January Week One
In Front & Dirty Diana.
Calamity Queen & Night Goddess & The Devil's Hourglass.
Casualty Of War & Call Me Crooked.
Saintly Touch & Sun King.
Taboo & Nirvana.
Calamity Queen & Night Goddess & The Devil's Hourglass.
Casualty Of War & Call Me Crooked.
Saintly Touch & Sun King.
Taboo & Nirvana.
Challenger
If there is one thing you ever do, Laura admonished, you never forget a closer. They're always coming Brooks. They are the worst nightmare for a jockey who thinks she is home free. I don't care what you say, I'm telling you that Dirty Diana may be the most potent runner in the barn. Brooks' gaze swept over the fierce light in Laura's eyes. No one could doubt Laura's passion for her mounts. Or her loyalty, misguided or not. He rolled his shoulders, ready to get to work in Year Fourteen. The first workouts were set to begin over the dirt track. For the first time, Witch Creek's dirt runners were going to be as numerous as their turf runners. Brooks could hardly wait. While Frozen Motion had been his key turf mount, Brooks' heart rested with the dirt runners.
And he had a special one occupying his mind.
The colt had been at Witch Creek for three weeks having been shipped from Valkyrie Stable in the middle of December. Brooks had been itching to break the colt out from Ripley's contained gallops for those three weeks, but the boss was the boss. He could not go against her, especially knowing that Ripley usually had the best plans and the best results. It hadn't made waiting any less easy. Brooks lifted his blue gaze up from his hands which were covered in drying mud. The sight that greeted him made Brooks' tingle in excitement and anticipation. The first son of Witch Creek's foundation stallion Touch Up had come to Witch Creek at last.
Muscle rippled over muscle beneath dark brown hide which glinted from months of good care and conditioning. The chest of this colt was broad and veins stuck out as the horse vented his enthusiasm. He knew that getting tacked up meant that he would be running very soon. It didn't help that the first scents of spring were wafting in through the barn doors. Touch Up's son was eager to flex his winter-bored muscles. He dipped his small savage head, his wide blaze dripping like melting snow down his face. His nostrils flared like tea saucers taking in everything. What made the horse even more impressive was his grand height, a clear inheritance from his sire. Seventeen point three hands of muscle and raw power was nothing to sneeze at. Brooks stepped back, taking in a great breath at the grand picture of In Front.
He is a nice looking colt, Laura said. He just needed time to grow into himself. I think you just have to hope he wants to run. Unwillingness to cooperate runs in the genes. Brooks shook his head, trying to ignore the niggle of doubt. Ripley's three year old filly Hourglass, a grand-daughter of Touch Up, only ran willingly for Ripley. Brooks had nearly been a victim of that particular horse's unwillingness to cooperate. Touch Up had only won a single race, finishing miserably in all of the rest, before Ripley had decided to retire him. Luckily, Touch Up's propensity for speed passed on more often than his unwillingness. Brooks had fueled Ripley's interest in the big bay colt ever since Intrepid had sold him to Oak Hill Farm. When the opportunity to buy him came up, Brooks had nagged Ripley incessantly to get first jump on the animal.
Something about the horse screamed champion. Brooks wanted to be apart of the journey. How fitting would it be for Witch Creek to guide the first son of Touch Up, their foundation sire, into the winner's circle on Kentucky Derby day? Brooks rested a hand on the quivering nostrils, noting the interest and eagerness that flickered in the three year old's eyes. In Front was the horse. It was just a matter of getting there. He'd only won a single race as a two year old, but like Laura had questioned: how much of that was a product of being too clumsy on his hooves?
Whiskers flipped up and down Laura's arm as her gaze swallowed In Front whole. She turned around to find the bright, devilish eyes of Dirty Diana boring into her. The gray mare looked like a motorcycle, strong and muscular in the front and lean and mean in the back. Her dapples glimmered in the early morning light and she was the picture of health. Where most of the barn was looking for rest after a long Breeders' Cup weekend, Dirty Diana, who had also run in December Week Four, was looking for more of a challenge. The gray miss had been hard to handle ever since her third place finish in the Lifelong Derby behind Lucky Silver and Top Admiral. Laura could not wait to get her out on the dirt track. She'd been a nuisance for long enough.
Ripley walked out of the office, clipboard in hand, nodding with guarded eyes at the two horses. Alright, time to get up. We're looking for a good, strong workout today from both of them. In Front hasn't run since the beginning of October. Diana... well she just needs to lose a little bit of energy. Plan on running them this Saturday or next Wednesday so after today we're two minute licking a mile up until their races. Diana will canter a mile the morning of her race. In Front will stay in the barn.
Brooks watched Ripley as she ran hands down each horses' legs. The colt and filly were as strong and sturdy, their legs ice cold. In Front cocked a hand hoof in utter relaxation, so at ease in his new home. Diana fidgeted, dancing from hoof to hoof. Laura stroked the mare's neck. She's as frisky as one of the two year olds. Ripley nodded, grinning. Diana was never a dull horse.
The riders mounted up, following Ripley down the path to the dirt track. Malcolm was walking a pair of yearlings, a lean black filly and a muscular bay colt, up the path. Ripley paused to run a hand down the bay colt's neck. Hey Uno, you brute. The colt shook his head, staring at Ripley with affection despite his irritable movements. Mal you coming down later for the two year old workouts?
Wouldn't miss 'em. Ripley nodded with a smile, sidestepped the trio and continued on her way. The track opened up in front of her, a large stadium for the Witch Creek horses to play on. This track had seen the development of champions and this year it would see even more. It would all begin with In Front and Dirty Diana. Gallop them a mile and work them five furlongs. Emphasize speed down the homestretch. Brooks make In Front stick with Diana until the start of the workout.
Laura and Brooks nodded, nudging the colt and mare into a canter-gallop up the homestretch. The spring breeze brought the smell of rain and damp earth. It played with the manes of the horses as they moved effortlessly over the track. Di ran with her head low, running beautifully with long strides. Laura barely had to do anything to keep Dirty Diana going. She just galloped at a consistently impressive pace, used to the Witch Creek standard. Laura kept her hands light, steady on the reins. One move could have the energetic mare bursting. It was nice to be on a crackerjack of a mare. Laura knew that their partnership would lift off in Year Fourteen. She had a way with four year olds it seemed.
Now this had to be what Justin felt every time he climbed aboard his mammoth stallion Hokum. God, In Front was just built. He thrummed over the track, a steady beating drum that seemed to echo ominously in the peaceful environment. He kept his head level to his shoulders, each stride a masterpiece in length and power. Brooks could lean close to this horse, seeing everything there was to see on the racetrack. In Front's bright eyes scoured the area, engulfed Dirty Diana as though she could run off at any moment. The three year old had been galloping with the mare for a week. Somehow he knew that today was different.
The pair galloped strongly head and head down the backstretch, pacing one another with the ease of partnership. Brooks and Laura sat chilly, allowing the horses to flex their muscles without any urging. In Front kept a measured nose in front, always holding Diana at bay. He did not want the mare thinking that she could get the better of him. Diana, always content, could have cared less if he lead or if she lead. She was just content to be running.
The brisk pace saw the colt and mare running into the homestretch in a matter of minutes. Ripley was pleased to see In Front doing well with Dirty Diana on his outside. Granted, the gray mare wasn't truly applying much pressure, but the larger colt had a tendency to get shy running along the rail. She made some notes, listening to the steady rhythm of galloping hooves. It was such a good sound, so controlled and wild at the same time. Her green eyes sparked with her passion as the pair rounded into the backstretch.
In Front grew stronger heading up the backstretch a second time. His stride and speed increased until Dirty Diana was actually having to put up effort into keeping up. The big bay colt snorted, bowing his neck ever so slightly as if he was proud of his own strength. Brooks was extremely confident in this particular horse. At any moment it seemed In Front could tap into a well of power and just throw down the gauntlet. And the exciting part was Brooks could perfect the most effective move because of how tactical this horse was.
He glanced under his arm, noted that Dirty Diana was now running a length and half behind them. Laura was clearly not sending signals to catch up just yet. He returned his gaze to the front, a couple more strides and the workout would begin. Laura snickered at Brooks when he turned his attention to the front. He didn't believe in Diana. Few people did. Few people had believed in Whipped Cream and Feline Frenzy either, but she'd shown them. You could never underestimate an older mare, just like you could never underestimate an older stallion. She was sitting on a stick of dynamite about to blow up. Laura twined her fingers around the mare's soft gray strands, feeling her excitement travel down the leather reins. Di's ears pinned to her neck, her muscles bunching as if she could just leap after In Front and catch him.
Adrenaline rushed through Brooks' body the minute he said go. In Front launched off of his hind end, motoring over the ground with the power of a Ferrari. Brooks swallowed his half-crazed laugh, shook his hands free of the colt's neck. In Front surged over the dirt, kicking up clumps of dirt and dust in his wake. His hooves pelleted the air with thunderous sounds, his great body hurtling through space. Here was a good three year old colt in need of conditioning and training. That was all. His talent was much the best. A dismal two year old season had forced In Front under the radar, but Brooks was betting by the time May rolled around that his name would be well-known.
Laura did not hit the oh-shit button just yet. In Front had surged away from them with all of the confidence and energy in the world. Dirty Diana had nearly ripped the reins through Laura's gloved hands in an effort to follow him. She'd gritted her teeth, settled in and begged Diana to just give it a little more time. There was more ground to run. The entire length of the homestretch awaited them. Yet, the hoofbeats bore into Laura's brain incessantly. In Front was not going to be the easy target that Ripley had imagined. With a frustrated cry, Laura flung the reins down onto her mare's neck, just managing to cling to the waving gray mane. Dirty Diana flew off of the turn, strides expanding to maximum efficiency and length. She streamed down the stretch, tail flying out behind her like a long cape.
Brooks glanced under his arm, blue eyes widening when Dirty Diana roared within striking distance. In Front's ears fell flat to his unruly black mane when she reached his hip. The colt and mare rumbled over the course, the sound like gunshots in the ears of the man and woman. Neither urged their mount forward. The thrill of this ride was beyond anything they'd expected for the first workout of Year Fourteen. Together, the horses soared beneath the wire, bodies spread to full length. In Front passed a half-length before his older counterpart. Not to be outdone, the gray mare kept on going, passing him three jumps after the wire.
Brooks stood in the saddle, patting In Front's neck enthusiastically. If he could get the colt showing results on the track perhaps Brooks would be back in the Kentucky Derby this year. The goal seemed more reachable than before. In Front was gunning toward stardom. Laura was thinking the same thought as Diana danced easily through her lonely furlong. A mistimed move had caused defeat today, but Laura could not forget the surge of brilliance as Diana had made up an ocean of distance down the stretch.
And he had a special one occupying his mind.
The colt had been at Witch Creek for three weeks having been shipped from Valkyrie Stable in the middle of December. Brooks had been itching to break the colt out from Ripley's contained gallops for those three weeks, but the boss was the boss. He could not go against her, especially knowing that Ripley usually had the best plans and the best results. It hadn't made waiting any less easy. Brooks lifted his blue gaze up from his hands which were covered in drying mud. The sight that greeted him made Brooks' tingle in excitement and anticipation. The first son of Witch Creek's foundation stallion Touch Up had come to Witch Creek at last.
Muscle rippled over muscle beneath dark brown hide which glinted from months of good care and conditioning. The chest of this colt was broad and veins stuck out as the horse vented his enthusiasm. He knew that getting tacked up meant that he would be running very soon. It didn't help that the first scents of spring were wafting in through the barn doors. Touch Up's son was eager to flex his winter-bored muscles. He dipped his small savage head, his wide blaze dripping like melting snow down his face. His nostrils flared like tea saucers taking in everything. What made the horse even more impressive was his grand height, a clear inheritance from his sire. Seventeen point three hands of muscle and raw power was nothing to sneeze at. Brooks stepped back, taking in a great breath at the grand picture of In Front.
He is a nice looking colt, Laura said. He just needed time to grow into himself. I think you just have to hope he wants to run. Unwillingness to cooperate runs in the genes. Brooks shook his head, trying to ignore the niggle of doubt. Ripley's three year old filly Hourglass, a grand-daughter of Touch Up, only ran willingly for Ripley. Brooks had nearly been a victim of that particular horse's unwillingness to cooperate. Touch Up had only won a single race, finishing miserably in all of the rest, before Ripley had decided to retire him. Luckily, Touch Up's propensity for speed passed on more often than his unwillingness. Brooks had fueled Ripley's interest in the big bay colt ever since Intrepid had sold him to Oak Hill Farm. When the opportunity to buy him came up, Brooks had nagged Ripley incessantly to get first jump on the animal.
Something about the horse screamed champion. Brooks wanted to be apart of the journey. How fitting would it be for Witch Creek to guide the first son of Touch Up, their foundation sire, into the winner's circle on Kentucky Derby day? Brooks rested a hand on the quivering nostrils, noting the interest and eagerness that flickered in the three year old's eyes. In Front was the horse. It was just a matter of getting there. He'd only won a single race as a two year old, but like Laura had questioned: how much of that was a product of being too clumsy on his hooves?
Whiskers flipped up and down Laura's arm as her gaze swallowed In Front whole. She turned around to find the bright, devilish eyes of Dirty Diana boring into her. The gray mare looked like a motorcycle, strong and muscular in the front and lean and mean in the back. Her dapples glimmered in the early morning light and she was the picture of health. Where most of the barn was looking for rest after a long Breeders' Cup weekend, Dirty Diana, who had also run in December Week Four, was looking for more of a challenge. The gray miss had been hard to handle ever since her third place finish in the Lifelong Derby behind Lucky Silver and Top Admiral. Laura could not wait to get her out on the dirt track. She'd been a nuisance for long enough.
Ripley walked out of the office, clipboard in hand, nodding with guarded eyes at the two horses. Alright, time to get up. We're looking for a good, strong workout today from both of them. In Front hasn't run since the beginning of October. Diana... well she just needs to lose a little bit of energy. Plan on running them this Saturday or next Wednesday so after today we're two minute licking a mile up until their races. Diana will canter a mile the morning of her race. In Front will stay in the barn.
Brooks watched Ripley as she ran hands down each horses' legs. The colt and filly were as strong and sturdy, their legs ice cold. In Front cocked a hand hoof in utter relaxation, so at ease in his new home. Diana fidgeted, dancing from hoof to hoof. Laura stroked the mare's neck. She's as frisky as one of the two year olds. Ripley nodded, grinning. Diana was never a dull horse.
The riders mounted up, following Ripley down the path to the dirt track. Malcolm was walking a pair of yearlings, a lean black filly and a muscular bay colt, up the path. Ripley paused to run a hand down the bay colt's neck. Hey Uno, you brute. The colt shook his head, staring at Ripley with affection despite his irritable movements. Mal you coming down later for the two year old workouts?
Wouldn't miss 'em. Ripley nodded with a smile, sidestepped the trio and continued on her way. The track opened up in front of her, a large stadium for the Witch Creek horses to play on. This track had seen the development of champions and this year it would see even more. It would all begin with In Front and Dirty Diana. Gallop them a mile and work them five furlongs. Emphasize speed down the homestretch. Brooks make In Front stick with Diana until the start of the workout.
Laura and Brooks nodded, nudging the colt and mare into a canter-gallop up the homestretch. The spring breeze brought the smell of rain and damp earth. It played with the manes of the horses as they moved effortlessly over the track. Di ran with her head low, running beautifully with long strides. Laura barely had to do anything to keep Dirty Diana going. She just galloped at a consistently impressive pace, used to the Witch Creek standard. Laura kept her hands light, steady on the reins. One move could have the energetic mare bursting. It was nice to be on a crackerjack of a mare. Laura knew that their partnership would lift off in Year Fourteen. She had a way with four year olds it seemed.
Now this had to be what Justin felt every time he climbed aboard his mammoth stallion Hokum. God, In Front was just built. He thrummed over the track, a steady beating drum that seemed to echo ominously in the peaceful environment. He kept his head level to his shoulders, each stride a masterpiece in length and power. Brooks could lean close to this horse, seeing everything there was to see on the racetrack. In Front's bright eyes scoured the area, engulfed Dirty Diana as though she could run off at any moment. The three year old had been galloping with the mare for a week. Somehow he knew that today was different.
The pair galloped strongly head and head down the backstretch, pacing one another with the ease of partnership. Brooks and Laura sat chilly, allowing the horses to flex their muscles without any urging. In Front kept a measured nose in front, always holding Diana at bay. He did not want the mare thinking that she could get the better of him. Diana, always content, could have cared less if he lead or if she lead. She was just content to be running.
The brisk pace saw the colt and mare running into the homestretch in a matter of minutes. Ripley was pleased to see In Front doing well with Dirty Diana on his outside. Granted, the gray mare wasn't truly applying much pressure, but the larger colt had a tendency to get shy running along the rail. She made some notes, listening to the steady rhythm of galloping hooves. It was such a good sound, so controlled and wild at the same time. Her green eyes sparked with her passion as the pair rounded into the backstretch.
In Front grew stronger heading up the backstretch a second time. His stride and speed increased until Dirty Diana was actually having to put up effort into keeping up. The big bay colt snorted, bowing his neck ever so slightly as if he was proud of his own strength. Brooks was extremely confident in this particular horse. At any moment it seemed In Front could tap into a well of power and just throw down the gauntlet. And the exciting part was Brooks could perfect the most effective move because of how tactical this horse was.
He glanced under his arm, noted that Dirty Diana was now running a length and half behind them. Laura was clearly not sending signals to catch up just yet. He returned his gaze to the front, a couple more strides and the workout would begin. Laura snickered at Brooks when he turned his attention to the front. He didn't believe in Diana. Few people did. Few people had believed in Whipped Cream and Feline Frenzy either, but she'd shown them. You could never underestimate an older mare, just like you could never underestimate an older stallion. She was sitting on a stick of dynamite about to blow up. Laura twined her fingers around the mare's soft gray strands, feeling her excitement travel down the leather reins. Di's ears pinned to her neck, her muscles bunching as if she could just leap after In Front and catch him.
Adrenaline rushed through Brooks' body the minute he said go. In Front launched off of his hind end, motoring over the ground with the power of a Ferrari. Brooks swallowed his half-crazed laugh, shook his hands free of the colt's neck. In Front surged over the dirt, kicking up clumps of dirt and dust in his wake. His hooves pelleted the air with thunderous sounds, his great body hurtling through space. Here was a good three year old colt in need of conditioning and training. That was all. His talent was much the best. A dismal two year old season had forced In Front under the radar, but Brooks was betting by the time May rolled around that his name would be well-known.
Laura did not hit the oh-shit button just yet. In Front had surged away from them with all of the confidence and energy in the world. Dirty Diana had nearly ripped the reins through Laura's gloved hands in an effort to follow him. She'd gritted her teeth, settled in and begged Diana to just give it a little more time. There was more ground to run. The entire length of the homestretch awaited them. Yet, the hoofbeats bore into Laura's brain incessantly. In Front was not going to be the easy target that Ripley had imagined. With a frustrated cry, Laura flung the reins down onto her mare's neck, just managing to cling to the waving gray mane. Dirty Diana flew off of the turn, strides expanding to maximum efficiency and length. She streamed down the stretch, tail flying out behind her like a long cape.
Brooks glanced under his arm, blue eyes widening when Dirty Diana roared within striking distance. In Front's ears fell flat to his unruly black mane when she reached his hip. The colt and mare rumbled over the course, the sound like gunshots in the ears of the man and woman. Neither urged their mount forward. The thrill of this ride was beyond anything they'd expected for the first workout of Year Fourteen. Together, the horses soared beneath the wire, bodies spread to full length. In Front passed a half-length before his older counterpart. Not to be outdone, the gray mare kept on going, passing him three jumps after the wire.
Brooks stood in the saddle, patting In Front's neck enthusiastically. If he could get the colt showing results on the track perhaps Brooks would be back in the Kentucky Derby this year. The goal seemed more reachable than before. In Front was gunning toward stardom. Laura was thinking the same thought as Diana danced easily through her lonely furlong. A mistimed move had caused defeat today, but Laura could not forget the surge of brilliance as Diana had made up an ocean of distance down the stretch.
one good look
The first workout had been a roaring success to say the least. The big blaze-faced bay and sassy gray-roan were being cooled out in the yard by their riders. Ripley nodded in approval at the sight. Neither of them seemed particularly overworked or hot. In fact, In Front had cooled out marvelously and looked like he could go right back out to the racetrack. Di paused momentarily in her tracks, ears pricked at the entrance to the main racing barn. Ripley turned, a small smile touching her lips at the sight of the three horses coming from the barn.
Calamity Queen pranced, head tucked nearly to her chin, eyes blazing with fire and fury. Her muscles rippled beneath her dark coat. It looked as though the Breeders' Cup run had taken very little out of the powerful daughter of Royal Assault. Maggie was quick to swing up on the mare's back, patting her neck in approval when the bay simply stood. Queenie sent a furious glance in Dirty Diana's direction. She pinned her ears, cocked a hoof, letting the other mare know her presence wasn't welcome. Di stood, legs apart, eyes wide like a starstruck fan until Laura shook the reins and moved her on her way.
There was a new horse on the block to start Year Fourteen. Ripley tucked her hand into her pockets, sighed at the beauty of this next mare. Night Goddess, grandly bred daughter of Grand Silence and Luscia, a sister to a Breeders' Cup Turf winner and a Hall of Famer. Nick Landing would take over training for the black beauty come June, but until then, Ripley Marsh would revel in training this horse. Witch Creek also had a Grand Silence yearling and Ripley was eager to just how Grand Silence babies trained. Justin patted the mare's dark nose, pride glinting in his eyes. He felt overjoyed at the idea of riding another turf mare. His girl, Dazzling Dame, had retired to broodmare duty, and Night Goddess would be a solid fix for his sorrow. The mare nickered, eyes bright, more interested in her environment than the pesky boy holding her face. I'll win you over someday, Goddess. And then it'll be too late.
The sound of clanging horseshoes announced the arrival of Ripley's mount. Kendall, a sweet-hearted girl that Ripley had met last fall, led The Devil's Hourglass out of the barn. Now here was a horse that Ripley could feel unswerving love and pride for. Hourglass stopped the instant she was led into the sunlight, ears pricked, twin towers of interest. Her eyes glittered with a fierce light and her muscles quivered from the tension. She was one win away from Grade Two, her last win coming over the boys in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile Turf. Ripley had loved the power of Hourglass' stretch kick. She could hardly wait to get her back in training. She was taller than her dam at this point, not as muscled in some places, but the engine that was her rear end still clearly emitted strength.
Ripley thanked Kendall, patted Hourglass' thick neck and swung aboard. She grinned when the three year old filly lifted off the earth in a show of a half-rear. While Hourglass was the champion distance filly, she didn't necessarily enjoy having a rider on her back. She knew the purpose was to get her to run, but she felt she could do well enough on her own. Ripley turned the bay charger, nodding to Justin and Maggie. Queenie, long since used to the tactics of her younger stablemate, simply turned away with a snort. Night Goddess seemed fascinated, her sleek frame rippling with tension, her nostrils flared. Justin patted her neck. This one was not as intimidating as Dazzling Dame. Dame would have lit into Hourglass, having learned to be the boss from none other than head mare Screaming Mimi.
You'll learn though. The mares here are just as rough and tough as the boys. And that's a fact. Maggie flashed him an amused glance, excited by the swagger she felt in Calamity Queen. The bay mare had fought an uphill battle against the likes of Flawed Princess and stable-mate Whipped Cream in the Breeders' Cup Filly and Mare Turf. She'd won the battle, but had lost the war. Maggie would get the mare from the beginning this season, would lose her in June. But by that point, Maggie wanted to know everything there was to know about CQ and what made her tick. CQ you've got as much temper and tricks as a rattle snake. But I've gotten you half figured out.
So Ripley, Justin called from behind her. What's the game plan today? Hourglass strode onto the dirt course, head bowed and muscles pumping. Her black fore-lock and tail flipped arrogantly when she moved. Ripley barely heard Justin. Hourglass was showing signs of something else, something powerful and dark. Ripley wondered how much more Hourglass had yet to show her. Age was only going to be a benefit to this fascinating filly. She lifted her eyes up when Justin cantered Night Goddess by. The sleek black filly looked full of herself, her ribs flashing beneath her hide every now and again. She was the picture of pure athletic racehorse. Maggie winged Ripley a look as she nudged Calamity Queen into hand canter as well. So what exactly is the game plan?
Ripley didn't have to nudge Hourglass to pursue them, the filly just did. Her strides were long and strong, her gaze intense and dark. She was ready for this workout. Apparently a week break was more than she could take. The Sand Storm filly quickly caught up to the older horses, ears flicking over head. Ripley nodded. Gallop a mile. Breeze six furlongs. Speed is not key today. Stamina is. A little speed won't hurt them, but just remember that we have the whole year ahead of us. When the others nodded, Ripley directed Hourglass through the gap and onto the turf track.
She bolted, a lunge that would have knocked Ripley off her back if she hadn't been prepared. Hourglass was bloody fast and dangerous. It was clear that she wanted to teach these mares a lesson. Ripley flashed a smile under her arm. Justin was shaking his head, his jet black mare showing signs of fury at the sudden speed. Her hooves flashed beneath her, crow-hopping after the other two. Justin shook the reins, trying not to laugh at this short-tempered mare. Perhaps she was more like Dame than he'd originally thought.
Calamity Queen didn't have to be told twice that her enemy was The Devil's Hourglass. She bounded over the turf, leaping as if fighting the waves of an ocean. Her nostrils flared rapidly, in and out, and her gaze was lit with fire. Maggie kept her hands still, black mane weaved in between her fingers. The bay mare was the complete opposite of her dam who would have preferred to close into this speed. CQ wanted the lead or she wanted to be near the lead at all costs. Maggie loosened the rein when the Touch Up daughter settled in on Hourglass' outside. She seemed to sense that Hourglass was going pretty damn fast and to Maggie's surprise, stopped gaining once she reached Hourglass' barrel. Brains and beauty.
Night Goddess rated herself well behind the bay horses. Each stride was a picture of beauty and inner-talent. Her ears were pricked, locked on the horse's before her. Justin enjoyed the easy motion of her rhythm. This was a mare who knew exactly what she was good at. She was poised three lengths behind the swift front-runner and Hourglass, who seemed to not get the concept that she didn't have to work as hard here as she did in a race. It was strange to Justin that the three year old filly was such a speed ball in her workouts and so tactical in her races. He ran his hand down the sleek black's neck. She pressed into the pressure, but did not lose her striding.
Maggie and Ripley were side by side throughout the gallop even back into the far turn. Neither mare nor filly reached for any greater speed. They simply cruised along, rated in their own way. Neither rider moved aboard the back of her respective powerhouse. It was understood that movement would send either horse into a frenzy. Ripley's carefully planned breeze could go awry quickly. Hourglass maintained her half-length lead, collecting herself up around the turn and lengthening into the backstretch. Calamity Queen whipped off the turn, now a horse width away because of the centrifugal force. Maggie prayed the bay mare wouldn't simply explode, but was satisfied when she understood there was more to this than blitzing speed.
Justin's black miss simply glided behind the two. She'd gained a length, moving up when Queenie had charged around the turn. The sleek mare's ears were now flat against her neck, her eyes blazed. Justin knew that the black horse could sense an end to this workout. It was coming faster now with Ripley giving the signal to Hourglass to pick it up.
The burly three year old filly pushed powerfully off of her hind legs, hauling herself to a quicker speed. Ripley clung to her pulsing neck, eyes glinting from the power and joy of flying. This filly was a queen, a royal highness among paupers. Her blood boiled beneath her skin as the bay filly shook off her older counterpart. Maggie's blue eyes narrowed, pretending there was a target on Ripley's back. She just needed to bide her time. Queenie's eyes blazed as Hourglass pulled to a length and a quarter lead. The Touch Up mare was roiling with indignity. Oh she would explode when Maggie asked it of her.
Goddess' dished arab face tilted at the ensuing drama going on before her. She was a smart animal to take all of this in and not to get involved. Justin rubbed his hands on slim mare's neck, egging her to get partially into the gray. She took off with a promising turn of foot and in a matter of strides was locked in a battle with Calamity Queen. The two older mares were now in pursuit of the same target. Hourglass cut the corner sharply, her form burly, but agile and swift. Her lead change was perfectly time and had either rival jockey been watching instead of riding, they would have marveled over it.
Justin and Maggie lunged forward simultaneously. Now was the time to act. Hourglass was still in striking distance. Goddess' foot was quicker and the black mare rounded out of the turn, brushing Calamity Queen slightly, forcing that rival to be swift or go down. Maggie shouted furiously, angry at Justin for allowing such a move. Queenie shuffled her hooves beneath her and put all of Maggie's frustrations to rest. She surged up the rail, retaking the lead over Night Goddess and gaining her length lead back. Night Goddess raced tremendously up Hourglass' outside. She was not going to be bested by some fat shrimp of a three year old. Justin chuckled humbly as the black whirlwind surged to run head and head with The Devil's Hourglass. Calamity Queen roared up the rail and together the pair pressed in on Hourglass.
Talent was Hourglass' main trait, but so too was courage and a will to succeed. She bolted, brushing the savages off of her, muscling them now where they had muscled her before. Ripley's face lit up like a Christmas tree. Now this was a very good filly. Night Goddess and Hourglass passed through the wire dead even, give or take a centimeter. Calamity Queen pounded home a very nice third, a neck behind. She cantered out beyond them, Maggie patting the mare's neck. We all have to start somewhere Calamity Queen. Don't forget, not every couple's relationship starts with love at first sight. We're simply a work in progress girl.
Justin cantered Night Goddess around the turn, enjoying the gentle sway of stride. She was a wonderful mare and he was lucky to find such a good mount so soon after Dazzling Dame. He leaned close, kissed her neck and felt his heart spill over in love. The females always seemed to charm him so. Hourglass snorted fiercely, breaking down into a ground-swallowing trot. Her tail switched over her powerful rump and her muscles rippled as though they were just getting warmed up. Ripley patted her bullish filly's neck, so pleased. If Year Thirteen had been a preview, what would Year Fourteen look like for this marvelous granddaughter of Touch Up?
Calamity Queen pranced, head tucked nearly to her chin, eyes blazing with fire and fury. Her muscles rippled beneath her dark coat. It looked as though the Breeders' Cup run had taken very little out of the powerful daughter of Royal Assault. Maggie was quick to swing up on the mare's back, patting her neck in approval when the bay simply stood. Queenie sent a furious glance in Dirty Diana's direction. She pinned her ears, cocked a hoof, letting the other mare know her presence wasn't welcome. Di stood, legs apart, eyes wide like a starstruck fan until Laura shook the reins and moved her on her way.
There was a new horse on the block to start Year Fourteen. Ripley tucked her hand into her pockets, sighed at the beauty of this next mare. Night Goddess, grandly bred daughter of Grand Silence and Luscia, a sister to a Breeders' Cup Turf winner and a Hall of Famer. Nick Landing would take over training for the black beauty come June, but until then, Ripley Marsh would revel in training this horse. Witch Creek also had a Grand Silence yearling and Ripley was eager to just how Grand Silence babies trained. Justin patted the mare's dark nose, pride glinting in his eyes. He felt overjoyed at the idea of riding another turf mare. His girl, Dazzling Dame, had retired to broodmare duty, and Night Goddess would be a solid fix for his sorrow. The mare nickered, eyes bright, more interested in her environment than the pesky boy holding her face. I'll win you over someday, Goddess. And then it'll be too late.
The sound of clanging horseshoes announced the arrival of Ripley's mount. Kendall, a sweet-hearted girl that Ripley had met last fall, led The Devil's Hourglass out of the barn. Now here was a horse that Ripley could feel unswerving love and pride for. Hourglass stopped the instant she was led into the sunlight, ears pricked, twin towers of interest. Her eyes glittered with a fierce light and her muscles quivered from the tension. She was one win away from Grade Two, her last win coming over the boys in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile Turf. Ripley had loved the power of Hourglass' stretch kick. She could hardly wait to get her back in training. She was taller than her dam at this point, not as muscled in some places, but the engine that was her rear end still clearly emitted strength.
Ripley thanked Kendall, patted Hourglass' thick neck and swung aboard. She grinned when the three year old filly lifted off the earth in a show of a half-rear. While Hourglass was the champion distance filly, she didn't necessarily enjoy having a rider on her back. She knew the purpose was to get her to run, but she felt she could do well enough on her own. Ripley turned the bay charger, nodding to Justin and Maggie. Queenie, long since used to the tactics of her younger stablemate, simply turned away with a snort. Night Goddess seemed fascinated, her sleek frame rippling with tension, her nostrils flared. Justin patted her neck. This one was not as intimidating as Dazzling Dame. Dame would have lit into Hourglass, having learned to be the boss from none other than head mare Screaming Mimi.
You'll learn though. The mares here are just as rough and tough as the boys. And that's a fact. Maggie flashed him an amused glance, excited by the swagger she felt in Calamity Queen. The bay mare had fought an uphill battle against the likes of Flawed Princess and stable-mate Whipped Cream in the Breeders' Cup Filly and Mare Turf. She'd won the battle, but had lost the war. Maggie would get the mare from the beginning this season, would lose her in June. But by that point, Maggie wanted to know everything there was to know about CQ and what made her tick. CQ you've got as much temper and tricks as a rattle snake. But I've gotten you half figured out.
So Ripley, Justin called from behind her. What's the game plan today? Hourglass strode onto the dirt course, head bowed and muscles pumping. Her black fore-lock and tail flipped arrogantly when she moved. Ripley barely heard Justin. Hourglass was showing signs of something else, something powerful and dark. Ripley wondered how much more Hourglass had yet to show her. Age was only going to be a benefit to this fascinating filly. She lifted her eyes up when Justin cantered Night Goddess by. The sleek black filly looked full of herself, her ribs flashing beneath her hide every now and again. She was the picture of pure athletic racehorse. Maggie winged Ripley a look as she nudged Calamity Queen into hand canter as well. So what exactly is the game plan?
Ripley didn't have to nudge Hourglass to pursue them, the filly just did. Her strides were long and strong, her gaze intense and dark. She was ready for this workout. Apparently a week break was more than she could take. The Sand Storm filly quickly caught up to the older horses, ears flicking over head. Ripley nodded. Gallop a mile. Breeze six furlongs. Speed is not key today. Stamina is. A little speed won't hurt them, but just remember that we have the whole year ahead of us. When the others nodded, Ripley directed Hourglass through the gap and onto the turf track.
She bolted, a lunge that would have knocked Ripley off her back if she hadn't been prepared. Hourglass was bloody fast and dangerous. It was clear that she wanted to teach these mares a lesson. Ripley flashed a smile under her arm. Justin was shaking his head, his jet black mare showing signs of fury at the sudden speed. Her hooves flashed beneath her, crow-hopping after the other two. Justin shook the reins, trying not to laugh at this short-tempered mare. Perhaps she was more like Dame than he'd originally thought.
Calamity Queen didn't have to be told twice that her enemy was The Devil's Hourglass. She bounded over the turf, leaping as if fighting the waves of an ocean. Her nostrils flared rapidly, in and out, and her gaze was lit with fire. Maggie kept her hands still, black mane weaved in between her fingers. The bay mare was the complete opposite of her dam who would have preferred to close into this speed. CQ wanted the lead or she wanted to be near the lead at all costs. Maggie loosened the rein when the Touch Up daughter settled in on Hourglass' outside. She seemed to sense that Hourglass was going pretty damn fast and to Maggie's surprise, stopped gaining once she reached Hourglass' barrel. Brains and beauty.
Night Goddess rated herself well behind the bay horses. Each stride was a picture of beauty and inner-talent. Her ears were pricked, locked on the horse's before her. Justin enjoyed the easy motion of her rhythm. This was a mare who knew exactly what she was good at. She was poised three lengths behind the swift front-runner and Hourglass, who seemed to not get the concept that she didn't have to work as hard here as she did in a race. It was strange to Justin that the three year old filly was such a speed ball in her workouts and so tactical in her races. He ran his hand down the sleek black's neck. She pressed into the pressure, but did not lose her striding.
Maggie and Ripley were side by side throughout the gallop even back into the far turn. Neither mare nor filly reached for any greater speed. They simply cruised along, rated in their own way. Neither rider moved aboard the back of her respective powerhouse. It was understood that movement would send either horse into a frenzy. Ripley's carefully planned breeze could go awry quickly. Hourglass maintained her half-length lead, collecting herself up around the turn and lengthening into the backstretch. Calamity Queen whipped off the turn, now a horse width away because of the centrifugal force. Maggie prayed the bay mare wouldn't simply explode, but was satisfied when she understood there was more to this than blitzing speed.
Justin's black miss simply glided behind the two. She'd gained a length, moving up when Queenie had charged around the turn. The sleek mare's ears were now flat against her neck, her eyes blazed. Justin knew that the black horse could sense an end to this workout. It was coming faster now with Ripley giving the signal to Hourglass to pick it up.
The burly three year old filly pushed powerfully off of her hind legs, hauling herself to a quicker speed. Ripley clung to her pulsing neck, eyes glinting from the power and joy of flying. This filly was a queen, a royal highness among paupers. Her blood boiled beneath her skin as the bay filly shook off her older counterpart. Maggie's blue eyes narrowed, pretending there was a target on Ripley's back. She just needed to bide her time. Queenie's eyes blazed as Hourglass pulled to a length and a quarter lead. The Touch Up mare was roiling with indignity. Oh she would explode when Maggie asked it of her.
Goddess' dished arab face tilted at the ensuing drama going on before her. She was a smart animal to take all of this in and not to get involved. Justin rubbed his hands on slim mare's neck, egging her to get partially into the gray. She took off with a promising turn of foot and in a matter of strides was locked in a battle with Calamity Queen. The two older mares were now in pursuit of the same target. Hourglass cut the corner sharply, her form burly, but agile and swift. Her lead change was perfectly time and had either rival jockey been watching instead of riding, they would have marveled over it.
Justin and Maggie lunged forward simultaneously. Now was the time to act. Hourglass was still in striking distance. Goddess' foot was quicker and the black mare rounded out of the turn, brushing Calamity Queen slightly, forcing that rival to be swift or go down. Maggie shouted furiously, angry at Justin for allowing such a move. Queenie shuffled her hooves beneath her and put all of Maggie's frustrations to rest. She surged up the rail, retaking the lead over Night Goddess and gaining her length lead back. Night Goddess raced tremendously up Hourglass' outside. She was not going to be bested by some fat shrimp of a three year old. Justin chuckled humbly as the black whirlwind surged to run head and head with The Devil's Hourglass. Calamity Queen roared up the rail and together the pair pressed in on Hourglass.
Talent was Hourglass' main trait, but so too was courage and a will to succeed. She bolted, brushing the savages off of her, muscling them now where they had muscled her before. Ripley's face lit up like a Christmas tree. Now this was a very good filly. Night Goddess and Hourglass passed through the wire dead even, give or take a centimeter. Calamity Queen pounded home a very nice third, a neck behind. She cantered out beyond them, Maggie patting the mare's neck. We all have to start somewhere Calamity Queen. Don't forget, not every couple's relationship starts with love at first sight. We're simply a work in progress girl.
Justin cantered Night Goddess around the turn, enjoying the gentle sway of stride. She was a wonderful mare and he was lucky to find such a good mount so soon after Dazzling Dame. He leaned close, kissed her neck and felt his heart spill over in love. The females always seemed to charm him so. Hourglass snorted fiercely, breaking down into a ground-swallowing trot. Her tail switched over her powerful rump and her muscles rippled as though they were just getting warmed up. Ripley patted her bullish filly's neck, so pleased. If Year Thirteen had been a preview, what would Year Fourteen look like for this marvelous granddaughter of Touch Up?
off-kilter
Ripley walked out of the racing office, hair a wild mess around her head band. Water dripped from Ripley's chin, sweat beaded on her throat and chest. The last workout had gotten her adrenaline rushing. She would sit out for this next set, but immediately have to run back. It was a day that brightened everyone's lives. The first workouts for the juveniles and the first races in a couple of days. It was both exciting and nerve wracking. Anything could go wrong in the first juvenile races. A future champion might get slammed violently out of the gate and finish fourth, as Superntural had last year. Indian Darling, now an Intrepid runner, had been pinched between horses only mustering a sixth place finish in her maiden run. If the Kentucky Derby was the King of unpredictable, the juvenile races were a combined Queen.
She glanced down the barn row, nodded in approval at the sight of the full-bodied black colt. Casualty of War needed no introduction. Justin was at the horse's head, eyes shining with excitement. Justin would get his second Intrepid lined colt to tune up. Only this time, it would be straight from the beginning. Ripley patted his shoulder, moved past to rub the colt's legs. Ice cold and powerful. Just the right combination. They hadn't asked much of the Man O' War colt since his profound first gallop in November. Steady gallops increasing in distance were all this one needed, all any of the juveniles needed. Speed would come later, a week from now. Ripley would have her juveniles ready for anything. "He looks great Justin. Go on and hop up. You could probably walk him up and down the path. Malcolm will be down there if he acts up."
Maggie rolled her eyes and huffed as she was flung into Ripley's back. Ripley flashed a dirty look in the direction of her best friend, glanced beyond to see the blaze of Call Me Crooked. The bay filly twitched an ear, looked in the opposite direction as if she hadn't just caused a bunch of trouble. "Yeah we know you did it Crook. Can't hide it." Ripley grinned, ran a finger down the filly's square muzzle. This one was lightning in a jar. She was rough and tough and willing to tango. She had the best halves of both Crooked Fire and Royal Assault. And she was a minx to boot. She was the perfect mount for Maggie. And Maggie had been looking forward tot his week ever since the filly had been born.
"Alright guys. Since they're both tacked up, I guess we can all go down." Her gaze followed Sultan and Crook as they walked belligerently out of the barn, but her ears were tuned for something else. "Kendall!" A rustle in Saint's stall had Ripley turning. "Ah good. Would you please tack him up for me. Brooks will be along to take of King, so don't worry about him. I'll be back in a half-hour." The girl nodded, a smile spreading across her quiet face. Kendall was not one for words, however, there was no doubt Saint would be tacked and shined to perfection within a half-hour.
Sultan's eyes were full of fire as he set hoof on the dirt track. Mal wolf whistled in the powerful animal's direction. Justin flashed a grin, but was too busy to acknowledge Mal in another way. Sultan danced beneath him, shifting restlessly on his back end and shaking his head violently on the front end. Justin nudged the colt forward and received a well-executed buck. He clung to the black colt's shoulders, refusing to be thrown through the air. Sultan snorted, tossed his head irritably and strode on. Justin could tell that this was only going to be Phase One. He wondered if Hokum had been this naughty as an early two year old. Somehow, he didn't think so. Hokum was an in your face horse. He didn't tend toward tricks like this one. Sultan reminded Justin a lot of Dame. Perhaps they would learn to click just as well.
Crook could give Sultan lessons on how to be naughty and passive aggressive. The bay filly stomped furiously, squealing when Maggie nudged her to go forward. Her tail lashed over her rump, scouring Maggie's jeans. Maggie gritted her teeth at the lashing, blue eyes full of annoyance. She'd wanted to ride this filly hadn't she? Now she had a world of trouble on her hands. Crook lifted into a rear, pawing the air with a vengeance. Maggie slammed her down, nearly to be tossed over Crook's head when she responded with a buck. She heard a snicker from Malcolm at the rail, would have responded if Crook didn't bolt after Sultan, bucking like a fiend. "Oh! Enough missy." Maggie slammed her butt into the saddle, throwing her weight down and removing Crooks' rear end propulsion. The bay filly squealed mutinously, whinnying beseechingly after Sultan.
The black colt merely flicked his ears, cantering away from her. Justin stroked a hand down his mane. At least he wasn't distracted by damsels in fake-distress. He glanced under his arm, thrilled at seeing Maggie so put off. She'd been talking incessantly about how awesome Crook was going to be to ride. Apparently Crook didn't agree. She spun rapidly on her haunches, faced in the opposite direction. Maggie's eyes blazed with fury. "MALCOLM I THOUGHT YOU GAVE A RACEHORSE NOT A REINING HORSE!"
Malcolm was practically in hysterics, joined now by Ripley, Reese and Laura. Ripley shook her head, was controlled enough to keep her face shut and her amusement to her self. Maggie took a deep breath, guided the rein to the right and glared murderously when the bay filly turned as proud as can be back in the correct direction. Maggie stood in the saddle, muttering under her breath when the filly picked up the correct canter lead and followed Casualty of War into the turn. "Yeah... Think you're the class clown don't you?"
The stout bay filly easily caught up to Sultan who was more controllable than Justin had thought he would be. Crook snorted, flicking her ears as if she were telling Sultan what good fun she had just had. Sultan pinned his ears, not interested by the conversation at all. Justin grinned at Maggie's stony eyes. "Say nothing if you want to live Justin." She rolled her shoulders. "A mile and a quarter gallop. Four furlong blowout."
The horses picked up a gallop simultaneously. Sultan took the lead by a half-length, strides long and easy over the turf track that he gripped so easily. Justin did not waver at all in the saddle. Sultan was a bred in the bones long distance runner. He could run forever, tested or untested. He had a courageous strength in a race that more than made up for his dreadful attitude in the barn or on the track. Justin twined his fingers in the colt's black mane, a soft light coming to his head. It was a new beginning today. He would remember it forever.
The Crooked Fire daughter strode confidently at Sultan's side. Her brown eyes glinted with intelligence and only furthered Maggie's opinion that the filly knew exactly what kind of trouble she caused. She was a little spitfire, but Maggie could remember the world of speed beneath her in their first major breeze. It had been fantastic, well-measured and her spirit had leaned toward brave and fearless. That breeze had come against Sultan. It was only right that they take that colt on here, two months later.
Side by side the horses galloped around the turn and back into the homestretch. Casualty of War was still strong on the front, still holding Call Me Crooked at a bay. The blaze faced filly's ears were pinned flat to her head, her legs lifting high and with energy. She was full of the wild speed. Maggie was just a passenger in this portion of the workout. Her blue eyes lightened with every stride the filly took, impressed by racetrack attitude that Crook possessed. She knew how to relax and rate, something hard to teach a two year old without a race under her belt.
The pace picked up the instant Justin swung Sultan into the backstretch. The black gripped the bit, pinned his ears and pushed off with little warning other than that. He burned the earth beneath him with each speed-filled stride. Here was a colt who had an idea of what racing was all about. Either that or he had simply become impatient. Justin kept his hands quiet, his legs still and his eyes muted of passion. Any emotion would spark this flame into a wildfire. He glanced briefly to his right, saw that Crook had picked up the pace and now ran at Sultan's shoulder. The smaller filly was not going to be outdistanced by the effortlessly running animal beside her.
She's a blue-collar filly, thought Maggie. She tried so hard to achieve what came easy to Sultan because of his size. It was clear that Call Me Crooked still had some growing up to do, but she wasn't going to be put off by her size. She angled her body to get the best watch on Sultan, her eyes rimmed with wild white. Her head was low to her shoulders, making her look ominously threatening despite her shorter outline. Maggie wanted to clap her hands. She could deal with a diva on the ground, but in the saddle a hard-working horse is exactly what she wanted.
Sultan cruised through the final quarter, bolted rashly as if he knew it was time to run. Justin gritted his teeth as the bones in his hand ground together trying to keep a hold of whipping black mane. It was like being hurtled through space was what riding this colt was. He just moved like a black comet, streaking over the turf instead of through the sky. He was explosive and shocking and awe-inspiring all at once. Justin leaned close, yanked his goggles down to block the brutal wind. The black colt rounded into the turn, carried slightly by centrifugal force. He felt the colt stutter as he swept Call Me Crooked with him.
The bay miss erupted the minute Sultan brushed her. Maggie was thrown into absolute shock when Crook not only caught up to Sultan, she charged right on by him. Her strides were quick and all consuming, carrying her three paths wide into the homestretch. Ripley and Reese exchanged stunned looks when Crook stole to a length and a half lead. Her stout form was swept along by fierce legs. Maggie glanced under her arm as the filly poured it on, shook her head when Justin flicked Sultan from Crook's inside to her outside, turned back.
The filly had clearly made that move. Now Maggie was a sitting duck with a target on her back and a possibly tiring filly. The black charge beneath him thundered after her, making up rapid ground with great strides. His hooves echoed like cannon fire down the racetrack as he bore down on Call Me Crooked. The bay filly looked surprised to see her rival coming back at her, gritted her teeth and responded to the onslaught. Maggie and Justin were quiet as their mounts battled all the way down to the wire. Crook battled with bravery while Sultan battled on his sheer force of talent. Maggie hooted when Crook dead-heated with the black colt on the wire, stroking her while she pulled herself up. "Now that's what I'm talking about."
She glanced down the barn row, nodded in approval at the sight of the full-bodied black colt. Casualty of War needed no introduction. Justin was at the horse's head, eyes shining with excitement. Justin would get his second Intrepid lined colt to tune up. Only this time, it would be straight from the beginning. Ripley patted his shoulder, moved past to rub the colt's legs. Ice cold and powerful. Just the right combination. They hadn't asked much of the Man O' War colt since his profound first gallop in November. Steady gallops increasing in distance were all this one needed, all any of the juveniles needed. Speed would come later, a week from now. Ripley would have her juveniles ready for anything. "He looks great Justin. Go on and hop up. You could probably walk him up and down the path. Malcolm will be down there if he acts up."
Maggie rolled her eyes and huffed as she was flung into Ripley's back. Ripley flashed a dirty look in the direction of her best friend, glanced beyond to see the blaze of Call Me Crooked. The bay filly twitched an ear, looked in the opposite direction as if she hadn't just caused a bunch of trouble. "Yeah we know you did it Crook. Can't hide it." Ripley grinned, ran a finger down the filly's square muzzle. This one was lightning in a jar. She was rough and tough and willing to tango. She had the best halves of both Crooked Fire and Royal Assault. And she was a minx to boot. She was the perfect mount for Maggie. And Maggie had been looking forward tot his week ever since the filly had been born.
"Alright guys. Since they're both tacked up, I guess we can all go down." Her gaze followed Sultan and Crook as they walked belligerently out of the barn, but her ears were tuned for something else. "Kendall!" A rustle in Saint's stall had Ripley turning. "Ah good. Would you please tack him up for me. Brooks will be along to take of King, so don't worry about him. I'll be back in a half-hour." The girl nodded, a smile spreading across her quiet face. Kendall was not one for words, however, there was no doubt Saint would be tacked and shined to perfection within a half-hour.
Sultan's eyes were full of fire as he set hoof on the dirt track. Mal wolf whistled in the powerful animal's direction. Justin flashed a grin, but was too busy to acknowledge Mal in another way. Sultan danced beneath him, shifting restlessly on his back end and shaking his head violently on the front end. Justin nudged the colt forward and received a well-executed buck. He clung to the black colt's shoulders, refusing to be thrown through the air. Sultan snorted, tossed his head irritably and strode on. Justin could tell that this was only going to be Phase One. He wondered if Hokum had been this naughty as an early two year old. Somehow, he didn't think so. Hokum was an in your face horse. He didn't tend toward tricks like this one. Sultan reminded Justin a lot of Dame. Perhaps they would learn to click just as well.
Crook could give Sultan lessons on how to be naughty and passive aggressive. The bay filly stomped furiously, squealing when Maggie nudged her to go forward. Her tail lashed over her rump, scouring Maggie's jeans. Maggie gritted her teeth at the lashing, blue eyes full of annoyance. She'd wanted to ride this filly hadn't she? Now she had a world of trouble on her hands. Crook lifted into a rear, pawing the air with a vengeance. Maggie slammed her down, nearly to be tossed over Crook's head when she responded with a buck. She heard a snicker from Malcolm at the rail, would have responded if Crook didn't bolt after Sultan, bucking like a fiend. "Oh! Enough missy." Maggie slammed her butt into the saddle, throwing her weight down and removing Crooks' rear end propulsion. The bay filly squealed mutinously, whinnying beseechingly after Sultan.
The black colt merely flicked his ears, cantering away from her. Justin stroked a hand down his mane. At least he wasn't distracted by damsels in fake-distress. He glanced under his arm, thrilled at seeing Maggie so put off. She'd been talking incessantly about how awesome Crook was going to be to ride. Apparently Crook didn't agree. She spun rapidly on her haunches, faced in the opposite direction. Maggie's eyes blazed with fury. "MALCOLM I THOUGHT YOU GAVE A RACEHORSE NOT A REINING HORSE!"
Malcolm was practically in hysterics, joined now by Ripley, Reese and Laura. Ripley shook her head, was controlled enough to keep her face shut and her amusement to her self. Maggie took a deep breath, guided the rein to the right and glared murderously when the bay filly turned as proud as can be back in the correct direction. Maggie stood in the saddle, muttering under her breath when the filly picked up the correct canter lead and followed Casualty of War into the turn. "Yeah... Think you're the class clown don't you?"
The stout bay filly easily caught up to Sultan who was more controllable than Justin had thought he would be. Crook snorted, flicking her ears as if she were telling Sultan what good fun she had just had. Sultan pinned his ears, not interested by the conversation at all. Justin grinned at Maggie's stony eyes. "Say nothing if you want to live Justin." She rolled her shoulders. "A mile and a quarter gallop. Four furlong blowout."
The horses picked up a gallop simultaneously. Sultan took the lead by a half-length, strides long and easy over the turf track that he gripped so easily. Justin did not waver at all in the saddle. Sultan was a bred in the bones long distance runner. He could run forever, tested or untested. He had a courageous strength in a race that more than made up for his dreadful attitude in the barn or on the track. Justin twined his fingers in the colt's black mane, a soft light coming to his head. It was a new beginning today. He would remember it forever.
The Crooked Fire daughter strode confidently at Sultan's side. Her brown eyes glinted with intelligence and only furthered Maggie's opinion that the filly knew exactly what kind of trouble she caused. She was a little spitfire, but Maggie could remember the world of speed beneath her in their first major breeze. It had been fantastic, well-measured and her spirit had leaned toward brave and fearless. That breeze had come against Sultan. It was only right that they take that colt on here, two months later.
Side by side the horses galloped around the turn and back into the homestretch. Casualty of War was still strong on the front, still holding Call Me Crooked at a bay. The blaze faced filly's ears were pinned flat to her head, her legs lifting high and with energy. She was full of the wild speed. Maggie was just a passenger in this portion of the workout. Her blue eyes lightened with every stride the filly took, impressed by racetrack attitude that Crook possessed. She knew how to relax and rate, something hard to teach a two year old without a race under her belt.
The pace picked up the instant Justin swung Sultan into the backstretch. The black gripped the bit, pinned his ears and pushed off with little warning other than that. He burned the earth beneath him with each speed-filled stride. Here was a colt who had an idea of what racing was all about. Either that or he had simply become impatient. Justin kept his hands quiet, his legs still and his eyes muted of passion. Any emotion would spark this flame into a wildfire. He glanced briefly to his right, saw that Crook had picked up the pace and now ran at Sultan's shoulder. The smaller filly was not going to be outdistanced by the effortlessly running animal beside her.
She's a blue-collar filly, thought Maggie. She tried so hard to achieve what came easy to Sultan because of his size. It was clear that Call Me Crooked still had some growing up to do, but she wasn't going to be put off by her size. She angled her body to get the best watch on Sultan, her eyes rimmed with wild white. Her head was low to her shoulders, making her look ominously threatening despite her shorter outline. Maggie wanted to clap her hands. She could deal with a diva on the ground, but in the saddle a hard-working horse is exactly what she wanted.
Sultan cruised through the final quarter, bolted rashly as if he knew it was time to run. Justin gritted his teeth as the bones in his hand ground together trying to keep a hold of whipping black mane. It was like being hurtled through space was what riding this colt was. He just moved like a black comet, streaking over the turf instead of through the sky. He was explosive and shocking and awe-inspiring all at once. Justin leaned close, yanked his goggles down to block the brutal wind. The black colt rounded into the turn, carried slightly by centrifugal force. He felt the colt stutter as he swept Call Me Crooked with him.
The bay miss erupted the minute Sultan brushed her. Maggie was thrown into absolute shock when Crook not only caught up to Sultan, she charged right on by him. Her strides were quick and all consuming, carrying her three paths wide into the homestretch. Ripley and Reese exchanged stunned looks when Crook stole to a length and a half lead. Her stout form was swept along by fierce legs. Maggie glanced under her arm as the filly poured it on, shook her head when Justin flicked Sultan from Crook's inside to her outside, turned back.
The filly had clearly made that move. Now Maggie was a sitting duck with a target on her back and a possibly tiring filly. The black charge beneath him thundered after her, making up rapid ground with great strides. His hooves echoed like cannon fire down the racetrack as he bore down on Call Me Crooked. The bay filly looked surprised to see her rival coming back at her, gritted her teeth and responded to the onslaught. Maggie and Justin were quiet as their mounts battled all the way down to the wire. Crook battled with bravery while Sultan battled on his sheer force of talent. Maggie hooted when Crook dead-heated with the black colt on the wire, stroking her while she pulled herself up. "Now that's what I'm talking about."
fire and gasoline
Ripley was blowing a little by the time she reached the barn. Brooks nodded at her in greeting, smoothing a hand over the light blue saddle blanket that Sun King wore. The son of Native Flame and El Sol del Mar turned his head slightly, eyes bright and white rimmed to get a look at Ripley. She patted his neck as she walked by in greeting. King nickered after her eagerly, recognizing her as the boss and the evening feed person. He stomped, his hooves ringing from end to end of the barn. She never turned around though and he turned his jealous eyes on Brookson Wells. The man just shrugged, patted the colt's shoulder. "Don't feel bad man. You get used to it. Once a woman has a thought in her head, we might as well be mosquitoes."
Her thoughts definitely made Brooks a mosquito. She grinned into the stall, hands braced on either side of the stall frame. Saint cocked his head, letting his right eye sweep over her. He bobbed a head in greeting, brown muzzle working around the bit. Kendall stood up from wrapping his legs. "I swear he knew when you were coming. He was standing perfectly still, an angel practically. And then suddenly he's leaping around like a rabbit." She huffed, running a hand over her sleek ponytail. Ripley laughed, rubbed a hand across Saint's wide forehead. "Been a bad boy, have you now?" His sighted eye rolled and he stepped away from her briefly. Kendall shook her head. "Some horses just are picky I suppose." She yawned, cocked a hip.
"How does he look?" Ripley ran her gaze over the colt's shining body, noted the muscles that were coiled underneath his hide. "He looks fantastic Kendall. Simply fantastic." She flashed a smile in the girl's direction as she lead the youthful animal out of his home. "Mal will want your help now. He said something like, "Kendall should be the one handling Optimus and Pride. She's the only one whose got patience enough for those cotten-brained colts." Kendall snorted. "Mal's the cotten-brained one. Yeah... I'll go groom them."
"Take Optimus for a gallop will you? After Taboo and Vana. He needs to settle down and perhaps ease Malcolm's worry." Ripley pretended to ignore the blaze of excitement in the girl's eyes. Someday soon Kendall would learn that she only had to ask for something instead of waiting for it to be given to her. The girl's shadow had just vanished around the corner when Ripley turned back. She shrugged.
Brooks ran gentle fingers over Sun King's mane, appreciating the stunning looks that the colt possessed. He was a perfect combination of Native Flame and El Sol del Mar. With just as much speed as his half-brother Mastermind, Sun King had more stamina given to him by his sire. The colt would go far with the right handling. Brooks rolled his shoulders, wondering if this colt would appreciate classic distances or be more of a speed ball. They would have a perfect test today. Saintly Touch had proven in his blowout in November that he was no slouch. His gallops since, against Sun King, had been even more impressive. If there was a horse capable of beating Sun King it was his stable-mate.
Sun King had been out of his mind for that first breeze. He'd blitzed his rivals efficiently and with plenty of energy left to spare. Brooks wondered every now and then what it would be like to pit Mastermind and this younger version against one another. It would be a sight to see. King had a more powerful body type, but Mastermind was a piece of living art. They would mirror each other the whole way, Brooks was sure. The colts had similar running styles, though Mastermind by far had proven much more tactical.
Ripley led the way out of the barn, mounting up on Saint before he took off without her. Sun King looked over the track, body braced and twitching with excitement. Malcolm and the other jocks lined the fence, eyes turned in the direction of the two year old colts. King stared down at them with an imperious gaze. His shoulder twitched, but he seemed emboldened. Brooks placed his feet into the short stirrups and felt the colt take notice. Longer stirrups meant galloping. Shorter stirrups meant something totally different. He snorted and trotted after Saintly Touch who was expressing his frustration at being kept to a walk.
The colt was a picture of fury with his blazing eyes and pinned ears. Yet he did not strike, or rear or buck. His body shook with the fury of disobedience and yet he chose not to act on it. Ripley appreciated the sentiment after watching Maggie go through boxing practice with Call Me Crooked. She kept quiet until the colt stepped onto the track. "Alright Saint. Let's release some of that dark energy." She leaned forward, hands lifted up the near black colt's neck. He sped off with a whirlwind of speed, kicking up huge clumps of dirt his wake. He had a brutal kind of energy once allowed to run, fierce and dominating.
"Guess that means go." Sun King streaked over the track beneath Brooks who pumped his hands in encouragement. The chestnut horse flew the ground, nearly parallel to it. Brooks whistled as the colt caught up to a much more controlled Saintly Touch. The black-bay bared his teeth in Sun King's direction, who pinned his ears and threatened to kick. "Nuh-uh." Brooks shook the colt up, sent him on by Saint who was now settling into a smoother stride that Sun King would not tolerate.
The chestnut shook off Saint with a bounding stride, assuming command. Brooks stilled himself then. The colt moved strong and true over the ground, legs carrying him with cruising speed. King bowed his head, snorting as if enjoying the fact that he had the lead. Brooks glanced under his arm, narrowed his eyes on Ripley and Saint who were two and a half lengths back.
She caught the flash of Brooks' golden-hued face whip back to face the front. Saint was running perfectly, his head held just above his shoulders, his speed coming from the back end. Saint had his ears pricked and his head focused on the chestnut colt before him. Sun King had beaten him yesterday in his gallop. His muscles were tight as drums as if he couldn't wait to reassert dominance.
The mile and a quarter gallop fell away beneath the thunderous hooves of the two colts. Neither horse lost ground going into the first turn, each was as pinned to the rail as they could be. King snorted, ears pinned against his neck as if he were awaiting Saintly Touch's assault. He skipped over the dirt, tugging on the bit, demanding Brooks to let him out just a notch more. There were three furlongs left to the workout and Brooks was beginning to get on King's nerves. As always. But Brooks was starting to lose his mind to the adrenaline rush of the homestretch. Both of them would need the release.
King shot into the far turn with a clear two length lead. Saintly Touch followed like a phantom shadow, each stride longer than the first. Ripley hardly moved on the colt, impressed with his durability and mental toughness. He was the perfect horse to take into battle. A horse with a ton of confidence and courage and the ability to think. King was flashing speed going into the homestretch, each stride a leaping one. It was clear that when Brooks hit the button, the stick of dynamite would blow. She guided Saint down to the rail, let the leather reins soar through her gloved hands. The seal brown animal launched up the rail, muscles working in tandem. He caught up to King just when Brooks' pressed the button. King rocketed forward, head cranked into the air, but Saint would not be left behind.
The grinder and the rocket flew over the track, Saint ever the ominous presence. Brooks could not resort to encouragement, but he was so glad the workout was five days out from the race. King needed this excess energy to be removed before his first start. And Brooks was definitely talking Ripley into galloping the chestnut the morning of the race. Saint would not leave King's side and began to chip away at the lead until one hundred yards from the wire when he put his dark head in front. Ripley kept still, but pride burned through her veins. Saint trucked through the wire a half-length ahead, ears pricking the moment he crossed the wire.
He out-galloped King by nearly five lengths. The chestnut horse was blowing. Brooks shook his head when Ripley cantered back to them. "He's a tough one to control. It's like it was with Ashes to Ashes at first. Brutal speed, but you can only go forward with it." Ripley nodded. "Good thing when he has a faster horse in front of him, he relaxes. Don't worry though. With maturity he'll calm down. Still it was a very impressive workout. He hung tough even when Saint came to him."
Her thoughts definitely made Brooks a mosquito. She grinned into the stall, hands braced on either side of the stall frame. Saint cocked his head, letting his right eye sweep over her. He bobbed a head in greeting, brown muzzle working around the bit. Kendall stood up from wrapping his legs. "I swear he knew when you were coming. He was standing perfectly still, an angel practically. And then suddenly he's leaping around like a rabbit." She huffed, running a hand over her sleek ponytail. Ripley laughed, rubbed a hand across Saint's wide forehead. "Been a bad boy, have you now?" His sighted eye rolled and he stepped away from her briefly. Kendall shook her head. "Some horses just are picky I suppose." She yawned, cocked a hip.
"How does he look?" Ripley ran her gaze over the colt's shining body, noted the muscles that were coiled underneath his hide. "He looks fantastic Kendall. Simply fantastic." She flashed a smile in the girl's direction as she lead the youthful animal out of his home. "Mal will want your help now. He said something like, "Kendall should be the one handling Optimus and Pride. She's the only one whose got patience enough for those cotten-brained colts." Kendall snorted. "Mal's the cotten-brained one. Yeah... I'll go groom them."
"Take Optimus for a gallop will you? After Taboo and Vana. He needs to settle down and perhaps ease Malcolm's worry." Ripley pretended to ignore the blaze of excitement in the girl's eyes. Someday soon Kendall would learn that she only had to ask for something instead of waiting for it to be given to her. The girl's shadow had just vanished around the corner when Ripley turned back. She shrugged.
Brooks ran gentle fingers over Sun King's mane, appreciating the stunning looks that the colt possessed. He was a perfect combination of Native Flame and El Sol del Mar. With just as much speed as his half-brother Mastermind, Sun King had more stamina given to him by his sire. The colt would go far with the right handling. Brooks rolled his shoulders, wondering if this colt would appreciate classic distances or be more of a speed ball. They would have a perfect test today. Saintly Touch had proven in his blowout in November that he was no slouch. His gallops since, against Sun King, had been even more impressive. If there was a horse capable of beating Sun King it was his stable-mate.
Sun King had been out of his mind for that first breeze. He'd blitzed his rivals efficiently and with plenty of energy left to spare. Brooks wondered every now and then what it would be like to pit Mastermind and this younger version against one another. It would be a sight to see. King had a more powerful body type, but Mastermind was a piece of living art. They would mirror each other the whole way, Brooks was sure. The colts had similar running styles, though Mastermind by far had proven much more tactical.
Ripley led the way out of the barn, mounting up on Saint before he took off without her. Sun King looked over the track, body braced and twitching with excitement. Malcolm and the other jocks lined the fence, eyes turned in the direction of the two year old colts. King stared down at them with an imperious gaze. His shoulder twitched, but he seemed emboldened. Brooks placed his feet into the short stirrups and felt the colt take notice. Longer stirrups meant galloping. Shorter stirrups meant something totally different. He snorted and trotted after Saintly Touch who was expressing his frustration at being kept to a walk.
The colt was a picture of fury with his blazing eyes and pinned ears. Yet he did not strike, or rear or buck. His body shook with the fury of disobedience and yet he chose not to act on it. Ripley appreciated the sentiment after watching Maggie go through boxing practice with Call Me Crooked. She kept quiet until the colt stepped onto the track. "Alright Saint. Let's release some of that dark energy." She leaned forward, hands lifted up the near black colt's neck. He sped off with a whirlwind of speed, kicking up huge clumps of dirt his wake. He had a brutal kind of energy once allowed to run, fierce and dominating.
"Guess that means go." Sun King streaked over the track beneath Brooks who pumped his hands in encouragement. The chestnut horse flew the ground, nearly parallel to it. Brooks whistled as the colt caught up to a much more controlled Saintly Touch. The black-bay bared his teeth in Sun King's direction, who pinned his ears and threatened to kick. "Nuh-uh." Brooks shook the colt up, sent him on by Saint who was now settling into a smoother stride that Sun King would not tolerate.
The chestnut shook off Saint with a bounding stride, assuming command. Brooks stilled himself then. The colt moved strong and true over the ground, legs carrying him with cruising speed. King bowed his head, snorting as if enjoying the fact that he had the lead. Brooks glanced under his arm, narrowed his eyes on Ripley and Saint who were two and a half lengths back.
She caught the flash of Brooks' golden-hued face whip back to face the front. Saint was running perfectly, his head held just above his shoulders, his speed coming from the back end. Saint had his ears pricked and his head focused on the chestnut colt before him. Sun King had beaten him yesterday in his gallop. His muscles were tight as drums as if he couldn't wait to reassert dominance.
The mile and a quarter gallop fell away beneath the thunderous hooves of the two colts. Neither horse lost ground going into the first turn, each was as pinned to the rail as they could be. King snorted, ears pinned against his neck as if he were awaiting Saintly Touch's assault. He skipped over the dirt, tugging on the bit, demanding Brooks to let him out just a notch more. There were three furlongs left to the workout and Brooks was beginning to get on King's nerves. As always. But Brooks was starting to lose his mind to the adrenaline rush of the homestretch. Both of them would need the release.
King shot into the far turn with a clear two length lead. Saintly Touch followed like a phantom shadow, each stride longer than the first. Ripley hardly moved on the colt, impressed with his durability and mental toughness. He was the perfect horse to take into battle. A horse with a ton of confidence and courage and the ability to think. King was flashing speed going into the homestretch, each stride a leaping one. It was clear that when Brooks hit the button, the stick of dynamite would blow. She guided Saint down to the rail, let the leather reins soar through her gloved hands. The seal brown animal launched up the rail, muscles working in tandem. He caught up to King just when Brooks' pressed the button. King rocketed forward, head cranked into the air, but Saint would not be left behind.
The grinder and the rocket flew over the track, Saint ever the ominous presence. Brooks could not resort to encouragement, but he was so glad the workout was five days out from the race. King needed this excess energy to be removed before his first start. And Brooks was definitely talking Ripley into galloping the chestnut the morning of the race. Saint would not leave King's side and began to chip away at the lead until one hundred yards from the wire when he put his dark head in front. Ripley kept still, but pride burned through her veins. Saint trucked through the wire a half-length ahead, ears pricking the moment he crossed the wire.
He out-galloped King by nearly five lengths. The chestnut horse was blowing. Brooks shook his head when Ripley cantered back to them. "He's a tough one to control. It's like it was with Ashes to Ashes at first. Brutal speed, but you can only go forward with it." Ripley nodded. "Good thing when he has a faster horse in front of him, he relaxes. Don't worry though. With maturity he'll calm down. Still it was a very impressive workout. He hung tough even when Saint came to him."
Sinners ain't saints
Silence and Noise, two completely different concepts belonging to two very separate entities. Music pounded in Laura's earbuds, her hands clapped to the music, picked up brushes, slapped them down with a slam. Nirvana snorted, stomped her feet, brushed her thick black tail against the wall. The bay daughter of Gold Storm ground her teeth when Laura tightened the girth, stomped again. It was a rhythm that the pair had picked up in October before that fateful day in early November when Nirvana flashed her grinding talents. Laura rubbed her hands down the squeaky clean leather, kissed Nirvana's blazed face and shouted due to lack of hearing, "My big girls ready to throw a knockout punch!" Nirvana rolled her eyes, but no longer backed away out of fear. She was long since used to the fire ball of a human that roused her incessantly every day of the week. Malcolm's silence was long in the past.
Reese glared as Laura's blaring voice shocked Taboo from her dreamy stupor. The roan filly jumped into the air, eyes wild with fear, legs landing spread apart. Her form shook as though she had just caught a chill. She screamed, dashed toward the door only to catch sight of Reese. Shavings flew as the filly shuffled on dainty hooves toward the corner of the stall. Reese stood still, hands out to her side, brown eyes flickering over the trembling filly. The traumatic displays were nothing new. Reese had been working with the Everyday Hero daughter religiously since she'd arrived at Witch Creek. The filly had meltdowns only once in a while, growing more frequent during times of lull. She was a filly that needed to be kept busy. Busy did not include daily gallops over Witch Creek property.
Reese dropped her brushes, hunched herself down and looked to the floor. Taboo's breathing was rapid and ragged. Her nostrils flared in and out very quickly, her veins were popping in her chest. Reese did not have to look at the filly to know she was still on that adrenaline high of flight. She was not a fighter. She was a runner and she was very good at running. She needed to learn how to tackle her fears, to become brave, not skittish. Her hooves shuffled in the shavings uneasily, her tail slowed its nervous flicking. Reese nodded, crooned out nonsensical words. Taboo lowered her head and now Reese could hear that her breathing had steadied impressively. Her come-down times were quicker than they once had been. Her hooves skittered through the shavings until she stood right before Reese, pressed her muzzle into the woman's hunched shoulder. The scent comforted her, Reese reached out to stroke the filly's shoulder. "There's my girl. I'm glad you've come back home."
A movement startled the roan filly, but she did not run this time. Reese turned slowly, sent a furious look in Laura's direction. Laura stood white-faced with a very alert Nirvana at her side. "I am so sorry Reese. I didn't think you'd gotten here yet." Reese turned back to her charge, voice quiet and measured as she rechecked leg wraps. "Why on earth would I not be here five minutes before our scheduled workout?" Laura bristled, felt her cheeks blush with a hot combination of shame and anger. She wanted to say so much about the staff's need to remain quiet in the barn, about the need to not make loud noises so that they not shock Taboo into craziness. Pure craziness is what Laura had heard in Taboo's scream. Laura shrugged, even though Reese could not see it. "Well I guess we'll meet you down at the track then."
The red-head led her stout bay filly out of the barn, patting Nirvana once outside in the spring sunlight. The bay filly whuffled her lips over Laura's shoulder as if comforting her. Laura pressed her hand into the filly's thick neck, happy for some partnership. Riding Nirvana, being with her had become second nature to Laura. The filly was her world at the moment. It would be the first mount Laura had from the get-go. Nirvana was a special charge. "Thanks pretty girl." Laura swung into the saddle, landing softly on the leather. The filly snorted, bowed her head and set off in a stately manner for the track. Vana was all business. She forgot everything. The other horses, the other people, the trucks and trailers going in and out of Witch Creek all day. She was a battle-hardened warrior with courage to boot. The filly was pretty mature for her age. Her training was beyond the levels of the others.
She had not missed a day of training yet. She was out there rain, sleet, wind, snow. Durable, rugged, an ultimate workhorse that put forth her best effort every time. Vana was a horse whose future looked very bright. She stepped onto the track, ears pricking when Ripley moved from the shadows of the track box to the rail. Vana nickered a greeting, eyes lightening at the sight of the trainer. Ripley held out a hand, smiled when the bay filly touch her muzzle gently to the soft human skin. "Hey there Vana baby. You look very pretty today." Vana lifted her head, stared up the hillside, became focused on the potential threat.
Laura and Ripley followed her interested gaze to where Taboo was standing. Both women lost their breaths momentarily at the sight of the filly. You would never know by looking at the molten roan filly how neurotic or haunted she was. She shimmered in the sun, taking each step as though she was walking on eggshells. Reese sat proud and tall aboard the gorgeous filly who really seemed to lighten up the minute they headed down the path. The connection between horse and rider was so obvious to anyone who saw them. They just clicked. Taboo was flooded with positive energy from Reese, her eyes bright with positive spirit. So different from the filly whom Ripley and Laura had seen at her worst. Laura patted Vana who was braced for another episode when Taboo set hoof on the dirt track.
Reese felt pride surge through her veins when Taboo stood side by side with Laura's mount. Her head was lifted elegantly on her swan neck, her eyes drifting over the track with interest. She looked alive, nothing like the filly who went into a stupor when not preoccupied. Ripley nodded, finding no warmth coming from Taboo. The gray roan mare did not reach out for affection, she stood calmly and silently. All her thoughts and feelings would be wafting up the reins and into Reese's hands. Ripley nodded to the women, cleared her throat.
"A mile and a sixteenth gallop. They're still working up to speed. At the end of that gallop, a three furlong blowout will do the trick." Ripley nodded to herself, green eyes flickering up to her riders. "We'll see how they do and then decide what the rest of the week will look look." She turned slowly, walked to the track box and climbed the stairs. Reese cocked an eyebrow at Laura's pointed look, ran fingers down Taboo's silver-gray mane. "Shall we?"
Laura turned her mount, waiting until her back was to Reese before she rolled her eyes. Sometimes the older woman could be so obnoxious and condescending Laura just wanted to flip her the bird. Vana tossed her head, muscles pumping in excitement as moved from a walk to a trot and from their into hand gallop. The stout bay mare rolled over the ground, each stride a lulling one. Nirvana had relatively unknown parents, but her conformation and dreamy gates were the product of over-achievers. Better bred horses had rougher gaits. The filly's ears bobbed over her head, eyes bright as she swallowed the ground with big strides. Her nostrils quivered with a snort when Taboo floated by. The gray filly hardly glanced at Vana as she passed by. Like rider, like horse, Laura thought.
Reese twined her fingers into the floaty gray mane, feeling the gentle thrum of her mount as she glided over the track. Taboo was about as well-bred as they came in the thoroughbred world. Her sire was a hall of fame stud, her dam a mother to hall of famer Pegasus Wings and two time Breeders' Cup Classic champion Flashy Wings. Taboo was a basket-case, the typical flighty, nerve wracked thoroughbred, yet Reese knew the filly carried a load of potential with her. Her gallop was smooth as glass and each stride was strong, but never overextended. She carried her head high, ears pricked, but didn't feel as though she was necessarily here. She wasn't focused. A typical Taboo-like behavior. She only became focused when she decided to reconnect with planet earth. A workout was more like a waiting game. Luckily for Taboo, Reese was the most patient jockey at Witch Creek.
Nirvana was absolutely settled down by the time the pair of fillies hit the homestretch again. Her stout legs propelled her over the ground with ease. Laura felt a smile touch her lips. Nirvana would be her dirt sprinter filly, just as Feline Frenzy was her turf sprinter mare. She had both sections covered now and could hardly wait to get this filly on the track. Intrepid had high hopes that Witch Creek would help to turn Gold Storm into a fantastic sire of sprinters. They'd put the filly into the best hands and Laura would not let Nick Landing or Ripley Marsh down.
Her blue eyes flashed up, taking in Reese's arrogant form aboard Taboo. The sleek gray filly was galloping ahead of them by three lengths and looked as though she had hardly been used. Laura niggled Vana forward a little, the blaze-faced filly responded with a great lunge, quickly snapping up the ground before settling into a slightly faster stride. Laura patted the filly's neck, impressed. She was a deep closer, but she was very tactical, very tough. Laura leaned close, felt the whip of black mane. She saw Taboo's ears twitch, saw Reese relax. And knew it was nearly time to go after the crazy filly.
Reese's breath hitched at the sight of Taboo's ear twitch. Her back relaxed and she leaned closer. Nirvana must have hit a nerve. She'd heard the hoofbeats grow louder, but chocked it up to Laura just playing around on her two year old. Taboo had taken it differently. Her eyes glowed red and white around the edges, her ears were caught between pinning and pricking. A war was being waged within her light frame as she headed up the middle of the backstretch. Her mane flew like a flag behind her head as it lifted, her tail a proud banner. Her muscles rippled to life under her shimmering hide. She flexed her neck, playing with the bit. And then they hit the three furlong pole.
Nirvana roared forward just as Taboo came to life. Her burly bay body flew over the dirt, kicking up massive clumps in her wake. In a matter of seconds she was locked into battle with Reese's Taboo. Laura's smirk had never been brighter. Reese sent a scoffing look in Laura's direction, threw a cross and sent her gray roan filly flying. Reese must not have gotten the memo that Vana sticks like a burr, Laura thought. Indeed, the bay filly stuck to the Everyday Hero horse like glue. Taboo was hitting blitzing speed, but she couldn't shake off the grinder at her shoulder. Frustration burned like poison in Taboo's veins. She latched her teeth onto the aluminum, pinned her ears and took them into the homestretch.
Laura pushed her hands forward, delighted in the rush as Vana kicked on to become head and head with Taboo. She would not help baby Reese's mount. She would push and push until Taboo snapped into the mind of a racehorse. Vana was only helping by being so doggedly determined. Reese had yet to move again on Taboo. The roan filly had responded tremendously to Nirvana with a near blinding speed and energy. She fought with courage and heart, nearly as much tenacity as Nirvana. The bay and gray fillies hurtled toward the wire, neck and neck. There was no denying the fierceness of their rivalry as they burned a hole in the wind just under the wire.
Ripley snapped the stopwatch off the minute Vana and Taboo crossed the wire. :34.25 seconds for three furlongs. An :11.35 final furlong. She let out a low wolf whistle as the fillies pulled themselves up around the far turn. Now that was a workout to behold.
Reese glared as Laura's blaring voice shocked Taboo from her dreamy stupor. The roan filly jumped into the air, eyes wild with fear, legs landing spread apart. Her form shook as though she had just caught a chill. She screamed, dashed toward the door only to catch sight of Reese. Shavings flew as the filly shuffled on dainty hooves toward the corner of the stall. Reese stood still, hands out to her side, brown eyes flickering over the trembling filly. The traumatic displays were nothing new. Reese had been working with the Everyday Hero daughter religiously since she'd arrived at Witch Creek. The filly had meltdowns only once in a while, growing more frequent during times of lull. She was a filly that needed to be kept busy. Busy did not include daily gallops over Witch Creek property.
Reese dropped her brushes, hunched herself down and looked to the floor. Taboo's breathing was rapid and ragged. Her nostrils flared in and out very quickly, her veins were popping in her chest. Reese did not have to look at the filly to know she was still on that adrenaline high of flight. She was not a fighter. She was a runner and she was very good at running. She needed to learn how to tackle her fears, to become brave, not skittish. Her hooves shuffled in the shavings uneasily, her tail slowed its nervous flicking. Reese nodded, crooned out nonsensical words. Taboo lowered her head and now Reese could hear that her breathing had steadied impressively. Her come-down times were quicker than they once had been. Her hooves skittered through the shavings until she stood right before Reese, pressed her muzzle into the woman's hunched shoulder. The scent comforted her, Reese reached out to stroke the filly's shoulder. "There's my girl. I'm glad you've come back home."
A movement startled the roan filly, but she did not run this time. Reese turned slowly, sent a furious look in Laura's direction. Laura stood white-faced with a very alert Nirvana at her side. "I am so sorry Reese. I didn't think you'd gotten here yet." Reese turned back to her charge, voice quiet and measured as she rechecked leg wraps. "Why on earth would I not be here five minutes before our scheduled workout?" Laura bristled, felt her cheeks blush with a hot combination of shame and anger. She wanted to say so much about the staff's need to remain quiet in the barn, about the need to not make loud noises so that they not shock Taboo into craziness. Pure craziness is what Laura had heard in Taboo's scream. Laura shrugged, even though Reese could not see it. "Well I guess we'll meet you down at the track then."
The red-head led her stout bay filly out of the barn, patting Nirvana once outside in the spring sunlight. The bay filly whuffled her lips over Laura's shoulder as if comforting her. Laura pressed her hand into the filly's thick neck, happy for some partnership. Riding Nirvana, being with her had become second nature to Laura. The filly was her world at the moment. It would be the first mount Laura had from the get-go. Nirvana was a special charge. "Thanks pretty girl." Laura swung into the saddle, landing softly on the leather. The filly snorted, bowed her head and set off in a stately manner for the track. Vana was all business. She forgot everything. The other horses, the other people, the trucks and trailers going in and out of Witch Creek all day. She was a battle-hardened warrior with courage to boot. The filly was pretty mature for her age. Her training was beyond the levels of the others.
She had not missed a day of training yet. She was out there rain, sleet, wind, snow. Durable, rugged, an ultimate workhorse that put forth her best effort every time. Vana was a horse whose future looked very bright. She stepped onto the track, ears pricking when Ripley moved from the shadows of the track box to the rail. Vana nickered a greeting, eyes lightening at the sight of the trainer. Ripley held out a hand, smiled when the bay filly touch her muzzle gently to the soft human skin. "Hey there Vana baby. You look very pretty today." Vana lifted her head, stared up the hillside, became focused on the potential threat.
Laura and Ripley followed her interested gaze to where Taboo was standing. Both women lost their breaths momentarily at the sight of the filly. You would never know by looking at the molten roan filly how neurotic or haunted she was. She shimmered in the sun, taking each step as though she was walking on eggshells. Reese sat proud and tall aboard the gorgeous filly who really seemed to lighten up the minute they headed down the path. The connection between horse and rider was so obvious to anyone who saw them. They just clicked. Taboo was flooded with positive energy from Reese, her eyes bright with positive spirit. So different from the filly whom Ripley and Laura had seen at her worst. Laura patted Vana who was braced for another episode when Taboo set hoof on the dirt track.
Reese felt pride surge through her veins when Taboo stood side by side with Laura's mount. Her head was lifted elegantly on her swan neck, her eyes drifting over the track with interest. She looked alive, nothing like the filly who went into a stupor when not preoccupied. Ripley nodded, finding no warmth coming from Taboo. The gray roan mare did not reach out for affection, she stood calmly and silently. All her thoughts and feelings would be wafting up the reins and into Reese's hands. Ripley nodded to the women, cleared her throat.
"A mile and a sixteenth gallop. They're still working up to speed. At the end of that gallop, a three furlong blowout will do the trick." Ripley nodded to herself, green eyes flickering up to her riders. "We'll see how they do and then decide what the rest of the week will look look." She turned slowly, walked to the track box and climbed the stairs. Reese cocked an eyebrow at Laura's pointed look, ran fingers down Taboo's silver-gray mane. "Shall we?"
Laura turned her mount, waiting until her back was to Reese before she rolled her eyes. Sometimes the older woman could be so obnoxious and condescending Laura just wanted to flip her the bird. Vana tossed her head, muscles pumping in excitement as moved from a walk to a trot and from their into hand gallop. The stout bay mare rolled over the ground, each stride a lulling one. Nirvana had relatively unknown parents, but her conformation and dreamy gates were the product of over-achievers. Better bred horses had rougher gaits. The filly's ears bobbed over her head, eyes bright as she swallowed the ground with big strides. Her nostrils quivered with a snort when Taboo floated by. The gray filly hardly glanced at Vana as she passed by. Like rider, like horse, Laura thought.
Reese twined her fingers into the floaty gray mane, feeling the gentle thrum of her mount as she glided over the track. Taboo was about as well-bred as they came in the thoroughbred world. Her sire was a hall of fame stud, her dam a mother to hall of famer Pegasus Wings and two time Breeders' Cup Classic champion Flashy Wings. Taboo was a basket-case, the typical flighty, nerve wracked thoroughbred, yet Reese knew the filly carried a load of potential with her. Her gallop was smooth as glass and each stride was strong, but never overextended. She carried her head high, ears pricked, but didn't feel as though she was necessarily here. She wasn't focused. A typical Taboo-like behavior. She only became focused when she decided to reconnect with planet earth. A workout was more like a waiting game. Luckily for Taboo, Reese was the most patient jockey at Witch Creek.
Nirvana was absolutely settled down by the time the pair of fillies hit the homestretch again. Her stout legs propelled her over the ground with ease. Laura felt a smile touch her lips. Nirvana would be her dirt sprinter filly, just as Feline Frenzy was her turf sprinter mare. She had both sections covered now and could hardly wait to get this filly on the track. Intrepid had high hopes that Witch Creek would help to turn Gold Storm into a fantastic sire of sprinters. They'd put the filly into the best hands and Laura would not let Nick Landing or Ripley Marsh down.
Her blue eyes flashed up, taking in Reese's arrogant form aboard Taboo. The sleek gray filly was galloping ahead of them by three lengths and looked as though she had hardly been used. Laura niggled Vana forward a little, the blaze-faced filly responded with a great lunge, quickly snapping up the ground before settling into a slightly faster stride. Laura patted the filly's neck, impressed. She was a deep closer, but she was very tactical, very tough. Laura leaned close, felt the whip of black mane. She saw Taboo's ears twitch, saw Reese relax. And knew it was nearly time to go after the crazy filly.
Reese's breath hitched at the sight of Taboo's ear twitch. Her back relaxed and she leaned closer. Nirvana must have hit a nerve. She'd heard the hoofbeats grow louder, but chocked it up to Laura just playing around on her two year old. Taboo had taken it differently. Her eyes glowed red and white around the edges, her ears were caught between pinning and pricking. A war was being waged within her light frame as she headed up the middle of the backstretch. Her mane flew like a flag behind her head as it lifted, her tail a proud banner. Her muscles rippled to life under her shimmering hide. She flexed her neck, playing with the bit. And then they hit the three furlong pole.
Nirvana roared forward just as Taboo came to life. Her burly bay body flew over the dirt, kicking up massive clumps in her wake. In a matter of seconds she was locked into battle with Reese's Taboo. Laura's smirk had never been brighter. Reese sent a scoffing look in Laura's direction, threw a cross and sent her gray roan filly flying. Reese must not have gotten the memo that Vana sticks like a burr, Laura thought. Indeed, the bay filly stuck to the Everyday Hero horse like glue. Taboo was hitting blitzing speed, but she couldn't shake off the grinder at her shoulder. Frustration burned like poison in Taboo's veins. She latched her teeth onto the aluminum, pinned her ears and took them into the homestretch.
Laura pushed her hands forward, delighted in the rush as Vana kicked on to become head and head with Taboo. She would not help baby Reese's mount. She would push and push until Taboo snapped into the mind of a racehorse. Vana was only helping by being so doggedly determined. Reese had yet to move again on Taboo. The roan filly had responded tremendously to Nirvana with a near blinding speed and energy. She fought with courage and heart, nearly as much tenacity as Nirvana. The bay and gray fillies hurtled toward the wire, neck and neck. There was no denying the fierceness of their rivalry as they burned a hole in the wind just under the wire.
Ripley snapped the stopwatch off the minute Vana and Taboo crossed the wire. :34.25 seconds for three furlongs. An :11.35 final furlong. She let out a low wolf whistle as the fillies pulled themselves up around the far turn. Now that was a workout to behold.