January Week Three
Red Herring & Supernatural & Nirvana
Prima Donna & Cross My Heart.
In Front & Casualty of War & Saintly Touch.
Call Me Crooked & Spotlight Pride.
Prima Donna & Cross My Heart.
In Front & Casualty of War & Saintly Touch.
Call Me Crooked & Spotlight Pride.
unnatural
Laura and Reese chatted animatedly from within the mixed barns of the two year olds and three year olds. Their eyes were bright and exited, the frames alert and content. The stable was still lousy with excitement after last week's Dubai World Carnival. A win for Witch Creek in the Dubai World Sprint, a third and two fourths had damn well pleased everyone. Reese and Laura had both ridden to fourth place finishes and Brookson Wells, assistant trainer and exercise rider in this first set, had guided Frozen Motion to a third in the Dubai World Championship. Ripley Marsh, legend that she was, had brought home victory in the first Dubai World Sprint aboard none other than Mastermind.
"I'm telling you between Flashy Wings and Mastermind that was a very impressive first Dubai World Carnival." Reese hummed in agreement as she brushed the last specks of dirt off of Siri's pale shoulder. The filly had lightened up with only dark flecks here and there betraying her gray color. She was a gorgeous filly, sleek and lean. Her journey from two to three had been completed very nicely. A run in the Unicorn Horn Dirt versus males was up next for the sparkling gray filly. Reese had guided one gray filly to a Turf Triple Crown win. Many would be waiting to see if she could guide her other to a victory in the Triple Crown. Reese knew her filly could do it. Siri had been destined to face off with the boys for her career. And she had yet to be a let down. "I wonder what this season brings for us Laura. It's scary to think so many of our best have retired."
"Scary, but it's a fact of racing. Make room for the new "best"." Both women looked up to meet Brookson Well's sparkling blue eyes. He seemed to have gotten over the worst of retiring Frozen Motion. The lightening gray stallion had been officially moved to the stud barn to join the likes of Touch Up, Native Flame and his cohort in crime, Ashes to Ashes. A horse stomped irritably at Brooks' side and drew the gaze of the women. Red Herring, three year old winner of the Hollywood Gold Cup, had shown signs of improvement in his late season. That improvement was nothing compared to the form he was flashing at this very moment. His muscles bulged beneath copper coated hide. His eyes were bright with fire and eagerness, his legs sturdy and strong. His white facial marking glared white outside of a face that could only be regarded as fierce. Brooks would have a great older male contender in the beautiful red horse.
"Ripley said to meet her out on the track in five minutes." Red snorted, chomping at the bit in complete understanding. Nirvana stomped a hoof, eyes firing up with irritation at the red stallion. She pinned her ears, snaking out her blaze-faced head. Laura patted the filly's strong shoulder muscle. "Vana you can take him down a peg on the track. Not before then." She switched her black tail, turned her face away from Red and pondered escape from the cross-ties.
Reese led Siri out of the barn, guiding the light gray filly by the bay two year old. Siri snorted, tossing her head in minor irritation. The Dylan Himself filly was one of the most confident three year old racehorses in the string. She had an aura around her that screamed large and in charge. Once flighty, Siri stood confidently while Reese leaped onto her back. The filly flicked her ears, dipped her head in acceptance. Reese placed her feet in the stirrups glanced back. Brooks was aboard Red Herring, the proud stallion bulling right on by Nirvana. The chestnut seemed to enjoy teasing the filly who pinned her ears furiously in his direction. Laura had about two seconds to mount before the Gold Storm daughter stormed off after Red. A warhorse of a two year old, Nirvana charged after him, muscles pumping beneath her brown hide.
Siri followed behind the muscular stallion and burly filly, her eyes bright with eagerness. She was ready to pick things up again. Her gallops the last two weeks had been strong and she was showing signs of run once again. Her lean form passed through the gap onto the track, flickering in the soft spring light. Reese allowed the filly to approach Ripley who was aboard El Sol del Mar. The chestnut Hall of Famer watched the horses approach her with a regal air. Sunny had not always been so high on the totem pole, but now she was coming into her own well after her retirement from the racetrack. She pawed a hoof, threw an arrogant glance in Red's direction as though baiting him.
"I don't know what's up with all these ladies hating on Red today," Brooks said with an exasperated tone. The chestnut stallion backed willingly, ears flickering warily over his proud head. Ripley smirked, nodded. "Too much estrogen against this one poor guy." Ripley past a cool glance over the trio, noted the bandages as she'd wanted. "All of them look very well. Vana is holding her weight extremely well after that first race. Very good." Laura beamed with pride, patting her bay filly's neck. Vana was too busy keeping an eye on Red Herring to notice. Her thick hide simply twitched as if ridding a fly. So much for her sweet two year old, Laura thought. "Siri and Red both look well. Red's got plenty of muscle tone so the gallops since the Classic must have worked. Siri's got a task facing her in the Unicorn Horn Dirt, but we'll see how she does today."
Siri backed away suddenly, lifting to her hind legs, suddenly revved. Reese moved with the rapid movement, brown eyes blazing with the challenge. "Hey girl!" The gray filly slammed to the earth, would have danced back up if Reese hadn't urged her forward. "Alright, since Siri's had enough. Send him a mile and a quarter gallop. Five furlong workout. Time to tune 'em up."
The trio of horses whipped up the track in a matter of moments, sending dirt into Sunny's chest. The chestnut mare shook it off with a toss of her head, ears flicking for a moment before locking onto the runners. She was a happy go-lucky mare, but more she'd missed the track and even dirt in her face was worth it. Ripley patted the chestnut mare's shoulder, walked her along the fence-line until she was lined up with the wire.
Red Herring bolted to the lead, snatching the rail position that he was coming to covet. The big red stallion locked his ears back into his mane, his eyes flickering with fire as Supernatural loped up to his right side. Her lean silver-white frame floated over the course, head cocked inward as always to keep an eye on the inside horse. Reese rode the quirky filly with the same kind of reverent respect that she rode Bella Luna. The gray three year old responded well to loose rein, dictated her own pace in the early going. Her dark eyes flashed as Red Herring put on a burst of speed, but she did not bait easy. She remained loose and relaxed nearly a length behind the chestnut stud.
Nirvana settled three lengths off of the older horses, burly body swallowing the ground with large strides. For such a stout filly, she sure had great propulsion. Her body was like an engine, fierce and mean at great speeds, but it purred when allowed to cruise along. Laura kept her hands on the reins, eyes bright as she let Vana cruise up to par. The 16.1 hand filly wasn't a big one from the ground, but on her back, she was a tank. Laura kept her eyes deadlocked on the older horses as they cruised into the far turn. Nirvana switched leads, stalked with eyes as sharp as a predators.
Red Herring bounded over the course, clicking off quick fractions, continuing to bait Siri into coming after him. Brooks could feel the fury wafting off of Red, knew in a race that other horses would take the bait. Not Siri. She was too confident, too much Reese's animal to bounce back urges from Red. The gray filly snorted, bowing her neck and looking very much like the horse on a merry-go-round. Brooks knew that the gray animal was nothing like a carnival horse when woken up. He glanced at Reese's hands, saw them relaxed on the leather reins and knew that Red would be facing off with a monster come stretch time.
Reese glanced under her arm, looking for Nirvana. Just two weeks ago, Reese and another gray filly had fallen prey to the great bounding strides of Nirvana. Reese was not fooled a bit in thinking that the two year old bay behind them was just a baby. Nirvana had demonstrated professionalism in her first workout and her first race, becoming the first two year old of Witch Creek's to break her maiden. As Siri was galloping along beside Red Herring, both of them were being track mercilessly by the mahogany bay filly. Reese gritted her teeth, returned her attention to the front.
Brooks shifted as soon as Red Herring it the end of the gallop. The red horse's nostrils flared to the size of saucers, his eyes flying open so that the whites showed. Brooks clutched the horses mane, blue eyes darkening with the adrenaline rush. Three, two, one... and Red Herring lifted off like a rocket. His muscled body scorched over the ground, stunning Supernatural with the swiftness of the speed. Reese shook the gray filly up, and sent her soaring. Her sleek body flew over the course, her strides swallowing the ground that Red had put between them. Reese leaned close to the flying gray main, nearly cackling when the gray filly surged up to knock heads with Red Herring. The stallion began to snort every stride, furious at being caught so easily. He put some more speed until he was running with a half-length lead.
The one thing that made Red different then most front runners was his innate ability to parcel out his speed over the duration of a long race. He simply scorched you as you attempted to tackle him. As he'd gotten older, he'd gotten craftier. His shapely head was up in the air, taking in great lungfuls as if he couldn't get enough. Brooks was perched on the stallion's withers, his hands light on the reins, allowing the big horse to do the dirty work. His ears were keeping a lookout for Nirvana and Laura.
Reese was doing the same, but her intent was clear. She was going to stick with Red and then hook up with Vana when she made her big run. Siri was free flying beside Red Herring, going so easily and smoothly it was almost unreal. Siri had done some major growing up, had become a professional in the quietest way. The gray filly glided forward to run at Red's neck, her ears bobbing over her head with something left. Reese bided her time, knew that Red Herring wasn't done and Nirvana had yet to get started.
Oh no... Vana had yet to get started. Laura was playing with the filly's black mane, blue eyes flashing. Vana was like a cannon ball waiting to be fired. Laura's eyes narrowed as the stallion and gray filly roared by the 5/8ths pole. "Time to go." Laura dodged violently, flinging the reins up Vana's neck. The blaze-faced filly hustled into stride, leaving her former position in the dust. Her heavy body thundered after the older horses, her ears lost in her black mane. Laura couldn't believe the power that this two year old possessed. She just roared over the course as if it were nothing, as if the distance between herself and the others was no big deal.
It didn't take a genius to understand that the ominous drumming of hoofbeats meant that the bay two year old was coming. Reese and Brooks drove their horses forward into the stretch, their only hope of outstaying a sprinting closer was by gaining as much ground as possibly. Siri and Red were locked together on the turn, neither fanning out wide in their desperate flight into the homestretch. The pair battled fiercely, ears pinned, eyes blazing with hate and rage. Red still had a nose lead, but Siri was pulling on it with sharp tugs. He held her off valiently as the hoofbeats died off briefly.
Reese's brows drew together in concern, she glanced beneath her arm, looking for Nirvana. The bay filly wasn't there... at all. Reese glanced back in time to see Siri's right ear stand straight up. Reese looked up, eyes widening when she caught sight of Vana's burly body flying down the center of the track. Reese shook the reins, pushed hard on Siri's gray neck. Re-engaged the Dylan Himself three year old leaped forward, fighting for every ounce of her energy to battle back Vana. Red Herring, gritty as he came, went with Siri, flying with her, but not realizing the danger was the horse way to the outside.
The trio bore down on the wire in a spread out van guard across the track. The horses flew side by side by side across the wire locked in battle. The riders stood up, Brooks jabbing the bit into the sides of Red's mouth. The stallion relented after a fight. Shaking his head, the big horse launched a buck that nearly sent Brooks flying. Nirvana and Siri galloped by, controlled and collected. Vana stretched her neck out, looking for more. Laura patted her neck, sent a smile in Reese's direction. Reese let out a husky laugh, stroked Siri's damp neck. "You didn't get a win this time girlie."
"No, but they're gonna have to be flying to beat any of us next time out. That was a race in itself."
"I'm telling you between Flashy Wings and Mastermind that was a very impressive first Dubai World Carnival." Reese hummed in agreement as she brushed the last specks of dirt off of Siri's pale shoulder. The filly had lightened up with only dark flecks here and there betraying her gray color. She was a gorgeous filly, sleek and lean. Her journey from two to three had been completed very nicely. A run in the Unicorn Horn Dirt versus males was up next for the sparkling gray filly. Reese had guided one gray filly to a Turf Triple Crown win. Many would be waiting to see if she could guide her other to a victory in the Triple Crown. Reese knew her filly could do it. Siri had been destined to face off with the boys for her career. And she had yet to be a let down. "I wonder what this season brings for us Laura. It's scary to think so many of our best have retired."
"Scary, but it's a fact of racing. Make room for the new "best"." Both women looked up to meet Brookson Well's sparkling blue eyes. He seemed to have gotten over the worst of retiring Frozen Motion. The lightening gray stallion had been officially moved to the stud barn to join the likes of Touch Up, Native Flame and his cohort in crime, Ashes to Ashes. A horse stomped irritably at Brooks' side and drew the gaze of the women. Red Herring, three year old winner of the Hollywood Gold Cup, had shown signs of improvement in his late season. That improvement was nothing compared to the form he was flashing at this very moment. His muscles bulged beneath copper coated hide. His eyes were bright with fire and eagerness, his legs sturdy and strong. His white facial marking glared white outside of a face that could only be regarded as fierce. Brooks would have a great older male contender in the beautiful red horse.
"Ripley said to meet her out on the track in five minutes." Red snorted, chomping at the bit in complete understanding. Nirvana stomped a hoof, eyes firing up with irritation at the red stallion. She pinned her ears, snaking out her blaze-faced head. Laura patted the filly's strong shoulder muscle. "Vana you can take him down a peg on the track. Not before then." She switched her black tail, turned her face away from Red and pondered escape from the cross-ties.
Reese led Siri out of the barn, guiding the light gray filly by the bay two year old. Siri snorted, tossing her head in minor irritation. The Dylan Himself filly was one of the most confident three year old racehorses in the string. She had an aura around her that screamed large and in charge. Once flighty, Siri stood confidently while Reese leaped onto her back. The filly flicked her ears, dipped her head in acceptance. Reese placed her feet in the stirrups glanced back. Brooks was aboard Red Herring, the proud stallion bulling right on by Nirvana. The chestnut seemed to enjoy teasing the filly who pinned her ears furiously in his direction. Laura had about two seconds to mount before the Gold Storm daughter stormed off after Red. A warhorse of a two year old, Nirvana charged after him, muscles pumping beneath her brown hide.
Siri followed behind the muscular stallion and burly filly, her eyes bright with eagerness. She was ready to pick things up again. Her gallops the last two weeks had been strong and she was showing signs of run once again. Her lean form passed through the gap onto the track, flickering in the soft spring light. Reese allowed the filly to approach Ripley who was aboard El Sol del Mar. The chestnut Hall of Famer watched the horses approach her with a regal air. Sunny had not always been so high on the totem pole, but now she was coming into her own well after her retirement from the racetrack. She pawed a hoof, threw an arrogant glance in Red's direction as though baiting him.
"I don't know what's up with all these ladies hating on Red today," Brooks said with an exasperated tone. The chestnut stallion backed willingly, ears flickering warily over his proud head. Ripley smirked, nodded. "Too much estrogen against this one poor guy." Ripley past a cool glance over the trio, noted the bandages as she'd wanted. "All of them look very well. Vana is holding her weight extremely well after that first race. Very good." Laura beamed with pride, patting her bay filly's neck. Vana was too busy keeping an eye on Red Herring to notice. Her thick hide simply twitched as if ridding a fly. So much for her sweet two year old, Laura thought. "Siri and Red both look well. Red's got plenty of muscle tone so the gallops since the Classic must have worked. Siri's got a task facing her in the Unicorn Horn Dirt, but we'll see how she does today."
Siri backed away suddenly, lifting to her hind legs, suddenly revved. Reese moved with the rapid movement, brown eyes blazing with the challenge. "Hey girl!" The gray filly slammed to the earth, would have danced back up if Reese hadn't urged her forward. "Alright, since Siri's had enough. Send him a mile and a quarter gallop. Five furlong workout. Time to tune 'em up."
The trio of horses whipped up the track in a matter of moments, sending dirt into Sunny's chest. The chestnut mare shook it off with a toss of her head, ears flicking for a moment before locking onto the runners. She was a happy go-lucky mare, but more she'd missed the track and even dirt in her face was worth it. Ripley patted the chestnut mare's shoulder, walked her along the fence-line until she was lined up with the wire.
Red Herring bolted to the lead, snatching the rail position that he was coming to covet. The big red stallion locked his ears back into his mane, his eyes flickering with fire as Supernatural loped up to his right side. Her lean silver-white frame floated over the course, head cocked inward as always to keep an eye on the inside horse. Reese rode the quirky filly with the same kind of reverent respect that she rode Bella Luna. The gray three year old responded well to loose rein, dictated her own pace in the early going. Her dark eyes flashed as Red Herring put on a burst of speed, but she did not bait easy. She remained loose and relaxed nearly a length behind the chestnut stud.
Nirvana settled three lengths off of the older horses, burly body swallowing the ground with large strides. For such a stout filly, she sure had great propulsion. Her body was like an engine, fierce and mean at great speeds, but it purred when allowed to cruise along. Laura kept her hands on the reins, eyes bright as she let Vana cruise up to par. The 16.1 hand filly wasn't a big one from the ground, but on her back, she was a tank. Laura kept her eyes deadlocked on the older horses as they cruised into the far turn. Nirvana switched leads, stalked with eyes as sharp as a predators.
Red Herring bounded over the course, clicking off quick fractions, continuing to bait Siri into coming after him. Brooks could feel the fury wafting off of Red, knew in a race that other horses would take the bait. Not Siri. She was too confident, too much Reese's animal to bounce back urges from Red. The gray filly snorted, bowing her neck and looking very much like the horse on a merry-go-round. Brooks knew that the gray animal was nothing like a carnival horse when woken up. He glanced at Reese's hands, saw them relaxed on the leather reins and knew that Red would be facing off with a monster come stretch time.
Reese glanced under her arm, looking for Nirvana. Just two weeks ago, Reese and another gray filly had fallen prey to the great bounding strides of Nirvana. Reese was not fooled a bit in thinking that the two year old bay behind them was just a baby. Nirvana had demonstrated professionalism in her first workout and her first race, becoming the first two year old of Witch Creek's to break her maiden. As Siri was galloping along beside Red Herring, both of them were being track mercilessly by the mahogany bay filly. Reese gritted her teeth, returned her attention to the front.
Brooks shifted as soon as Red Herring it the end of the gallop. The red horse's nostrils flared to the size of saucers, his eyes flying open so that the whites showed. Brooks clutched the horses mane, blue eyes darkening with the adrenaline rush. Three, two, one... and Red Herring lifted off like a rocket. His muscled body scorched over the ground, stunning Supernatural with the swiftness of the speed. Reese shook the gray filly up, and sent her soaring. Her sleek body flew over the course, her strides swallowing the ground that Red had put between them. Reese leaned close to the flying gray main, nearly cackling when the gray filly surged up to knock heads with Red Herring. The stallion began to snort every stride, furious at being caught so easily. He put some more speed until he was running with a half-length lead.
The one thing that made Red different then most front runners was his innate ability to parcel out his speed over the duration of a long race. He simply scorched you as you attempted to tackle him. As he'd gotten older, he'd gotten craftier. His shapely head was up in the air, taking in great lungfuls as if he couldn't get enough. Brooks was perched on the stallion's withers, his hands light on the reins, allowing the big horse to do the dirty work. His ears were keeping a lookout for Nirvana and Laura.
Reese was doing the same, but her intent was clear. She was going to stick with Red and then hook up with Vana when she made her big run. Siri was free flying beside Red Herring, going so easily and smoothly it was almost unreal. Siri had done some major growing up, had become a professional in the quietest way. The gray filly glided forward to run at Red's neck, her ears bobbing over her head with something left. Reese bided her time, knew that Red Herring wasn't done and Nirvana had yet to get started.
Oh no... Vana had yet to get started. Laura was playing with the filly's black mane, blue eyes flashing. Vana was like a cannon ball waiting to be fired. Laura's eyes narrowed as the stallion and gray filly roared by the 5/8ths pole. "Time to go." Laura dodged violently, flinging the reins up Vana's neck. The blaze-faced filly hustled into stride, leaving her former position in the dust. Her heavy body thundered after the older horses, her ears lost in her black mane. Laura couldn't believe the power that this two year old possessed. She just roared over the course as if it were nothing, as if the distance between herself and the others was no big deal.
It didn't take a genius to understand that the ominous drumming of hoofbeats meant that the bay two year old was coming. Reese and Brooks drove their horses forward into the stretch, their only hope of outstaying a sprinting closer was by gaining as much ground as possibly. Siri and Red were locked together on the turn, neither fanning out wide in their desperate flight into the homestretch. The pair battled fiercely, ears pinned, eyes blazing with hate and rage. Red still had a nose lead, but Siri was pulling on it with sharp tugs. He held her off valiently as the hoofbeats died off briefly.
Reese's brows drew together in concern, she glanced beneath her arm, looking for Nirvana. The bay filly wasn't there... at all. Reese glanced back in time to see Siri's right ear stand straight up. Reese looked up, eyes widening when she caught sight of Vana's burly body flying down the center of the track. Reese shook the reins, pushed hard on Siri's gray neck. Re-engaged the Dylan Himself three year old leaped forward, fighting for every ounce of her energy to battle back Vana. Red Herring, gritty as he came, went with Siri, flying with her, but not realizing the danger was the horse way to the outside.
The trio bore down on the wire in a spread out van guard across the track. The horses flew side by side by side across the wire locked in battle. The riders stood up, Brooks jabbing the bit into the sides of Red's mouth. The stallion relented after a fight. Shaking his head, the big horse launched a buck that nearly sent Brooks flying. Nirvana and Siri galloped by, controlled and collected. Vana stretched her neck out, looking for more. Laura patted her neck, sent a smile in Reese's direction. Reese let out a husky laugh, stroked Siri's damp neck. "You didn't get a win this time girlie."
"No, but they're gonna have to be flying to beat any of us next time out. That was a race in itself."
keep up
Bang. Bang. Bang. Justin launched himself out of the stall just as two flying hooves nearly caught him in the ears. He rolled to the dirt outside of the stall, eyes bright and flashing. "What the hell, Prima?" He climbed to his feet, eyes full of irritation.
A cat of a filly faced off with him, brown eyes flashing with arrogance and fury to match. Her head was savage, with ears that twisted inward at the tips and a dished muzzle that would have fit in the palm of his hand. She was the sleek color of polished mahogany with zero white markings. Yet, for all of her lack of chrome, Justin considered her one of the most beautiful fillies he'd ever laid eyes on. But... anyone could call him biased.
If looks could kill, Justin would have been dead three times this morning. "Hey now Prima. That's no way to treat a friend." He drew up to the stall, listened to the wild beat of her hooves. Her body was dappled out, her coat shining. She looked beautifully wild. She'd not always been this way, this fierce, and fiery. But something inside of her had clicked on. Something dangerous and deadly. It would make for a really interesting first ride.
Justin walked into the stall, eyes filling with patience as he approached. She snorted, nostrils flaring, at his reappearance. "You know me too well to know I give up easily." The filly let out a huff of air as he snagged her bridle at the bit and stroked her neck. Prima sighed again, softer, but the ominous fierceness remained a glint in her gaze.
Hooves beat outside the stall and Justin nodded. Ripley was forever on time. He looked up to see his boss aboard the coal black mare Cross My Heart. If Prima was fierce, Cross was mercilessly deadly. Winner of two Breeders' Cup races, Cross was in the fast lane to making greatness. Justin believed Prima to be a mix of Bella Luna and Cross My Heart. The promise was there, but it was only a matter of time before she flashed it out loud. Cross cocked an ear in Prima's direction, proceeded to roll her eyes. These newsbies drove the slim mare insane. Justin heard Prima respond with a barely audible nicker. He rolled his eyes. "At least you like someone."
Ripley nudged Cross forward so that Prima could walk from the stall. "Still giving you trouble, huh?" Justin nodded after he clambered into the saddle, followed Ripley outdoors. "You know how Bella Luna went from flighty and scared to confident between two and three? Prima did the opposite in terms of temperament, from arrogant to fierce and angry at the world and everyone in it. How is that possible? Her mama isn't like that. George wasn't like that from what I've heard."
Ripley smiled back. "A horse is their own individual. Just think of her as a fiercer and younger Dame." Justin laughed as Prima snorted, shaking her head in what could only be interpreted as disagreement. "She clearly doesn't agree." Ripley smiled, patted Cross' sleek black diamond coat. The mare picked up a quick-footed jog, tossing her head. The mare was itching for some activity. She wasn't one for sitting at home. She preferred running to relaxing. Her run in the Unicorn Horn would be coming at the perfect time.
"We'll gallop a mile. Run three furlongs. We've got to start a little closer since the stretch 'til the three furlong flat is a mile and a quarter." She paused as Cross lifted into a half-rear, eyes blazing with mad. "A canter until that point." Justin smirked as Prima crow hopped into the air. She clearly was not nodding in approval.
The bay and black cantered in mutiny, eyes furious. Cross flashed speed even at the fierce handle on the reins by Ripley. She was pumped up and ready to run. Ripley was silent, content with the jolting gait. Cross was not the easiest mount, but she would never toss Ripley.
The horses finally swept up to the mile marker, ears pinning simultaneously. Cross bolted, the queen of speed herself. Her night black legs blurred as she got up to a gallop, ears lost in her wild black mane. Ripley twined her fingers into the mane, eyes blurring from the strong wind. She felt completely powerful and indestructible aboard this mare. Cross was wild and fierce, something to behold. She demanded attention or she would run you off your feet and off of her back. Her sleek frame scorched the grass valley, leaving clumps of turf in her wake.
Prima Donna tracked the sleek mare over the hills, her strides long and efficient, muscles pumping beneath her slick hide. Justin wrapped his fingers in the filly's black mane, dark eyes wild with glee. The three year old filly was coming back into form. She had been ever since her break between now and the Breeders' Cup. Her eyes were lit with a wild light and she pursued Cross My Heart with determined steps. Her tail spread out behind her like a black cape, flowing and free. She was a fiery filly, fast and full of herself. She kept herself at Cross' barrel, eyes blazing though the effort to keep up with the sprinter mare was not something she was used to.
Ripley rode in silence as Cross floated up the highest hillside with eerie ease. Her black form looked noble from the distance, but up close there was a wild wanting. The mare's hooves danced beneath her lithe body, quicker when Prima joined them at the crest. Cross pinned her ears viciously in Prima's direction, stomped and ground her teeth together in clear warning. The bay filly ducked away, but Justin had enough control to send her down the hillside first. Prima's eyes widened with excitement as she found herself on the front end for once. For too long she had been The Devil's Hourglass and Paranormal Hunter's whipping girl. Justin could feel the wild excitement surge through the bright filly's body. Justin had been right in removing her from the warpath of the other gorgon ladies.
Cross let out a war cry from the top of the hillside, propelled herself off the ground with powerful hind-quarters, and dashed after her stable-mate. Ripley clung to the mare's satin neck as she sped down the grass slope in fierce pursuit. Cross was not used to being headed, especially at the head of the three furlong flat. Ripley ducked her head as the wind burned her eyes. Cross exploded onto the flat with a wild leap and tore across the grass. Ripley knew Cross would catch Prima before the first half furlong was up. But Cross had another thing coming if she thought Prima was going to go down easy. Even from this vantage point, Ripley could see the wild joy that Prima was experiencing at finding herself on the lead. She was not going to give that up waving a white flag of surrender.
Prima was cruising over the surface, each stride fantastically long and powerful. Her brown eyes were sparking with life as she grew brave on the lead. Her ears were pinned back into her mane, though every few seconds one would lift to listen for the onslaught that was bound to come. Justin could hear the pounding of hooves that meant Cross had grown furious and was coming for Prima. He leaned to his three year old filly's neck, pumped his arms and sent her soaring. So athletic was Prima, she practically took one stride in the air in an effort to reshake Cross. Cross was in an unfamiliar position. Out-footed at the start, the black mare was finding herself making up the ground. It would be uncharted territory for both of them. Justin chuckled as Prima powered into the third furlong still in front.
Now Ripley could feel the hate boiling in Cross' sleek form. She'd expected an easy mark, but that easy mark had risen up to be a tough contender in disguise. Ripley shook the reins, giving her mare the encouragement she needed to hit top gear. The black took off with such speed she might have been originally standing still. Her legs blurred beneath her frame, her head lifted to take in huge breaths as she swallowed the ground. She was the ring leader, not the follower. Ripley nodded when she saw Prima's ears lift. Now the bay filly knew she was in trouble. Cross streaked up to her side, engaged her with another stride and nearly overtook her with the next.
But Prima wasn't done. Justin did not have to shake the reins at her this time. She hit another gear, gritting down in rebellion. The savage filly battled with the savage mare in a war over wills and rights. Neither horse gave in through a furlong that could only be called torrid. Together they swept over the invisible line, spread out to get the most out of their lithe bodies. Cross bolted up the hill, squealing and throwing her usual tantrum when races didn't go her way. Her eyes were wild, her nostrils flaring as Prima caught up at a more controlled gallop. The mare might have whipped around and savaged the filly if Ripley hadn't caught her up in a quick grip. The black witch backed up, tossing her head and with it lather as her eyes dared Prima Donna to bring it on.
Prima stared at her with defiance in her gaze, but did nothing but draw to a stand still. Justin would have laughed if he hadn't recognized the seriousness of the moment. Prima was not backing down. She was back to her arrogant ways. Her eyes tempted Cross to come closer, her posture alert and on the muscle. Her quiet control was impressive and her breathing was not as roughed up as Cross'. She was ready for what came next. And Cross, by God, was ready to take out her fury in her very next start.
A cat of a filly faced off with him, brown eyes flashing with arrogance and fury to match. Her head was savage, with ears that twisted inward at the tips and a dished muzzle that would have fit in the palm of his hand. She was the sleek color of polished mahogany with zero white markings. Yet, for all of her lack of chrome, Justin considered her one of the most beautiful fillies he'd ever laid eyes on. But... anyone could call him biased.
If looks could kill, Justin would have been dead three times this morning. "Hey now Prima. That's no way to treat a friend." He drew up to the stall, listened to the wild beat of her hooves. Her body was dappled out, her coat shining. She looked beautifully wild. She'd not always been this way, this fierce, and fiery. But something inside of her had clicked on. Something dangerous and deadly. It would make for a really interesting first ride.
Justin walked into the stall, eyes filling with patience as he approached. She snorted, nostrils flaring, at his reappearance. "You know me too well to know I give up easily." The filly let out a huff of air as he snagged her bridle at the bit and stroked her neck. Prima sighed again, softer, but the ominous fierceness remained a glint in her gaze.
Hooves beat outside the stall and Justin nodded. Ripley was forever on time. He looked up to see his boss aboard the coal black mare Cross My Heart. If Prima was fierce, Cross was mercilessly deadly. Winner of two Breeders' Cup races, Cross was in the fast lane to making greatness. Justin believed Prima to be a mix of Bella Luna and Cross My Heart. The promise was there, but it was only a matter of time before she flashed it out loud. Cross cocked an ear in Prima's direction, proceeded to roll her eyes. These newsbies drove the slim mare insane. Justin heard Prima respond with a barely audible nicker. He rolled his eyes. "At least you like someone."
Ripley nudged Cross forward so that Prima could walk from the stall. "Still giving you trouble, huh?" Justin nodded after he clambered into the saddle, followed Ripley outdoors. "You know how Bella Luna went from flighty and scared to confident between two and three? Prima did the opposite in terms of temperament, from arrogant to fierce and angry at the world and everyone in it. How is that possible? Her mama isn't like that. George wasn't like that from what I've heard."
Ripley smiled back. "A horse is their own individual. Just think of her as a fiercer and younger Dame." Justin laughed as Prima snorted, shaking her head in what could only be interpreted as disagreement. "She clearly doesn't agree." Ripley smiled, patted Cross' sleek black diamond coat. The mare picked up a quick-footed jog, tossing her head. The mare was itching for some activity. She wasn't one for sitting at home. She preferred running to relaxing. Her run in the Unicorn Horn would be coming at the perfect time.
"We'll gallop a mile. Run three furlongs. We've got to start a little closer since the stretch 'til the three furlong flat is a mile and a quarter." She paused as Cross lifted into a half-rear, eyes blazing with mad. "A canter until that point." Justin smirked as Prima crow hopped into the air. She clearly was not nodding in approval.
The bay and black cantered in mutiny, eyes furious. Cross flashed speed even at the fierce handle on the reins by Ripley. She was pumped up and ready to run. Ripley was silent, content with the jolting gait. Cross was not the easiest mount, but she would never toss Ripley.
The horses finally swept up to the mile marker, ears pinning simultaneously. Cross bolted, the queen of speed herself. Her night black legs blurred as she got up to a gallop, ears lost in her wild black mane. Ripley twined her fingers into the mane, eyes blurring from the strong wind. She felt completely powerful and indestructible aboard this mare. Cross was wild and fierce, something to behold. She demanded attention or she would run you off your feet and off of her back. Her sleek frame scorched the grass valley, leaving clumps of turf in her wake.
Prima Donna tracked the sleek mare over the hills, her strides long and efficient, muscles pumping beneath her slick hide. Justin wrapped his fingers in the filly's black mane, dark eyes wild with glee. The three year old filly was coming back into form. She had been ever since her break between now and the Breeders' Cup. Her eyes were lit with a wild light and she pursued Cross My Heart with determined steps. Her tail spread out behind her like a black cape, flowing and free. She was a fiery filly, fast and full of herself. She kept herself at Cross' barrel, eyes blazing though the effort to keep up with the sprinter mare was not something she was used to.
Ripley rode in silence as Cross floated up the highest hillside with eerie ease. Her black form looked noble from the distance, but up close there was a wild wanting. The mare's hooves danced beneath her lithe body, quicker when Prima joined them at the crest. Cross pinned her ears viciously in Prima's direction, stomped and ground her teeth together in clear warning. The bay filly ducked away, but Justin had enough control to send her down the hillside first. Prima's eyes widened with excitement as she found herself on the front end for once. For too long she had been The Devil's Hourglass and Paranormal Hunter's whipping girl. Justin could feel the wild excitement surge through the bright filly's body. Justin had been right in removing her from the warpath of the other gorgon ladies.
Cross let out a war cry from the top of the hillside, propelled herself off the ground with powerful hind-quarters, and dashed after her stable-mate. Ripley clung to the mare's satin neck as she sped down the grass slope in fierce pursuit. Cross was not used to being headed, especially at the head of the three furlong flat. Ripley ducked her head as the wind burned her eyes. Cross exploded onto the flat with a wild leap and tore across the grass. Ripley knew Cross would catch Prima before the first half furlong was up. But Cross had another thing coming if she thought Prima was going to go down easy. Even from this vantage point, Ripley could see the wild joy that Prima was experiencing at finding herself on the lead. She was not going to give that up waving a white flag of surrender.
Prima was cruising over the surface, each stride fantastically long and powerful. Her brown eyes were sparking with life as she grew brave on the lead. Her ears were pinned back into her mane, though every few seconds one would lift to listen for the onslaught that was bound to come. Justin could hear the pounding of hooves that meant Cross had grown furious and was coming for Prima. He leaned to his three year old filly's neck, pumped his arms and sent her soaring. So athletic was Prima, she practically took one stride in the air in an effort to reshake Cross. Cross was in an unfamiliar position. Out-footed at the start, the black mare was finding herself making up the ground. It would be uncharted territory for both of them. Justin chuckled as Prima powered into the third furlong still in front.
Now Ripley could feel the hate boiling in Cross' sleek form. She'd expected an easy mark, but that easy mark had risen up to be a tough contender in disguise. Ripley shook the reins, giving her mare the encouragement she needed to hit top gear. The black took off with such speed she might have been originally standing still. Her legs blurred beneath her frame, her head lifted to take in huge breaths as she swallowed the ground. She was the ring leader, not the follower. Ripley nodded when she saw Prima's ears lift. Now the bay filly knew she was in trouble. Cross streaked up to her side, engaged her with another stride and nearly overtook her with the next.
But Prima wasn't done. Justin did not have to shake the reins at her this time. She hit another gear, gritting down in rebellion. The savage filly battled with the savage mare in a war over wills and rights. Neither horse gave in through a furlong that could only be called torrid. Together they swept over the invisible line, spread out to get the most out of their lithe bodies. Cross bolted up the hill, squealing and throwing her usual tantrum when races didn't go her way. Her eyes were wild, her nostrils flaring as Prima caught up at a more controlled gallop. The mare might have whipped around and savaged the filly if Ripley hadn't caught her up in a quick grip. The black witch backed up, tossing her head and with it lather as her eyes dared Prima Donna to bring it on.
Prima stared at her with defiance in her gaze, but did nothing but draw to a stand still. Justin would have laughed if he hadn't recognized the seriousness of the moment. Prima was not backing down. She was back to her arrogant ways. Her eyes tempted Cross to come closer, her posture alert and on the muscle. Her quiet control was impressive and her breathing was not as roughed up as Cross'. She was ready for what came next. And Cross, by God, was ready to take out her fury in her very next start.
war front
Malcolm Floyd leaned against the dirt track railing, cobalt blue eyes settled on some speck of dirt just on the other side of the rail. A blonde woman filled his thoughts, a poison considering the business of his schedule. He shrugged, narrowing his eyes trying to push her out of his head. He had other things to do. Mainly assessing the yearling filly that came in yesterday and the three year old filly that had arrived a week ago. But here he stood, lost in his thoughts, and hoping Ripley Marsh would just show up already with the trio he was supposed to look over.
The clatter of hooves on the dirt path made him sigh in relief and he looked to see a trio of spectacular horses heading down the path. He mulled them over, eyes brightening at their forms. In Front looked like a king among boys with his broad chest, strong hind-quarters and overall heavy frame. He had two starts under his belt this season and the gallops in between were really starting to get him into shape. He pranced down the path, neck bowed and nostrils flaring. His rump was dappled out and his eyes gleamed with fire. If there was a better looking horse on the property, Malcolm wanted to know. Something had snapped inside In Front's last start. He looked furious and ready to put up a good old fashioned brawl. Mal could see the impressed light in Brookson Wells' gaze even from a quarter mile away. He rode with a hand on his hip even when the horse lifted into a parading jog.
Mal shifted his gaze to the other two, once again a little struck at how similar Casualty of War and Saintly Touch looked. The only color differences belonged to Saint who was in possession of a seal brown coloring and a rear white sock. Sultan was all black, jet black without a speck of white on him. His wild mane and tail framed a powerful body that gave him the appearance of being much taller than Saint even though only real inches separated them. The colt had broken his maiden second time in a spectacular showing of grit, determination and the ability to fend off pursuers. Sultan wasn't the only one who looked bulked up these days. Justin did as well. The key to riding Sultan was matching him power for power and a vast amount of stamina. Mal nodded in approval as Sultan passed by with a huff.
Dust covered Mal's boots as hooves skittered inches away from him. He lifted his eyes to Ripley's cat-green gaze and grinned. There was something secretive in her face, as though she knew that the other horses had better outward appearances than her own. Saint was handsome with his gleaming dark coat, his muscles were substantial but not quite bulging like In Front's. He had an aura of aloofness, was more of a shadow horse than a real lively one than Sultan. Saint passed quietly onto the dirt, ears pricking, single seeing eye flashing with recognition. He moved into a graceful canter-gallop, each hoofstep deliberate and quiet. Ripley stood silently in the saddle. Once again, Mal was forced to silently appreciate Ripley's skill in deciding which horses would be hers.
Saint was in charge for only a second before Sultan took notice of him. Grinding his teeth, the big two year old strutted right on by the Night Stalker colt to assume command. Saint just flicked his ears, settled into stride, showing no signs of being bothered when In Front muscled alongside him and then left him to sit three-quarters of a length behind. Sultan's ears pinned in his mane, full of threat and arrogance. He was not going to let this big puffed up horse beat him back. Slick as a fish, Sultan kicked into a faster stride, forcing Justin to tighten his hands on mane and rein. The colt was feisty today, had been since his victory last week. He was full of hype, full of excitement and in need of a relaxing run.
In Front felt like a coiled spring today. His muscles were pumping beneath his bright bay hide and his eyes glinted with bold intent. It was clear that Sultan and Saint were going to have their hooves full if they intended to take him on. Brooks leaned close to the three year old's bullish neck, his lips pursed in concentration. In Front relaxed under the slight pressure, big limbs gamboling over the surface in what could only be called an effortless run. Brooks glanced sideways, saw that Justin had a solid grip on Casualty of War. The black horse wasn't running hot, just full of energy. Justin would masterfully spread that speed over the duration of the workout, just as he had in the last race and in the future race. Brooks glanced under his arm, curious of Ripley's position.
Saintly Touch cruised beneath Ripley's still form, each stride utterly relaxed and unhampered. He'd broken off beautifully into this gallop and seemed as calm as an untouched lake. Ripley was impressed by this relaxed position for it was really only Saint's first hard month of racehorse training. He would make his second start in the Unicorn Horn Juvenile Dirt versus what was shaping up to be a very good field. Ripley kept her hands at the seal brown colt's withers, but the reins weren't taunt at all even though the colt was really on the bridle. He kept two and a half lengths behind the other colts, his eyes glinting with eagerness. Ripley was sitting in the hot spot, watching all of the action unfold with a ton of horse beneath her.
"Alright boys, half-mile gallop left to go and then a four furlong blowout. Don't push your pair too hard, let them do it on their own." She grinned as the guys nodded even though she had merely whispered the words. These high tech microphones sure came in handy. She patted Saint's neck in contentment, her green eyes at peace for the moment. They tracked Casualty of War and In Front as they began to pick up the pace.
Casualty of War sped into the turn, muscled body curving with the silver rail. His black form carried him over vast amounts of ground, threatened to carry him out due to centrifugal force. His agility kept him to losing only a single path. In Front pinned his ears as he found himself carried three wide. His heavy form needed all of the momentum it could get. Brooks shook the reins up giving the colt his cue to pick it up. The big bay charged off of the turn into the homestretch, rushing back to lock up with Casualty of War. Justin was impressed by the two year old's guts as he flew with the older animal. Sultan was not a horse that backed down. He fought with bravery when sheer talent did not work. In Front was at a different stage in his game and Sultan was simply getting started.
Brooks chuckled as In Front lengthened his stride half-way up the stretch, truly not trying as hard as he should. The last two races should have been tough, but instead both had bolstered him up impressively. Brooks kept his hands quiet, taking a page from Ripley's book. His blue eyes narrowed when he thought of Ripley. They were halfway through the blowout. Where was she?
The same thought seemed to pass through Justin's mind because the younger kid looked under his arm at the same time. Ripley lifted a hand in a wave, Saint was a length closer and sitting as pretty as he could be. His sighted eye was focused on the forward and his ears were pricked up in interest. Justin and Brooks shook their heads simultaneously, returned to the front and bided their time. Ripley was going to be coming in a matter of seconds.
In Front dove forward the second Saintly Touch picked it up. The seal brown colt was latched to his hip as he went on, full of run. In a matter of seconds he was bearing down on In Front's lead. Casualty of War fought bitterly at the rail, pressing in on In Front in hopes of intimidation. But the bigger horse could not be swayed by his rock-and-a-hard-place position. He bulled through the center under no encouragement from Brooks. His thunderous strides carried him to a length lead while the two year olds duked it out for second. Casualty of War and Saintly Touch's shoulders slammed together so that both of them went sideways. It was only after the wire that the jocks were able to rip them apart. Saint surged on by a galloping In Front, his strides confident and arrogant. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were gleaming with fire.
Casualty of War galloped nicely into the turn, his head alert and ears pricked. He pinned his ears as his half-brother neared him. In Front responded with a squeal, would have turned and pummeled a kick into the black's hindquarters if Brookson hadn't responded faster. Sultan reared, eyes wild with loathing while Justin perched at his withers. The young man slammed into him, forced him to the ground, clapped his heels to the colt's sides before he could go up again. The horse tossed his head, but obliged by galloping at a good clip up the rail. He may have been slightly tired, but spite gave him plenty of energy. Justin brought him to a jog, turned him back to In Front and Saintly Touch. Ripley was patting her colt's neck while Brooks sat tall and proud aboard his grinding three year old. The blaze faced colt looked more than happy with himself, barely breathing heavy at all.
The clatter of hooves on the dirt path made him sigh in relief and he looked to see a trio of spectacular horses heading down the path. He mulled them over, eyes brightening at their forms. In Front looked like a king among boys with his broad chest, strong hind-quarters and overall heavy frame. He had two starts under his belt this season and the gallops in between were really starting to get him into shape. He pranced down the path, neck bowed and nostrils flaring. His rump was dappled out and his eyes gleamed with fire. If there was a better looking horse on the property, Malcolm wanted to know. Something had snapped inside In Front's last start. He looked furious and ready to put up a good old fashioned brawl. Mal could see the impressed light in Brookson Wells' gaze even from a quarter mile away. He rode with a hand on his hip even when the horse lifted into a parading jog.
Mal shifted his gaze to the other two, once again a little struck at how similar Casualty of War and Saintly Touch looked. The only color differences belonged to Saint who was in possession of a seal brown coloring and a rear white sock. Sultan was all black, jet black without a speck of white on him. His wild mane and tail framed a powerful body that gave him the appearance of being much taller than Saint even though only real inches separated them. The colt had broken his maiden second time in a spectacular showing of grit, determination and the ability to fend off pursuers. Sultan wasn't the only one who looked bulked up these days. Justin did as well. The key to riding Sultan was matching him power for power and a vast amount of stamina. Mal nodded in approval as Sultan passed by with a huff.
Dust covered Mal's boots as hooves skittered inches away from him. He lifted his eyes to Ripley's cat-green gaze and grinned. There was something secretive in her face, as though she knew that the other horses had better outward appearances than her own. Saint was handsome with his gleaming dark coat, his muscles were substantial but not quite bulging like In Front's. He had an aura of aloofness, was more of a shadow horse than a real lively one than Sultan. Saint passed quietly onto the dirt, ears pricking, single seeing eye flashing with recognition. He moved into a graceful canter-gallop, each hoofstep deliberate and quiet. Ripley stood silently in the saddle. Once again, Mal was forced to silently appreciate Ripley's skill in deciding which horses would be hers.
Saint was in charge for only a second before Sultan took notice of him. Grinding his teeth, the big two year old strutted right on by the Night Stalker colt to assume command. Saint just flicked his ears, settled into stride, showing no signs of being bothered when In Front muscled alongside him and then left him to sit three-quarters of a length behind. Sultan's ears pinned in his mane, full of threat and arrogance. He was not going to let this big puffed up horse beat him back. Slick as a fish, Sultan kicked into a faster stride, forcing Justin to tighten his hands on mane and rein. The colt was feisty today, had been since his victory last week. He was full of hype, full of excitement and in need of a relaxing run.
In Front felt like a coiled spring today. His muscles were pumping beneath his bright bay hide and his eyes glinted with bold intent. It was clear that Sultan and Saint were going to have their hooves full if they intended to take him on. Brooks leaned close to the three year old's bullish neck, his lips pursed in concentration. In Front relaxed under the slight pressure, big limbs gamboling over the surface in what could only be called an effortless run. Brooks glanced sideways, saw that Justin had a solid grip on Casualty of War. The black horse wasn't running hot, just full of energy. Justin would masterfully spread that speed over the duration of the workout, just as he had in the last race and in the future race. Brooks glanced under his arm, curious of Ripley's position.
Saintly Touch cruised beneath Ripley's still form, each stride utterly relaxed and unhampered. He'd broken off beautifully into this gallop and seemed as calm as an untouched lake. Ripley was impressed by this relaxed position for it was really only Saint's first hard month of racehorse training. He would make his second start in the Unicorn Horn Juvenile Dirt versus what was shaping up to be a very good field. Ripley kept her hands at the seal brown colt's withers, but the reins weren't taunt at all even though the colt was really on the bridle. He kept two and a half lengths behind the other colts, his eyes glinting with eagerness. Ripley was sitting in the hot spot, watching all of the action unfold with a ton of horse beneath her.
"Alright boys, half-mile gallop left to go and then a four furlong blowout. Don't push your pair too hard, let them do it on their own." She grinned as the guys nodded even though she had merely whispered the words. These high tech microphones sure came in handy. She patted Saint's neck in contentment, her green eyes at peace for the moment. They tracked Casualty of War and In Front as they began to pick up the pace.
Casualty of War sped into the turn, muscled body curving with the silver rail. His black form carried him over vast amounts of ground, threatened to carry him out due to centrifugal force. His agility kept him to losing only a single path. In Front pinned his ears as he found himself carried three wide. His heavy form needed all of the momentum it could get. Brooks shook the reins up giving the colt his cue to pick it up. The big bay charged off of the turn into the homestretch, rushing back to lock up with Casualty of War. Justin was impressed by the two year old's guts as he flew with the older animal. Sultan was not a horse that backed down. He fought with bravery when sheer talent did not work. In Front was at a different stage in his game and Sultan was simply getting started.
Brooks chuckled as In Front lengthened his stride half-way up the stretch, truly not trying as hard as he should. The last two races should have been tough, but instead both had bolstered him up impressively. Brooks kept his hands quiet, taking a page from Ripley's book. His blue eyes narrowed when he thought of Ripley. They were halfway through the blowout. Where was she?
The same thought seemed to pass through Justin's mind because the younger kid looked under his arm at the same time. Ripley lifted a hand in a wave, Saint was a length closer and sitting as pretty as he could be. His sighted eye was focused on the forward and his ears were pricked up in interest. Justin and Brooks shook their heads simultaneously, returned to the front and bided their time. Ripley was going to be coming in a matter of seconds.
In Front dove forward the second Saintly Touch picked it up. The seal brown colt was latched to his hip as he went on, full of run. In a matter of seconds he was bearing down on In Front's lead. Casualty of War fought bitterly at the rail, pressing in on In Front in hopes of intimidation. But the bigger horse could not be swayed by his rock-and-a-hard-place position. He bulled through the center under no encouragement from Brooks. His thunderous strides carried him to a length lead while the two year olds duked it out for second. Casualty of War and Saintly Touch's shoulders slammed together so that both of them went sideways. It was only after the wire that the jocks were able to rip them apart. Saint surged on by a galloping In Front, his strides confident and arrogant. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were gleaming with fire.
Casualty of War galloped nicely into the turn, his head alert and ears pricked. He pinned his ears as his half-brother neared him. In Front responded with a squeal, would have turned and pummeled a kick into the black's hindquarters if Brookson hadn't responded faster. Sultan reared, eyes wild with loathing while Justin perched at his withers. The young man slammed into him, forced him to the ground, clapped his heels to the colt's sides before he could go up again. The horse tossed his head, but obliged by galloping at a good clip up the rail. He may have been slightly tired, but spite gave him plenty of energy. Justin brought him to a jog, turned him back to In Front and Saintly Touch. Ripley was patting her colt's neck while Brooks sat tall and proud aboard his grinding three year old. The blaze faced colt looked more than happy with himself, barely breathing heavy at all.
Capture The flag
Maggie strolled down the barn aisle, helmet in hand, and made the picture of the perfect cowgirl. Torn jeans, dusty boots, a blue flannel open over a gray cami, Maggie made the picture of every guys imagination. It didn't help that she was busty and her abs were so perfect that they could have been painted on. Her blue eyes hinted at happiness with tinges of sorrow in their depths. It had been a year and a half since she'd had so much as a drink of alcohol. A year and a half sober and she couldn't say she felt happier. Just less buzzed. The women shoved a hand through her golden blond curls, stopped at a stall door. Her piercing blue eyes met the oddly amber colored ones belonging to Call Me Crooked.
The light bay filly's blaze face poked through the stall door, nickering with interest. Maggie watched the curiosity flicker like flames in the filly's gaze. She wasn't a beautiful filly by any stretch of the imagination. Her frame was made for efficiency on the track rather than standing around the paddock. A broad chest, a strong rump, flashy black legs, and sloping shoulders promoted speed out on the racetrack. Her small face did not take center stage, but it was the core of her playful center. "Just like a human woman aren't you Crook. All body and a brain that is often overlooked." The filly slammed her foreleg against the star, causing a ringing noise to echo down the hallway of the barn. Maggie looked left and right, surprised that no one was around. Reese would be coming any second.
"All right Crook. Time to come out." She looped the halter over Crook's delicate head, softly pulled her out with a grin. The filly whinnied, nostrils flaring as she called down the hallway. Her light colored hooves danced over the rubber as she stared with such focus at the entranceway. Maggie leaned against her warm neck, blue eyes following her intense gaze. A moment later, two shadows appeared: a horse and human. Crook lifted into a half-rear, whinnying excitedly as Spotlight Pride stepped around the corner. The fiery chestnut colt stopped dead, white eyes rolling into his skull. He whinnied, jerking his head up and nearly lifting Reese from her feet. Pride tossed his head, long tail flipping over his rump playfully. Reese patted the colt's neck, calming him down. She flashed an irritated look at Maggie who shrugged. Laura was right. Reese's mounts needed to become adjusted.
The colt finally calmed down enough to come inside the barn, nostrils working double time to detect any threats. Crook, handled from birth, trusted humans instinctively. She tilted her head, sending a look of confusion at Maggie. Maggie patted her shoulder, happy that she wasn't going to go bonkers like the Deathflash's Pride colt. Crook shook her head as Maggie clipped the ties, became a picture of disguised patience as Maggie ran a brush over her sleek hide.
Reese looped the lead rope over the blanket bar on Pride's stall door. The colt was alert as ever, watching Maggie and Crook with suspicious eyes. He was a gorgeous animal, wildly beautiful and he would look just as gorgeous racing out on the track. He was just overly nervous, something time would help to heal. Reese kissed the horse's cheek, felt him relax slightly under the affection. They were working on it. Their race would come this next week versus former Witch Creek two year old Refute. Pride could run the hooves off of any animal, over any distance. Reese just had to run him the right way.
The riders and horses left the barn all equipped for the mornings run. Reese and Maggie mounted up, settling into their saddles quietly. The spring afternoon had left Witch Creek quiet. Mares and foals slept in the grass, stallions cropped grass in the separated paddocks. The only human body in sight was Ripley Marsh making her way over from the broodmare barn. She nodded to the women, walked in between the filly and the energetic colt. "Truck departs tomorrow. Get 'em out galloping early and loaded by nine. Pride's going to need the four days before the race to get acclimated. When we get there Reese I want you on him ASAP. Take him to the track and jog him. Exercise is going to relax his mind. Wouldn't hurt for you take Crook to the paddock between races Maggie. We'll decide that when we get there."
Pride pranced beside Ripley, not daring to pass her, with his neck bowed and each knee lifting with beautiful precision. He was a character. One that Reese enjoyed immensely for all of his quirks. Crook strode along on Ripley's other side, glancing around with interested eyes, her muscles alert, but not overly pumped. She was a confident sort of filly, and very contrary when it suited her. Maggie knew that the instant she allowed Crook to have her head the filly would turn and head for the barn. She just loved giving problems. Something they wouldn't be able to afford with Spotlight Pride as their partner. Pride waited for no one.
Ripley paused at the head of the turf hills, climbed onto the ATV that would take her to the three furlong flat. "A mile and a quarter gallop, three furlong blitz. Don't over encourage, but it wouldn't hurt to take the wild out of their systems in that flat." Reese and Maggie waited until Ripley's ATV had been gone for five minutes. Reese's brown eyes flashed at Maggie as she nodded. Maggie could see the inherent calculating of Reese's brain through her gaze. The woman was already pondering race strategy and the possible destruction of Call Me Crooked. Maggie stuck out her tongue at Reese's back, irritated slightly by the woman. Reese was one of the most successful jockeys for a reason... It didn't mean Maggie had to be like her. Yet... Maggie hadn't been experiencing the most exciting career in the end of Year Thirteen or beginning of Year Fourteen.
Maggie pushed Crook forward a moment before Pride took off like a rocket up the green hillside. And wouldn't you know... the bay filly retaliated by slamming on her heels and damn near headed in the opposite direction. Gritting her teeth, Maggie slammed back in the saddle, pulled the right rein around and wheeled Crook back. The blaze-faced filly whinnied in irritation, then desperation when Spotlight Pride's red tail disappeared over the crest of the hillside. Maggie yelled, pushed forward with her body and finally got a positive reaction, albeit aided by Pride. Her bay filly trucked up the hillside, black tail bushed out behind her. Her hooves were loud on the turf, her stride quick, but full of effort. Shooting up the side of a hill was not easy work.
Pride flew through the slim valley, nearly wild with the speed. His nostrils flared in and out rapidly as he took in massive amounts of air. The chestnut colt was one of the fastest horses Reese had been on in her lifetime. He just ran his ass off from beginning to end. And if Reese took up the bright red colt practically revolted. The reins dangled around his neck, only a pinky keeping from falling in his path. The colt bounded up the next slope, each stride long and ground eating. He'd gotten the hang of these turf hills since his arrival, enjoyed them immensely. Reese kept her brown eyes forward. She would not worry about Crook, just as she would not worry about Refute in their first start together. The worry would come at the end. The DW Flamekissed colt, or at the moment the Crooked Fire filly, had to expend more energy just to keep into contact with the red comet.
Crook muscled her way through the valley, legs blurring as she pursued Spotlight Pride. The reins were loose as Maggie could do nothing but hope Crook drew them into striking range. The strong bay filly was six lengths behind, but the distance was neither widening or shrinking. Crook was virtually at a stand still for all of her efforts. Maggie leaned close to the filly's neck as she once again launched her form up the hillside, grunting from effort. She paused briefly at the top of the crest, taking a huge lungful of air in before charging on down. There was one more hill before the three furlong flat.
Now Pride was just cruising along. He galloped through the last quarter still going strong, his eyes holding that wild light. Reese tucked in for the ride, drawing the reins back into her hands, but still maintaining a light touch. One more hill. Pride vaulted up the green slope, ears pinning briefly at the steepest point, but pricking at the top. He stopped for a moment, gathered himself and then loped easily down the hill. If Crook was going to make up ground, it was going to be here. Reese still did not look back, did not have time to. Pride hurtled off the hill with two feet left and was plowing through the flat in no time.
Crook tracked the red horse diligently, did not risk hurtling her body through space to catch him. The second she hit the flat, the little tank was running her fool head off. Her tongue lolled outside of her mouth, her black tinged ears pinned back into her black mane. Maggie leaned so close on her right side, the blonde woman could barely be seen. She murmured encouragement as the distance shrunk from six to four to three. Crook was running a blistering closing pace. Her only hope would be to catch Pride when Reese was unaware of their presence.
But oh... she was aware. Reese heard the flying hooves suddenly grow louder and new it was time to send her wild colt. She flung the reins down just as Crook blasted up to Pride's right haunch. Pride flung his two front legs out, roared forward with a sudden burst of speed and put the two and a half lengths back between himself and Crook. He flew under the imaginary wire, galloped up the hill with his ears pricked. She patted his neck wildly, thrilled at the horse beneath her. He was incredible this animal.
Crook pulled up as soon as she passed the wire, chest heaving with effort. Maggie stroked the filly's neck, not down-trodden, not defeated. Crook squealed half-heartedly after Pride's disappearing back. "It was an unfair advantage he had over you Crookmeister." The filly snorted, shook her head in annoyance as the ATV buzzed over. Ripley smiled as she climbed off, came to Crook who strode with irritation in every stride. "That was a good run. Very good. She deserves the rest of the day off. Light gallop tomorrow, maybe a lope. But nothing more than a lope on the four days leading up to the race. This'll keep her nicely tuned up."
Ripley narrowed her eyes as Reese returned about her prancing chestnut colt. Her green eyes darkened at the sight of the horse, thoughts hidden to all. "Very good ride Reese. I'm very interested on what he'll do in his first start. He'll be fine to gallop tomorrow, but manage his energy as best you can. You won't be working with Crook anymore. Next time it's Cross My Heart."
The woman got back on her ATV, leaving Maggie and Reese to exchange looks. Cross My Heart vs Spotlight Pride. Did Ripley really believe the untried horse had what it took to beat the fiercest sprinter mare in the world right now? Reese ran a finger down Pride's damp neck, quiet, but her interest was peaked. "Well. Good luck to us both in our next races." Maggie nodded. The women began the long walk back to the stable, only the sound of their mounts filling the atmosphere.
The light bay filly's blaze face poked through the stall door, nickering with interest. Maggie watched the curiosity flicker like flames in the filly's gaze. She wasn't a beautiful filly by any stretch of the imagination. Her frame was made for efficiency on the track rather than standing around the paddock. A broad chest, a strong rump, flashy black legs, and sloping shoulders promoted speed out on the racetrack. Her small face did not take center stage, but it was the core of her playful center. "Just like a human woman aren't you Crook. All body and a brain that is often overlooked." The filly slammed her foreleg against the star, causing a ringing noise to echo down the hallway of the barn. Maggie looked left and right, surprised that no one was around. Reese would be coming any second.
"All right Crook. Time to come out." She looped the halter over Crook's delicate head, softly pulled her out with a grin. The filly whinnied, nostrils flaring as she called down the hallway. Her light colored hooves danced over the rubber as she stared with such focus at the entranceway. Maggie leaned against her warm neck, blue eyes following her intense gaze. A moment later, two shadows appeared: a horse and human. Crook lifted into a half-rear, whinnying excitedly as Spotlight Pride stepped around the corner. The fiery chestnut colt stopped dead, white eyes rolling into his skull. He whinnied, jerking his head up and nearly lifting Reese from her feet. Pride tossed his head, long tail flipping over his rump playfully. Reese patted the colt's neck, calming him down. She flashed an irritated look at Maggie who shrugged. Laura was right. Reese's mounts needed to become adjusted.
The colt finally calmed down enough to come inside the barn, nostrils working double time to detect any threats. Crook, handled from birth, trusted humans instinctively. She tilted her head, sending a look of confusion at Maggie. Maggie patted her shoulder, happy that she wasn't going to go bonkers like the Deathflash's Pride colt. Crook shook her head as Maggie clipped the ties, became a picture of disguised patience as Maggie ran a brush over her sleek hide.
Reese looped the lead rope over the blanket bar on Pride's stall door. The colt was alert as ever, watching Maggie and Crook with suspicious eyes. He was a gorgeous animal, wildly beautiful and he would look just as gorgeous racing out on the track. He was just overly nervous, something time would help to heal. Reese kissed the horse's cheek, felt him relax slightly under the affection. They were working on it. Their race would come this next week versus former Witch Creek two year old Refute. Pride could run the hooves off of any animal, over any distance. Reese just had to run him the right way.
The riders and horses left the barn all equipped for the mornings run. Reese and Maggie mounted up, settling into their saddles quietly. The spring afternoon had left Witch Creek quiet. Mares and foals slept in the grass, stallions cropped grass in the separated paddocks. The only human body in sight was Ripley Marsh making her way over from the broodmare barn. She nodded to the women, walked in between the filly and the energetic colt. "Truck departs tomorrow. Get 'em out galloping early and loaded by nine. Pride's going to need the four days before the race to get acclimated. When we get there Reese I want you on him ASAP. Take him to the track and jog him. Exercise is going to relax his mind. Wouldn't hurt for you take Crook to the paddock between races Maggie. We'll decide that when we get there."
Pride pranced beside Ripley, not daring to pass her, with his neck bowed and each knee lifting with beautiful precision. He was a character. One that Reese enjoyed immensely for all of his quirks. Crook strode along on Ripley's other side, glancing around with interested eyes, her muscles alert, but not overly pumped. She was a confident sort of filly, and very contrary when it suited her. Maggie knew that the instant she allowed Crook to have her head the filly would turn and head for the barn. She just loved giving problems. Something they wouldn't be able to afford with Spotlight Pride as their partner. Pride waited for no one.
Ripley paused at the head of the turf hills, climbed onto the ATV that would take her to the three furlong flat. "A mile and a quarter gallop, three furlong blitz. Don't over encourage, but it wouldn't hurt to take the wild out of their systems in that flat." Reese and Maggie waited until Ripley's ATV had been gone for five minutes. Reese's brown eyes flashed at Maggie as she nodded. Maggie could see the inherent calculating of Reese's brain through her gaze. The woman was already pondering race strategy and the possible destruction of Call Me Crooked. Maggie stuck out her tongue at Reese's back, irritated slightly by the woman. Reese was one of the most successful jockeys for a reason... It didn't mean Maggie had to be like her. Yet... Maggie hadn't been experiencing the most exciting career in the end of Year Thirteen or beginning of Year Fourteen.
Maggie pushed Crook forward a moment before Pride took off like a rocket up the green hillside. And wouldn't you know... the bay filly retaliated by slamming on her heels and damn near headed in the opposite direction. Gritting her teeth, Maggie slammed back in the saddle, pulled the right rein around and wheeled Crook back. The blaze-faced filly whinnied in irritation, then desperation when Spotlight Pride's red tail disappeared over the crest of the hillside. Maggie yelled, pushed forward with her body and finally got a positive reaction, albeit aided by Pride. Her bay filly trucked up the hillside, black tail bushed out behind her. Her hooves were loud on the turf, her stride quick, but full of effort. Shooting up the side of a hill was not easy work.
Pride flew through the slim valley, nearly wild with the speed. His nostrils flared in and out rapidly as he took in massive amounts of air. The chestnut colt was one of the fastest horses Reese had been on in her lifetime. He just ran his ass off from beginning to end. And if Reese took up the bright red colt practically revolted. The reins dangled around his neck, only a pinky keeping from falling in his path. The colt bounded up the next slope, each stride long and ground eating. He'd gotten the hang of these turf hills since his arrival, enjoyed them immensely. Reese kept her brown eyes forward. She would not worry about Crook, just as she would not worry about Refute in their first start together. The worry would come at the end. The DW Flamekissed colt, or at the moment the Crooked Fire filly, had to expend more energy just to keep into contact with the red comet.
Crook muscled her way through the valley, legs blurring as she pursued Spotlight Pride. The reins were loose as Maggie could do nothing but hope Crook drew them into striking range. The strong bay filly was six lengths behind, but the distance was neither widening or shrinking. Crook was virtually at a stand still for all of her efforts. Maggie leaned close to the filly's neck as she once again launched her form up the hillside, grunting from effort. She paused briefly at the top of the crest, taking a huge lungful of air in before charging on down. There was one more hill before the three furlong flat.
Now Pride was just cruising along. He galloped through the last quarter still going strong, his eyes holding that wild light. Reese tucked in for the ride, drawing the reins back into her hands, but still maintaining a light touch. One more hill. Pride vaulted up the green slope, ears pinning briefly at the steepest point, but pricking at the top. He stopped for a moment, gathered himself and then loped easily down the hill. If Crook was going to make up ground, it was going to be here. Reese still did not look back, did not have time to. Pride hurtled off the hill with two feet left and was plowing through the flat in no time.
Crook tracked the red horse diligently, did not risk hurtling her body through space to catch him. The second she hit the flat, the little tank was running her fool head off. Her tongue lolled outside of her mouth, her black tinged ears pinned back into her black mane. Maggie leaned so close on her right side, the blonde woman could barely be seen. She murmured encouragement as the distance shrunk from six to four to three. Crook was running a blistering closing pace. Her only hope would be to catch Pride when Reese was unaware of their presence.
But oh... she was aware. Reese heard the flying hooves suddenly grow louder and new it was time to send her wild colt. She flung the reins down just as Crook blasted up to Pride's right haunch. Pride flung his two front legs out, roared forward with a sudden burst of speed and put the two and a half lengths back between himself and Crook. He flew under the imaginary wire, galloped up the hill with his ears pricked. She patted his neck wildly, thrilled at the horse beneath her. He was incredible this animal.
Crook pulled up as soon as she passed the wire, chest heaving with effort. Maggie stroked the filly's neck, not down-trodden, not defeated. Crook squealed half-heartedly after Pride's disappearing back. "It was an unfair advantage he had over you Crookmeister." The filly snorted, shook her head in annoyance as the ATV buzzed over. Ripley smiled as she climbed off, came to Crook who strode with irritation in every stride. "That was a good run. Very good. She deserves the rest of the day off. Light gallop tomorrow, maybe a lope. But nothing more than a lope on the four days leading up to the race. This'll keep her nicely tuned up."
Ripley narrowed her eyes as Reese returned about her prancing chestnut colt. Her green eyes darkened at the sight of the horse, thoughts hidden to all. "Very good ride Reese. I'm very interested on what he'll do in his first start. He'll be fine to gallop tomorrow, but manage his energy as best you can. You won't be working with Crook anymore. Next time it's Cross My Heart."
The woman got back on her ATV, leaving Maggie and Reese to exchange looks. Cross My Heart vs Spotlight Pride. Did Ripley really believe the untried horse had what it took to beat the fiercest sprinter mare in the world right now? Reese ran a finger down Pride's damp neck, quiet, but her interest was peaked. "Well. Good luck to us both in our next races." Maggie nodded. The women began the long walk back to the stable, only the sound of their mounts filling the atmosphere.