no right to just simply come and take over. El Sol del Mar's son was full of light tonight. Ripley could feel his happiness. The copper son of Speed Demon had grown happier as the year went on. He liked a little more affection these days than he used to and played a little less tricks on the staff. He was content. He moved his lips over the bit, big eyes taking in his surroundings.
While Mastermind was going on a vacation until October Week Three, Jabberwock was going to turn into a major project of Ripley and Reese's. He was going to be the Frankenstein of the horse world. And right around the right time. Halloween was on its way. Reese grinned at her playful thoughts. She felt as if she were mellowing out around Ripley. It bothered her only a little bit. Reese glanced over at Ripley. The head trainer's hands were gripping Mastermind's reins as if she were fighting with herself. Her knuckles were white and Mastermind looked a little tense. Reese pursed her lips, concerned for a second. She turned away and then turned back. Both horse and rider appeared content once again. Strange.
Ripley sighed, leaning into Mastermind's withers as they cruised into the backstretch. His elegant body covered the ground swiftly, fluidly. He was beautiful in motion. A God's prized possession. The auburn haired woman was so proud of him, so proud of what he had accomplished in this short time. Here he was competing against the best of the best, competing against a maiden who had the world at his hooves. Mastermind was already establishing himself as a top caliber horse. Ripley could not be more happy with her training career.
The horses swallowed the ground up quickly, their strides maintaining a relaxed rhythm for the first half mile. Mastermind and Jabberwock were well into themselves at the moment. Their ears bobbed, their mouths moved. They didn't ask for more, didn't have to at the moment. They couldn't sense what Ripley and Reese's intentions were for today's exercise. They never had done what was to come before. Ripley perched like a delicate bird, playing with Mastermind's brilliantly colored mane. They would show Jabberwock just what exactly he had to look forward to in the next couple years.
Reese could sense a growing excitement in the pair next to her. Mastermind was waking up. His ears were suddenly zeroed in on the ground ahead of him, his neck muscles were tensed, his stride had lengthened for a few seconds. Ripley hadn't budged an inch. Suddenly, the light went out from Mastermind. He settled once again, a golden aura surrounding him. Reese and Jabberwock were about to play with molten fire. Jabberwock tossed his head, shaking the leather reins as they scooted into the first portion of the second half-mile gallop. Reese followed Ripley's directions to a tee, only allowing a little rein to slip between her tanned fingers. Jabber took up the slack instantly, flinging his legs out like a war horse running into battle. Reese found herself locked in a brief battle of wills that only grew worse due to Mastermind.
The colt was a sunburst of speed up the inside rail. Jabber pulled violently on the metal bit in order to keep up. Reese had to let him out one more notch. Jabber flew by Mastermind, but only because Mastermind had been reined in again, quick as the snap of Ripley's fingers. Reese gritted her teeth. With tricks like that, God knew how Ripley could be beat. The woman was a witch. A few more strides and Jabber was calmer than before. Mastermind's competitive presence was what fueled his fires. Reese now knew why Ripley had chosen Mastermind. No horse, except possibly Freeze, could just kick on and off. He was literally the perfect partner for a horse that had no controls quite yet.
The horses picked up energy as they moved into the far turn, accustomed to moving at this specific time. At least Mastermind was anyway. The bay and the chestnut were nose and nose, eyeing one another ferociously. Mastermind stood strong when Jabber moved in on him briefly. Ripley smiled with pleasure. A much better reaction than his usual duck-out. She stroked his neck, grinning. Good boy Mastermind! Both horses flicked their ears at the happy tone and relaxed a little. Reese nodded, taking note. Talking slowed Jabber.
Jabber wasn't even giving it to Mastermind. The big bay was moving quite easily on those mile long legs of his. His thick body swept over the dirt, the picture of pure domination. Reese moved her hands along his neck, not trying to stir him up and trying to keep zero movement on the bit. Jabber hated the bit being touched with a passion. The three year old took it as a sign to run his brains out and escape whatever was bothering him. Reese could feel him tense even at the simple movements of patting his neck. She sighed. It was hard to sit still on a horse that was so full of energy.
A merciless smile spread across Ripley's pink lips. Mastermind had the aura at the moment of a power house sitting on go. And now he had until October Third before he ran again. She shook her head. Unbelievable. A keg of dynamite just sitting in the barn. She glared, annoyed at the problem, and felt Mastermind tense up like a coil about to snap. She shook the reins as they passed through the second half-mile and let him go. Mastermind surged forward as if his hooves had been lit on fire. He stormed up the track, momentarily stunning the larger Jabberwock.
As soon as the surprise had taken hold of Jabberwock, Reese was off shouting her head off. Darn it! Ripley just knew when the moment to strike was. Jabber wasn't used to this kind of competition just yet, cursing Ripley, Reese was just about to push on Jabber when the bay suddenly flew forward. Reese clung to black mane, saving herself from flying off of the back of this Native Flame colt. He launched himself across the dirt surface. Reese's eyes filled with icy tears as they flew. He was something else this colt. He could create natural disasters with his kick. Reese startled when she realized that Mastermind was now alongside them when he'd been a good four lengths better just three seconds ago. Ripley gritted her teeth at the same realization. Mastermind flicked his ears. He wasn't at full boost just yet.
Jabberwock shut down once he reached Mastermind. Reese sighed in relief. She'd yet to figure out how to get him to turn off that particular switch. He was brutally fast. Not out of control really, just scary. He stayed alongside Mastermind who was more in tune with Ripley's wanted workout. The eagle eyed chestnut was doing just as she wanted, gradually picking up the burning gallop. Ripley kept her hands light on his neck, green eyes shimmering behind her goggles which she'd wrapped around her neck before coming home.
Mastermind bounded along, stretching out with ears still pricked. He was on auto-pilot and keeping a very watchful eye on Jabber. He knew he was in control over the older horse. It made him tougher, but not unrealistic. He did not toe out of his path, knowing the rules. He knew he was not supposed to rough and tumble with the others. His elegant chestnut body always seemed to be too delicate to entangle in those sorts of tumbles that his stable mates enjoyed. Ripley couldn't risk him injuring himself in that way. She murmured to him, tossing out some more line which he gobbled up quite willingly.
The pair encircled the clubhouse turn, speed nearing the racing run. Jabber was becoming more and more hot headed. Reese knew he could blow by Mastermind at the moment. Felt it in her bones. The Native Flame colt pulled on the reins, bending backward when he found resistant. Ripley glanced over with concerned eyes. She had to let him go. Ripley glanced back down at Mastermind. Her colt was moving well within himself. He listened. Jabberwock didn't right now. This gradual workout wasn't cutting it.
Drop the idea Reese. Three furlongs, all out! Reese had never been more grateful in her life to hear those words come out of Ripley's mouth. She dropped the reins and Jabberwock put on a burst of speed even Mastermind could not match. The dark bay colt roared into the backstretch, mane and tail flying backwards. He'd been shot out of a canon and was rolling. Reese leaned close, blocking most of the icy wind from her amber gaze. His stride was expanding and he was storming up the course. Reese had zero control over him. He was full of fury that she'd helped to pen up inside his steam train of a body.
Ripley gawked in shock, as did Mastermind. The colt hadn't even had a realistic shot of running Jabber down. That move had been insane. Mastermind's ears flicked back in confusion. He twisted his neck anxiously as he galloped as if trying to convey through words what the problem was. Ripley shook her head and then shook the reins at him. The son of Speed Demon burst forward, gleaming like a bronze statue as he kicked into gear. Jabberwock was way up the track already, burying whatever demons he was trying to outrun. Her horse was a saint who guided gods to the finish. Ripley rubbed her hands along Mastermind's neck. Feeling the unfairness of the overall workout backfiring on her star two year old colt.
No worries Mastermind. It wasn't fair the moment I said Go. Mastermind tossed his head, whipping Ripley's face with his mane as if agreeing with her mistake. He bolted up the rail, scraping close to the metal, the stirrup ringing through the air over the track. He was brilliant in his own right. He was controlled. He was deadly. Jabberwock was a free horse. Mastermind knew exactly how to meld with the humans to get the perfect result. Ripley may not have beaten Jabberwock today due to an unfair match, but they would eventually. Ripley's eyes narrowed on the dark bay storming around the turn. And that was a fact.
She caught sight of Reese walking up and down the dirt track aboard Jabberwock. The large bay colt moved effortlessly over the course, stride engulfing everything in his wake. He was the vision of power and even from the distance Ripley had to say he commanded respect. And all this coming from a maiden colt. Brooks was holding the bridle of a fired up horse at the edge of the track from aboard The Devil's Touch. Ripley's two favorite horses were colliding and neither was content with the other. The auburn haired woman snorted as The Devil pinned her ears when Mastermind drew too close. The son of Speed Demon similarly pinned his ears, flashing his forelock back over his ears in irritation. He wanted none of this bruiser. Ripley raced down the hill, keen on keeping her footing. It would do no good if she got hurt before her most anticipated workout.
Reese caught sight of Ripley running and halted Jabber. The colt pricked his ears at her human form and stood in silence, tail waving over his butt. Reese ran a hand down his neck, feeling the muscle and power. She eyed Mastermind. She would be lying if she said she wasn't excited for this workout. Mastermind was one of the most eagerly awaited for colts in the division. When he ran everyone took notice. His seven race win record and his romping victories made you take notice. But what happens when a brilliant grade three colt takes on an equally brilliant maiden colt? Reese could not wait to answer this question. She was beyond sure that Jabberwock was the best horse she'd ridden at Witch Creek so far. Amid the horses she had ridden were Winning Touch, grade three, and Bella Luna, streaking with two wins. Both were special fillies, but this was a special colt and she would be apart of his career from the get go. Reese grinned when he danced sideways as Ripley reached Mastermind. The woman had the indecency to not even be out of breath. Reese loathed her with a passion. Ripley's fitness level was incredible for a thirty year old woman.
Ripley stuck her tongue out at Reese's hateful look. She kissed Brooks' cheek and leaped aboard her 16 hand colt. Mastermind instantly puffed himself up. Jabberwock stiffened beneath Reese, sensing that competition was about to brew. Mastermind's dark eyes swept over Jabberwock and Ripley was pleased. Mastermind had gotten over his intimidation problems just before his gritty dead heat with Tears of Blood in the Azalea Cup Colts. Now he was more than ready to handle this overbearing monster of a horse. Ripley grinned, patted the colt's muscular neck and guided him right on by Jabber.
Jabber called lovingly once to The Devil who swung around, unimpressed. She did not like the boys very much. Reese urged Jabber forward and the dark bay colt flashed her the evil eye over his shoulder. She hissed at him, a wild irritation coming to her throat. The colt pinned his ears, but moved off, casting a regretful glance The Devil's way. Once by that obstacle though, Mastermind was all that was on Jabberwock's brain. Reese was worried as well. She knew the kind of partnership Ripley had with the two year old. A partnership that melted down the difference between age and maturity and brought a level playing field.
Ripley stroked Mastermind's neck, talking to him in a high pitched girly voice. She was excited for this move. More than excited as a trainer, but excited as a fan as well. Mastermind was training brilliantly these days. He could handle two and a half mile gallops and nine furlong workouts. He was a creation that only came from the best of the best. He was showing more and more of his mother's raw ability and Ripley had to admit she was pretty darn excited for the next three seasons with the colt. The woman turned around and glanced at Jabberwock as he jogged up. He was a whole other story. The woman loved the colt. He was a bit of a wild card in her barn. He had tremendous talent, but he was getting a late training start. There was no way he'd make the Breeders Cup and nowhere to even run him. But if Reese was right and if Ripley's eyes hadn't been lying to her, Jabberwock was going to create more than a few stirs next season.
Reese stroked a hand down the puffed up colt's mane. He was full of himself today. He bowed his neck and pranced along, moving quietly yet moving like a canon about to explode. He was something out of this world. Reese wasn't worried for this particular workout. She didn't have anything to worry about when she was riding the big gun. What's your plan Ripley? Seeing as you always have to have a plan? Ripley glared at the caramel-colored woman. So far my plans have never failed except when I've wanted them to. Reese nodded, knowing that the auburn woman was speaking of her sabbatical away from the racing scene. As much as Reese wanted to hold it against her, she just couldn't.
We'll go a mile gallop with a six furlong workout. After a half mile we'll start quickening. I want every furlong faster than the last. A gradual increase of speed and pressure to build up stamina. Ripley was excited to try this workout out. It was a new one, but she thought it might help all of her horses in the long run. And who better to try it on then a grade three two year old and a barely trained maiden three year old. Reese nodded in agreement, knowing where Ripley was going with her plans. The woman had clever tendencies. Sounds fine to me.
The women asked their horses for a good solid gallop to start with. Jabber and Mastermind moved as one along the clubhouse turn. Their chestnut and dark bay frames gleamed in the late sunlight. Jabber towered over Mastermind on the outside, his rumbling body a shadow to his younger counterpart. Mastermind was not threatened in the least. He bowed his head and strode out, knees lifting strongly. He was a king at Witch Creek. Jabberwock had just joined and had no right to just simply come and take over. El Sol del Mar's son was full of light tonight. Ripley could feel his happiness. The copper son of Speed Demon had grown happier as the year went on. He liked a little more affection these days than he used to and played a little less tricks on the staff. He was content. He moved his lips over the bit, big eyes taking in his surroundings.
While Mastermind was going on a vacation until October Week Three, Jabberwock was going to turn into a major project of Ripley and Reese's. He was going to be the Frankenstein of the horse world. And right around the right time. Halloween was on its way. Reese grinned at her playful thoughts. She felt as if she were mellowing out around Ripley. It bothered her only a little bit. Reese glanced over at Ripley. The head trainer's hands were gripping Mastermind's reins as if she were fighting with herself. Her knuckles were white and Mastermind looked a little tense. Reese pursed her lips, concerned for a second. She turned away and then turned back. Both horse and rider appeared content once again. Strange.
Ripley sighed, leaning into Mastermind's withers as they cruised into the backstretch. His elegant body covered the ground swiftly, fluidly. He was beautiful in motion. A God's prized possession. The auburn haired woman was so proud of him, so proud of what he had accomplished in this short time. Here he was competing against the best of the best, competing against a maiden who had the world at his hooves. Mastermind was already establishing himself as a top caliber horse. Ripley could not be more happy with her training career.
The horses swallowed the ground up quickly, their strides maintaining a relaxed rhythm for the first half mile. Mastermind and Jabberwock were well into themselves at the moment. Their ears bobbed, their mouths moved. They didn't ask for more, didn't have to at the moment. They couldn't sense what Ripley and Reese's intentions were for today's exercise. They never had done what was to come before. Ripley perched like a delicate bird, playing with Mastermind's brilliantly colored mane. They would show Jabberwock just what exactly he had to look forward to in the next couple years.
Reese could sense a growing excitement in the pair next to her. Mastermind was waking up. His ears were suddenly zeroed in on the ground ahead of him, his neck muscles were tensed, his stride had lengthened for a few seconds. Ripley hadn't budged an inch. Suddenly, the light went out from Mastermind. He settled once again, a golden aura surrounding him. Reese and Jabberwock were about to play with molten fire. Jabberwock tossed his head, shaking the leather reins as they scooted into the first portion of the second half-mile gallop. Reese followed Ripley's directions to a tee, only allowing a little rein to slip between her tanned fingers. Jabber took up the slack instantly, flinging his legs out like a war horse running into battle. Reese found herself locked in a brief battle of wills that only grew worse due to Mastermind.
The colt was a sunburst of speed up the inside rail. Jabber pulled violently on the metal bit in order to keep up. Reese had to let him out one more notch. Jabber flew by Mastermind, but only because Mastermind had been reined in again, quick as the snap of Ripley's fingers. Reese gritted her teeth. With tricks like that, God knew how Ripley could be beat. The woman was a witch. A few more strides and Jabber was calmer than before. Mastermind's competitive presence was what fueled his fires. Reese now knew why Ripley had chosen Mastermind. No horse, except possibly Freeze, could just kick on and off. He was literally the perfect partner for a horse that had no controls quite yet.
The horses picked up energy as they moved into the far turn, accustomed to moving at this specific time. At least Mastermind was anyway. The bay and the chestnut were nose and nose, eyeing one another ferociously. Mastermind stood strong when Jabber moved in on him briefly. Ripley smiled with pleasure. A much better reaction than his usual duck-out. She stroked his neck, grinning. Good boy Mastermind! Both horses flicked their ears at the happy tone and relaxed a little. Reese nodded, taking note. Talking slowed Jabber.
Jabber wasn't even giving it to Mastermind. The big bay was moving quite easily on those mile long legs of his. His thick body swept over the dirt, the picture of pure domination. Reese moved her hands along his neck, not trying to stir him up and trying to keep zero movement on the bit. Jabber hated the bit being touched with a passion. The three year old took it as a sign to run his brains out and escape whatever was bothering him. Reese could feel him tense even at the simple movements of patting his neck. She sighed. It was hard to sit still on a horse that was so full of energy.
A merciless smile spread across Ripley's pink lips. Mastermind had the aura at the moment of a power house sitting on go. And now he had until October Third before he ran again. She shook her head. Unbelievable. A keg of dynamite just sitting in the barn. She glared, annoyed at the problem, and felt Mastermind tense up like a coil about to snap. She shook the reins as they passed through the second half-mile and let him go. Mastermind surged forward as if his hooves had been lit on fire. He stormed up the track, momentarily stunning the larger Jabberwock.
As soon as the surprise had taken hold of Jabberwock, Reese was off shouting her head off. Darn it! Ripley just knew when the moment to strike was. Jabber wasn't used to this kind of competition just yet, cursing Ripley, Reese was just about to push on Jabber when the bay suddenly flew forward. Reese clung to black mane, saving herself from flying off of the back of this Native Flame colt. He launched himself across the dirt surface. Reese's eyes filled with icy tears as they flew. He was something else this colt. He could create natural disasters with his kick. Reese startled when she realized that Mastermind was now alongside them when he'd been a good four lengths better just three seconds ago. Ripley gritted her teeth at the same realization. Mastermind flicked his ears. He wasn't at full boost just yet.
Jabberwock shut down once he reached Mastermind. Reese sighed in relief. She'd yet to figure out how to get him to turn off that particular switch. He was brutally fast. Not out of control really, just scary. He stayed alongside Mastermind who was more in tune with Ripley's wanted workout. The eagle eyed chestnut was doing just as she wanted, gradually picking up the burning gallop. Ripley kept her hands light on his neck, green eyes shimmering behind her goggles which she'd wrapped around her neck before coming home.
Mastermind bounded along, stretching out with ears still pricked. He was on auto-pilot and keeping a very watchful eye on Jabber. He knew he was in control over the older horse. It made him tougher, but not unrealistic. He did not toe out of his path, knowing the rules. He knew he was not supposed to rough and tumble with the others. His elegant chestnut body always seemed to be too delicate to entangle in those sorts of tumbles that his stable mates enjoyed. Ripley couldn't risk him injuring himself in that way. She murmured to him, tossing out some more line which he gobbled up quite willingly.
The pair encircled the clubhouse turn, speed nearing the racing run. Jabber was becoming more and more hot headed. Reese knew he could blow by Mastermind at the moment. Felt it in her bones. The Native Flame colt pulled on the reins, bending backward when he found resistant. Ripley glanced over with concerned eyes. She had to let him go. Ripley glanced back down at Mastermind. Her colt was moving well within himself. He listened. Jabberwock didn't right now. This gradual workout wasn't cutting it.
Drop the idea Reese. Three furlongs, all out! Reese had never been more grateful in her life to hear those words come out of Ripley's mouth. She dropped the reins and Jabberwock put on a burst of speed even Mastermind could not match. The dark bay colt roared into the backstretch, mane and tail flying backwards. He'd been shot out of a canon and was rolling. Reese leaned close, blocking most of the icy wind from her amber gaze. His stride was expanding and he was storming up the course. Reese had zero control over him. He was full of fury that she'd helped to pen up inside his steam train of a body.
Ripley gawked in shock, as did Mastermind. The colt hadn't even had a realistic shot of running Jabber down. That move had been insane. Mastermind's ears flicked back in confusion. He twisted his neck anxiously as he galloped as if trying to convey through words what the problem was. Ripley shook her head and then shook the reins at him. The son of Speed Demon burst forward, gleaming like a bronze statue as he kicked into gear. Jabberwock was way up the track already, burying whatever demons he was trying to outrun. Her horse was a saint who guided gods to the finish. Ripley rubbed her hands along Mastermind's neck. Feeling the unfairness of the overall workout backfiring on her star two year old colt.
No worries Mastermind. It wasn't fair the moment I said Go. Mastermind tossed his head, whipping Ripley's face with his mane as if agreeing with her mistake. He bolted up the rail, scraping close to the metal, the stirrup ringing through the air over the track. He was brilliant in his own right. He was controlled. He was deadly. Jabberwock was a free horse. Mastermind knew exactly how to meld with the humans to get the perfect result. Ripley may not have beaten Jabberwock today due to an unfair match, but they would eventually. Ripley's eyes narrowed on the dark bay storming around the turn. And that was a fact.