June Week One
heart of a champion
"She looks ready to roll Justin," Ripley stated as she looked into the stall of Prima Donna. The filly shone like copper in the morning sunlight, well taken care of by her doting jockey. The Gorgeous George filly was athletic as any Thoroughbred, muscles glinting underneath the plain hide. She had a demeanor that said she was rough and tough and not a horse to be tangled with. Her dark eyes were full of mean and cleverness, but this morning those traits were joined with excitement. The bay could tell something was different today. Usually she was galloped in the afternoon when Justin caught a break from chores and exercising the active runners. Today she'd been kept in the barn, along with four others, suggesting to Prima that was back in popular demand.
The cat-like filly stepped proudly out of her stall with Justin at the end of the reins. He looked awfully proud of the filly. He was awfully proud of her. It wasn't everyday that your once very talented filly had been given the go-ahead to begin racing again. She needed something to do. She couldn't stand being locked in a barn all day. Nostrils flaring, the Gorgeous George filly took in a deep breath, filling her chest with the scents of her stable-mates and her own excitement. Justin patted her neck, smiled at Ripley. "Oh she's ready to roll to say the least."
Ripley knew the same statement held true for her own mount. The dark bay filly standing ominously behind her was coiled with energy. Her muscles pulsed beneath her dark coat, her eyes glittered hungrily out of a savage head. She wanted a victory and was tired of being repulsed in every race. The granddaughter of Touch Up wanted the Belmont Turf Classic win, wanted badly to step into the winner's circle and brag to her counterparts about being the best. The filly had won a single race in the Year Fourteen season and after a tremendous two year old season, it was a bit of a let down. The best juvenile filly and juvenile of the year was tired of being sideswiped by the likes of Dare To Impress. She wanted a victory over that arch-nemesis and if not that nemesis, any horse would do.
The woman moved the filly's thick black forelock away from her pure white star, taking in the intensity of Hourglass' gaze. Ripley wanted to turn the season around for her three year old about as much as Hourglass did. She was tired of placing and not making the mark. It was now that horses received recognition. It was now that names went from just being names to names of legends. Ripley led the way out of the barn, mounting up in relative silence. Hourglass pranced beneath her, demonstrating her stamina. She was being asked to do a lot in five weeks time, but last year's races had given her an excellent foundation. She was ready to make a statement. Ripley nodded to Justin as he boosted himself onto Prima Donna's back. The cat-like filly gazed around as if everything were very new to her. She hadn't been out to the track this early in a long time.
Energy moved through Prima like lightning, causing her muscles to pulse and her veins to break the surface of the skin. She bowed her neck and danced sideways, keeping time with Hourglass. The more serious filly strode like the executioner, ears focused on the hills spreading before them. Prima let out a whinny, demanding attention now. Her front hooves lifted from the earth in a moment of overarching excitement. Justin leaned close to her neck, forced her down. Prima tossed her head, mouthed the bit and offered more evidence of her good health.
Hourglass kicked into a gallop the moment she saw the hills. The beauty of the morning did not touch her. It slid off her and out of the way. She was parting the sea of obstacles all the way to her end goal: a victory. Her tremendous strides became more purposeful, more productive. She was tired of being beaten. She wanted to prove to everyone why she was the champion, not some upstart who had just now figured out how to race. Ripley sat stone-cold in the saddle, her hands light on the reins, just barely feeling her filly's mouth. Hourglass was giving off some deadly vibes and Ripley wondered if pitching Prima back against this one so quickly was a brilliant idea.
Justin was positive it was. Prima Donna glided effortlessly over the green grass, ears pricked and eyes wide open. She cruised as though she hadn't missed a beat of training. Justin buried his fingers in the free-flowing mane, reveled when Prima launched up the hill and down. She was a predator stalking her prey. Times had changed and Prima Donna was sensing a weakness in her stable-mate rival. Justin allowed Prima to skip up to run head and head with The Devil's Hourglass, watched the filly pin her ears in contempt. Hourglass was not the only horse who was tired of being beaten. Prima had seen her ass get handed to her multiple times by the tom-boyish filly all last year. Justin felt rage course through the tawny filly, relished in it.
The fillies steam-rolled over the course, their breaths coming out in tandem, their strides perfectly tuned together. Prima and Hourglass boldly marched for the final three furlong sprint. Hourglass had recognized a change in this childhood rival. She felt threatened by it, but she would not be beaten. Not again and definitely not so close to the final goal. Ripley loosened the reins, giving Hourglass her head as the filly bolted down the hillside. Her stout body pummeled the earth, throwing down the gauntlet for Prima Donna to chase and catch.
The athletic horse kicked into gear, launching her bid for revenge. Prima Donna soared across the course, giving Justin one hell of a surprise, not to mention whiplash. The Gorgeous George filly was so swift that within a matter of moments, she was throwing down the gauntlet for Hourglass to repel. And the darker filly was responding with utmost fury. The riders were quiet as their mounts tore over the grass, filled the air with their loathing toward one another. Old habits died hard and Hourglass would not let herself be beaten by the leggy runner who she compared to Dare To Impress. But Prima was not so easily destroyed as before. She remained at Hourglass' throatlatch, past the imaginary wire and up the hillside. Prima's ears shot into the air in triumph. For though she had been beaten again, she had not been beaten so thoroughly as before. Times were changing. Justin slapped the filly's neck. His filly was changing and maturing. Prima Donna was on her way back.
Hourglass pulled up, bucking and squealing, full of righteous contempt. Her heavy dark frame roiled with annoyance and a will to seek and destroy. She turned glittering eyes on Prima, marking the filly once again as prey. Ripley patted Hourglass' neck, thrilling at the feel of her champion come to life again. Hourglass was going to turn in one hell of a performance come Belmont Turf Classic day. And if she was beaten once again, Ripley wondered what sort of a hell might break loose in the Sand Storm daughter. Ripley hoped for the sake of staff that Hourglass got her picture taken. Losing was eating her alive and winning was the only cure.
The cat-like filly stepped proudly out of her stall with Justin at the end of the reins. He looked awfully proud of the filly. He was awfully proud of her. It wasn't everyday that your once very talented filly had been given the go-ahead to begin racing again. She needed something to do. She couldn't stand being locked in a barn all day. Nostrils flaring, the Gorgeous George filly took in a deep breath, filling her chest with the scents of her stable-mates and her own excitement. Justin patted her neck, smiled at Ripley. "Oh she's ready to roll to say the least."
Ripley knew the same statement held true for her own mount. The dark bay filly standing ominously behind her was coiled with energy. Her muscles pulsed beneath her dark coat, her eyes glittered hungrily out of a savage head. She wanted a victory and was tired of being repulsed in every race. The granddaughter of Touch Up wanted the Belmont Turf Classic win, wanted badly to step into the winner's circle and brag to her counterparts about being the best. The filly had won a single race in the Year Fourteen season and after a tremendous two year old season, it was a bit of a let down. The best juvenile filly and juvenile of the year was tired of being sideswiped by the likes of Dare To Impress. She wanted a victory over that arch-nemesis and if not that nemesis, any horse would do.
The woman moved the filly's thick black forelock away from her pure white star, taking in the intensity of Hourglass' gaze. Ripley wanted to turn the season around for her three year old about as much as Hourglass did. She was tired of placing and not making the mark. It was now that horses received recognition. It was now that names went from just being names to names of legends. Ripley led the way out of the barn, mounting up in relative silence. Hourglass pranced beneath her, demonstrating her stamina. She was being asked to do a lot in five weeks time, but last year's races had given her an excellent foundation. She was ready to make a statement. Ripley nodded to Justin as he boosted himself onto Prima Donna's back. The cat-like filly gazed around as if everything were very new to her. She hadn't been out to the track this early in a long time.
Energy moved through Prima like lightning, causing her muscles to pulse and her veins to break the surface of the skin. She bowed her neck and danced sideways, keeping time with Hourglass. The more serious filly strode like the executioner, ears focused on the hills spreading before them. Prima let out a whinny, demanding attention now. Her front hooves lifted from the earth in a moment of overarching excitement. Justin leaned close to her neck, forced her down. Prima tossed her head, mouthed the bit and offered more evidence of her good health.
Hourglass kicked into a gallop the moment she saw the hills. The beauty of the morning did not touch her. It slid off her and out of the way. She was parting the sea of obstacles all the way to her end goal: a victory. Her tremendous strides became more purposeful, more productive. She was tired of being beaten. She wanted to prove to everyone why she was the champion, not some upstart who had just now figured out how to race. Ripley sat stone-cold in the saddle, her hands light on the reins, just barely feeling her filly's mouth. Hourglass was giving off some deadly vibes and Ripley wondered if pitching Prima back against this one so quickly was a brilliant idea.
Justin was positive it was. Prima Donna glided effortlessly over the green grass, ears pricked and eyes wide open. She cruised as though she hadn't missed a beat of training. Justin buried his fingers in the free-flowing mane, reveled when Prima launched up the hill and down. She was a predator stalking her prey. Times had changed and Prima Donna was sensing a weakness in her stable-mate rival. Justin allowed Prima to skip up to run head and head with The Devil's Hourglass, watched the filly pin her ears in contempt. Hourglass was not the only horse who was tired of being beaten. Prima had seen her ass get handed to her multiple times by the tom-boyish filly all last year. Justin felt rage course through the tawny filly, relished in it.
The fillies steam-rolled over the course, their breaths coming out in tandem, their strides perfectly tuned together. Prima and Hourglass boldly marched for the final three furlong sprint. Hourglass had recognized a change in this childhood rival. She felt threatened by it, but she would not be beaten. Not again and definitely not so close to the final goal. Ripley loosened the reins, giving Hourglass her head as the filly bolted down the hillside. Her stout body pummeled the earth, throwing down the gauntlet for Prima Donna to chase and catch.
The athletic horse kicked into gear, launching her bid for revenge. Prima Donna soared across the course, giving Justin one hell of a surprise, not to mention whiplash. The Gorgeous George filly was so swift that within a matter of moments, she was throwing down the gauntlet for Hourglass to repel. And the darker filly was responding with utmost fury. The riders were quiet as their mounts tore over the grass, filled the air with their loathing toward one another. Old habits died hard and Hourglass would not let herself be beaten by the leggy runner who she compared to Dare To Impress. But Prima was not so easily destroyed as before. She remained at Hourglass' throatlatch, past the imaginary wire and up the hillside. Prima's ears shot into the air in triumph. For though she had been beaten again, she had not been beaten so thoroughly as before. Times were changing. Justin slapped the filly's neck. His filly was changing and maturing. Prima Donna was on her way back.
Hourglass pulled up, bucking and squealing, full of righteous contempt. Her heavy dark frame roiled with annoyance and a will to seek and destroy. She turned glittering eyes on Prima, marking the filly once again as prey. Ripley patted Hourglass' neck, thrilling at the feel of her champion come to life again. Hourglass was going to turn in one hell of a performance come Belmont Turf Classic day. And if she was beaten once again, Ripley wondered what sort of a hell might break loose in the Sand Storm daughter. Ripley hoped for the sake of staff that Hourglass got her picture taken. Losing was eating her alive and winning was the only cure.
mind, body, soul
"It feels like its been a while since we've had a good workout together, Rips," Maggie grunted as she tightened the girth on Paranormal Hunter. The mulish filly pinned her ears, perfectly willing to let Maggie know that it hadn't been long enough. She wasn't a lazy horse per say, but she was definitely not a fan of galloping everyday. The horse loved to race, sometimes loved to workout, but she needed an extra hand or to in order to run. Maggie loved difficult horses and Para was one of the best difficult horses she'd ever been a partner to. The woman slapped the filly's shimmering neck, so happy to move on and ride.
Ripley rode the complete opposite of Paranormal Hunter. Where the Flash Limits filly was keen on staying in, Cross My Heart wanted to keep on running and not stop. The midnight black mare stood with ears pricked, dish face turned ever so slightly to analyze Paranormal Hunter. Her white star stood out brilliantly amid all the black and her eyes glittered just as brightly. Cross looked as fit as ever, her muscles supporting more muscles. She snorted through delicate nostrils, rapidly flaring them in and out in search of a scent. Ripley patted the mare's neck, impressed with her poise. Not two years ago Cross would have had to be worked out long and hard to get her to stand this still. Before, Cross hadn't wanted anything to do with humans, particularly men. While she still wasn't a human's biggest fan, she didn't harbor that terrible fear she'd first came to Witch Creek with.
Cross let out an ear splitting whinny when a shadow came into the door. Her hooves tap danced rapidly on the rubber mats, short and quick. She was a swift mover. Para simply stood there, ears pricked, hip cocked in boredom. Two completely different fillies and yet in possession of such similar talent. Maggie patted Para on the shoulder, gathered the reins and mounted up inside the barn. Ripley smiled at Malcolm who looked fresh as a daisy in a white button down and his only holeless jeans. "How can I help you Malcolm?"
"Just been playing with some of the weanlings." He sat down, placed his hands on his knees. "Fillies are going to be a handful. Gold Rush will be easy to break. Roussong definitely not. Breaking Point... we're getting there. He changes from day to day." Ripley smiled, patted his shoulder as she passed. "That's why I leave the dirty work to you, Mal. If you need some help Kendall and Reese aren't riding for the rest of the day."
He waved, sucked down the glass of lemonade he'd grabbed before entering the barn. "I'm sure they'll be happy to be volunteered. Kendall's been a great help, did an awesome job with Uno." Ripley nodded, pleased that the chance she'd taken on the young girl was working out. "We're going to head out for a workout on the turf. Catch ya later Mal."
Cross danced as soon as Ripley bounced into the saddle, her hooves restless and a perfect reflection of her nature. Cross snorted, tossed her head up and down rapidly as she marched along to the turf track. Ripley rode the sideways gait like a pro, content to be aboard the fiery mare as much as an old hat like one of the broodies. Ripley kept her hands soft on the reins, not giving Cross an excuse to bolt. She was a hot-head, a daring, speed-defying one. She was tough as nails and loyal to a fault. The cobalt horse warned Paranormal Hunter off with pinned ears and bared teeth. She wasn't a fan of the tank of a filly. The three year old was a clear threat to her. Para rolled her eyes mockingly, switched her tail over her dappled rump and left the black horse to her wretched mood.
Maggie let Para settle into a rolling gallop the minute the hills came in sight. The big bay moved with lumbering ease, huge shoulders contracting and releasing with every bounding stride. She was a great filly, had turned into a star Witch Creek hadn't thought they needed. But now they needed her. Her consistency was admirable, her durability was impressive, her grinding runs usually resulted in a positive result. Maggie adored Para even though the Flash Limits filly didn't necessarily even like her.
Cross ran with her nose in the air and turned her tail to the wind. She bowed to no one, felt no one's control. She was devastatingly beautiful as she raced only Mother Nature. Ripley just leaned close as the black horse took to the hills as if she'd been born to them. Cross was a graceful runner, a horse of luxury and athleticism. Two years ago, Cross had been nothing but a scared filly in the kill pen. Now she ran with more majesty than any well-bred thoroughbred. Wind rippled the black mane, leaving scratches on Ripley's face where it lashed. The pain was not felt, only joy.
Para tracked the spirited black horse through swift fractions, moving faster than she usually did at this point. Para usually had the luxury of speed to run into, but when she didn't, she grinded just as effectively. Her eyes blazed brighter with every passing moment, the noise of her hoofbeats warning Cross that she was not quite alone. Ripley did not move a muscle. She had grown accustomed to listening to Para's heavy feet and heavier breaths. The bay filly was a dragon that Cross had slain before. Cross flirted with the hillside, pausing only briefly to stare down at her kingdom. She loved the three furlong flat more than anything. Few had beaten her over her favorite course.
Ripley turned Cross loose the instant she hit flat bottom. The black mare dashed away, hardly stopping to take a deep breath. She flew over the course, kicking up turf clods in her wake. This was her domain, her place to show who exactly was boss. Her ears pinned when Paranormal Hunter did not give in. She was obviously unimpressed with the encumbering horse. Ripley kept the reins taunt now, knowing Cross had a need for savagry when threatened.
Maggie practically laughed at the chokehold Ripley had on Cross. The black mare was viciously fighting for her head and Para was gaining quite rapidly. In a race, Ripley would have simply let Cross explode, but she had to make it closer in a workout. The tank bore down on the delicate black mare, steamrolling the course beneath her. She was beautiful in full run, more of a colt in appearance than a filly. She was masculine and rough as they came. When she raced to Cross' shoulder, Maggie tapped the bay with the stick and sent her onward. Only then did Ripley release Cross.
Like a hell-hound, the black mare wheeled over the course, striding furiously alongside the more effortless filly. Together the demon and the dragon hurtled side by side over the grass, begging the other to keep up. The riders were simply burrs on broad backs, sticks put away, hands still as stone on the reins. They became as much apart of the horses as ever before. Cross did not allow Para to pass, but Para would not go down without a fight. Maggie wondered if at the end of the season, Para might eventually outfoot Cross. She wished for it and at the same time did not want apart of defeating the black mare. Cross was an ethereal horse, one whose defeat meant the ruining of your own mount.
Cross rolled through the wire and up the hill, ears pricking that suggested today's workout had been merely a morning gallop. Maggie shook her head as Para faded back, not one to do more than was necessary. The bay filly snorted, eyes following the contemptuous Cross. She would not forget this black witch, not for some time.
Ripley rode the complete opposite of Paranormal Hunter. Where the Flash Limits filly was keen on staying in, Cross My Heart wanted to keep on running and not stop. The midnight black mare stood with ears pricked, dish face turned ever so slightly to analyze Paranormal Hunter. Her white star stood out brilliantly amid all the black and her eyes glittered just as brightly. Cross looked as fit as ever, her muscles supporting more muscles. She snorted through delicate nostrils, rapidly flaring them in and out in search of a scent. Ripley patted the mare's neck, impressed with her poise. Not two years ago Cross would have had to be worked out long and hard to get her to stand this still. Before, Cross hadn't wanted anything to do with humans, particularly men. While she still wasn't a human's biggest fan, she didn't harbor that terrible fear she'd first came to Witch Creek with.
Cross let out an ear splitting whinny when a shadow came into the door. Her hooves tap danced rapidly on the rubber mats, short and quick. She was a swift mover. Para simply stood there, ears pricked, hip cocked in boredom. Two completely different fillies and yet in possession of such similar talent. Maggie patted Para on the shoulder, gathered the reins and mounted up inside the barn. Ripley smiled at Malcolm who looked fresh as a daisy in a white button down and his only holeless jeans. "How can I help you Malcolm?"
"Just been playing with some of the weanlings." He sat down, placed his hands on his knees. "Fillies are going to be a handful. Gold Rush will be easy to break. Roussong definitely not. Breaking Point... we're getting there. He changes from day to day." Ripley smiled, patted his shoulder as she passed. "That's why I leave the dirty work to you, Mal. If you need some help Kendall and Reese aren't riding for the rest of the day."
He waved, sucked down the glass of lemonade he'd grabbed before entering the barn. "I'm sure they'll be happy to be volunteered. Kendall's been a great help, did an awesome job with Uno." Ripley nodded, pleased that the chance she'd taken on the young girl was working out. "We're going to head out for a workout on the turf. Catch ya later Mal."
Cross danced as soon as Ripley bounced into the saddle, her hooves restless and a perfect reflection of her nature. Cross snorted, tossed her head up and down rapidly as she marched along to the turf track. Ripley rode the sideways gait like a pro, content to be aboard the fiery mare as much as an old hat like one of the broodies. Ripley kept her hands soft on the reins, not giving Cross an excuse to bolt. She was a hot-head, a daring, speed-defying one. She was tough as nails and loyal to a fault. The cobalt horse warned Paranormal Hunter off with pinned ears and bared teeth. She wasn't a fan of the tank of a filly. The three year old was a clear threat to her. Para rolled her eyes mockingly, switched her tail over her dappled rump and left the black horse to her wretched mood.
Maggie let Para settle into a rolling gallop the minute the hills came in sight. The big bay moved with lumbering ease, huge shoulders contracting and releasing with every bounding stride. She was a great filly, had turned into a star Witch Creek hadn't thought they needed. But now they needed her. Her consistency was admirable, her durability was impressive, her grinding runs usually resulted in a positive result. Maggie adored Para even though the Flash Limits filly didn't necessarily even like her.
Cross ran with her nose in the air and turned her tail to the wind. She bowed to no one, felt no one's control. She was devastatingly beautiful as she raced only Mother Nature. Ripley just leaned close as the black horse took to the hills as if she'd been born to them. Cross was a graceful runner, a horse of luxury and athleticism. Two years ago, Cross had been nothing but a scared filly in the kill pen. Now she ran with more majesty than any well-bred thoroughbred. Wind rippled the black mane, leaving scratches on Ripley's face where it lashed. The pain was not felt, only joy.
Para tracked the spirited black horse through swift fractions, moving faster than she usually did at this point. Para usually had the luxury of speed to run into, but when she didn't, she grinded just as effectively. Her eyes blazed brighter with every passing moment, the noise of her hoofbeats warning Cross that she was not quite alone. Ripley did not move a muscle. She had grown accustomed to listening to Para's heavy feet and heavier breaths. The bay filly was a dragon that Cross had slain before. Cross flirted with the hillside, pausing only briefly to stare down at her kingdom. She loved the three furlong flat more than anything. Few had beaten her over her favorite course.
Ripley turned Cross loose the instant she hit flat bottom. The black mare dashed away, hardly stopping to take a deep breath. She flew over the course, kicking up turf clods in her wake. This was her domain, her place to show who exactly was boss. Her ears pinned when Paranormal Hunter did not give in. She was obviously unimpressed with the encumbering horse. Ripley kept the reins taunt now, knowing Cross had a need for savagry when threatened.
Maggie practically laughed at the chokehold Ripley had on Cross. The black mare was viciously fighting for her head and Para was gaining quite rapidly. In a race, Ripley would have simply let Cross explode, but she had to make it closer in a workout. The tank bore down on the delicate black mare, steamrolling the course beneath her. She was beautiful in full run, more of a colt in appearance than a filly. She was masculine and rough as they came. When she raced to Cross' shoulder, Maggie tapped the bay with the stick and sent her onward. Only then did Ripley release Cross.
Like a hell-hound, the black mare wheeled over the course, striding furiously alongside the more effortless filly. Together the demon and the dragon hurtled side by side over the grass, begging the other to keep up. The riders were simply burrs on broad backs, sticks put away, hands still as stone on the reins. They became as much apart of the horses as ever before. Cross did not allow Para to pass, but Para would not go down without a fight. Maggie wondered if at the end of the season, Para might eventually outfoot Cross. She wished for it and at the same time did not want apart of defeating the black mare. Cross was an ethereal horse, one whose defeat meant the ruining of your own mount.
Cross rolled through the wire and up the hill, ears pricking that suggested today's workout had been merely a morning gallop. Maggie shook her head as Para faded back, not one to do more than was necessary. The bay filly snorted, eyes following the contemptuous Cross. She would not forget this black witch, not for some time.
killer instinct
Ripley leaned against the racetrack rail beside Brooks. The blonde man had his arm hanging loosely around Ripley's waist. She was a slight woman with an attitude fit for a queen. This was one of those rare times that Brooks could definitively say she was standing still. Usually, like her brain, Ripley had the rare ability to seemingly be in a million places at once. While her body was still, however, Brooks knew her eyes were not. Their emerald green irises followed four thoroughbred bodies around the track. All were trotting along pretty as you please at the end of lead ropes held by her jockeys.
Ripley cooed inwardly at the sight of the blaze-faced Screaming Mimi filly, the robust form of Roussong, the wildly elegant Wallflower and the white ethereal beauty of Kismet. These weanlings were a special crew. They were getting their first look at the race track, the track that they would train meticulously over for the next four years of their lives. She hoped that they got a good long look, hoped that they appreciated its vastness and its openness. She knew she did.
A clatter of hooves drew the attention of the couple from the weanlings to the dirt path above. Ripley's green eyes sharpened considerably on the forms that were making their way noisily to the dirt track. Really it was only one horse in particular, Lethal Dose, the notorious trouble maker of Witch Creek Stable. The molten bay filly flashed her agility with every single stride she took. She resonated attitude with her sharp eyes and her bared teeth. Lee was not a nice a filly, but she'd had a break and turned into quite the looker. Ripley crossed her arms, watchful of the bad actor. Laura kept her hands still on the reins, kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring the trainers as best she could. Lethal Dose paid full attention to them, tensing her neck to the left and making a show about her mocking respect. Such was the way of the most irritable filly in the barn. Ripley rolled her eyes when Brooks chuckled, but nodded to him when In Front stepped out to face them.
Brooks loved the way the colt looked, loved his heavy frame, his big, powerful shoulders. In Front, a product of Ripley's star stud Touch Up, looked every bit the king he was going to be. He looked coiled and poised for a strong performance today and, perhaps, an even bigger performance on Belmont Stakes day. Brooks stepped forward, smiled at Justin who stood at the end of the lead rope. The young man grinned back, gave In Front a pat. "He sure was a handful to tack up. 'Think it had more to do with Lethal Dose than himself. She'd rile anything up, that filly."
Brooks hummed in agreement, placed his foot in Justin's hand and was airborne briefly. In Front shifted slightly, mouthing the bit eagerly, as Brooks settled into the saddle and placed his feet in the stirrups. The big colt flexed neck, lifted his knees. Lethal Dose wasn't the only horse who could show off her physical well-being. Justin stepped away, joining Ripley at the rail to watch the workout. Brooks flashed Rips a salute as he set the colt into a jog up the track. Lethal Dose was doing figure eights rather belligerently, head cocked up and pulling heavily on Laura's reins. He could hear the girl murmuring, "Settle down, settle down." Lee only grew more excited when In Front pulled up alongside at the trot.
"What's the plan, before she explodes?" Laura sneered. Brooks cast the girl a small smile before taking pity. "Gallop a mile and work six furlongs. See you at the end." Brooks threw the reins at In Front's thick neck, laughed out loud when the colt surged off his hind-end. The heavy-weight could move when he wanted to that was for damn sure. In Front rolled over the course, dark legs engulfing massive amounts of track. He was as on his game as ever. Perhaps his best performance would come against Limited Edition in the Belmont Stakes. He'd given Mourning Passion a run for his money in the Derby, but had simply run out of time. If any horse was going to run all day it was In Front. Brooks kept his hands quiet as the colt bounded into the backstretch. The horse was well in-hand, big ears flopping above his thick head. He was happy and that was what mattered.
Laura cursed Brooks for thirty seconds straight as pain seared in her arm sockets. Lethal Dose yanked hard on the bit, head whipping up and just missing Laura's own rather small human skull. Without much choice, Laura released the reins and took in a giant breath of air. The Lethal Knack filly rocketed off, almost as impressively as In Front, and galloped after her workmate. Laura leaned close, feeling the war-like atmosphere dissipate between herself and the bay filly. Once Lethal Dose got cruising, she became a hell of a lot more friendly. The bay filly caught In Front down the backside, pulled alongside his thrumming haunches. Her eyes were sharp and bright, her nostrils flared to maximum extension. Laura finally relaxed in the tiny racing saddle and let her hands settle at the filly's withers.
Brooks wasn't surprised to have Lethal Dose right on In Front's outside. As uncooperative as she was, Lethal Dose had a very good cruising speed that could keep up with the fastest of sprinters. She'd hardly broken up in a sweat in the works leading up to this day. He'd known she'd been ready for the likes of In Front. They'd see how ready she was in the final stretch. But for now, both bay horses settled down in a very mutual galloping stride. Their ears were bobbing in tandem, their hooves skimming the dirt surface. Each horse relished the Witch Creek track, trained over it like beasts. It made Laura wish that Ripley would allow people in to race. No horse would be able to touch a Witch Creek horse on the rolling turf hills. The tight turns of the dirt track made Laura convinced that even on the flat track Witch Creek horses would have the upper hand.
The horses whirled through the homestretch, tails flying out behind them. Laura was pleased with Lethal Dose, felt happy to feel strength back in the filly's body. She'd been sick a while due to a foot bruise, but she was back and ready to roll. The words about damn time rolled through Laura's head. Her fingers itched to release the filly, but she forced herself to wait. Patience. Patience. Patience. She always had to remind herself to be patient against Brooks. He always managed to save just enough horse to get the job done. He definitely had enough horse this time around.
Oh damn straight he did, Brooks thought. The colt was pulling as they cruised into the backstretch, demanding release. Brooks gave a little, was rewarded with a bigger stride if not quicker. The increase of stride had knocked Lethal Dose back a bit, but she was tenacious and in response she moved to run neck and neck with In Front. The bay filly had the advantage of the outside and Brooks had to really keep In Front in hand if he wanted to make the turn. Green Horse Fields had turns that allowed In Front to take full advantage of his massive stride. Here, Lee and Laura had the upper hand.
Laura kept the filly close to In Front, brushing her against him on the turn. More than happy to get a little physical, the filly got into the movement, forcing Brooks to tighten the reins up on In Front before they clipped heels. Laura pulled Lee off him just before that exact scenario happened. The bay filly hurtled to the lead, whipping into the stretch a length and a half in front of the Touch Up colt. Laura kept still. This was not a race. In Front was supposed to catch them and test them.
The blaze-faced colt trucked onto the scene along the rail, stride leaping over the course. He possessed a commanding presence, an authoritative vibe. Brooks remained still as the bay horse bounded up level with Lethal Dose. Both horses pinned their ears simultaneously. Lee did not try to pinch In Front again and the big bay had plenty of room to maneuver. The pair ran nose and nose the remaining length of the stretch, pushing each other just enough. Neither crossed the line definitively in front of the other.
Ripley could have clapped at the sight of the filly and colt. She was impressed beyond belief by the move. It was exactly the right pace, the exact right pressure. Time was ticking down. Ripley wanted to add another Belmont Stakes victory to her resume. Perhaps In Front was the one to do exactly that.
Ripley cooed inwardly at the sight of the blaze-faced Screaming Mimi filly, the robust form of Roussong, the wildly elegant Wallflower and the white ethereal beauty of Kismet. These weanlings were a special crew. They were getting their first look at the race track, the track that they would train meticulously over for the next four years of their lives. She hoped that they got a good long look, hoped that they appreciated its vastness and its openness. She knew she did.
A clatter of hooves drew the attention of the couple from the weanlings to the dirt path above. Ripley's green eyes sharpened considerably on the forms that were making their way noisily to the dirt track. Really it was only one horse in particular, Lethal Dose, the notorious trouble maker of Witch Creek Stable. The molten bay filly flashed her agility with every single stride she took. She resonated attitude with her sharp eyes and her bared teeth. Lee was not a nice a filly, but she'd had a break and turned into quite the looker. Ripley crossed her arms, watchful of the bad actor. Laura kept her hands still on the reins, kept her eyes straight ahead, ignoring the trainers as best she could. Lethal Dose paid full attention to them, tensing her neck to the left and making a show about her mocking respect. Such was the way of the most irritable filly in the barn. Ripley rolled her eyes when Brooks chuckled, but nodded to him when In Front stepped out to face them.
Brooks loved the way the colt looked, loved his heavy frame, his big, powerful shoulders. In Front, a product of Ripley's star stud Touch Up, looked every bit the king he was going to be. He looked coiled and poised for a strong performance today and, perhaps, an even bigger performance on Belmont Stakes day. Brooks stepped forward, smiled at Justin who stood at the end of the lead rope. The young man grinned back, gave In Front a pat. "He sure was a handful to tack up. 'Think it had more to do with Lethal Dose than himself. She'd rile anything up, that filly."
Brooks hummed in agreement, placed his foot in Justin's hand and was airborne briefly. In Front shifted slightly, mouthing the bit eagerly, as Brooks settled into the saddle and placed his feet in the stirrups. The big colt flexed neck, lifted his knees. Lethal Dose wasn't the only horse who could show off her physical well-being. Justin stepped away, joining Ripley at the rail to watch the workout. Brooks flashed Rips a salute as he set the colt into a jog up the track. Lethal Dose was doing figure eights rather belligerently, head cocked up and pulling heavily on Laura's reins. He could hear the girl murmuring, "Settle down, settle down." Lee only grew more excited when In Front pulled up alongside at the trot.
"What's the plan, before she explodes?" Laura sneered. Brooks cast the girl a small smile before taking pity. "Gallop a mile and work six furlongs. See you at the end." Brooks threw the reins at In Front's thick neck, laughed out loud when the colt surged off his hind-end. The heavy-weight could move when he wanted to that was for damn sure. In Front rolled over the course, dark legs engulfing massive amounts of track. He was as on his game as ever. Perhaps his best performance would come against Limited Edition in the Belmont Stakes. He'd given Mourning Passion a run for his money in the Derby, but had simply run out of time. If any horse was going to run all day it was In Front. Brooks kept his hands quiet as the colt bounded into the backstretch. The horse was well in-hand, big ears flopping above his thick head. He was happy and that was what mattered.
Laura cursed Brooks for thirty seconds straight as pain seared in her arm sockets. Lethal Dose yanked hard on the bit, head whipping up and just missing Laura's own rather small human skull. Without much choice, Laura released the reins and took in a giant breath of air. The Lethal Knack filly rocketed off, almost as impressively as In Front, and galloped after her workmate. Laura leaned close, feeling the war-like atmosphere dissipate between herself and the bay filly. Once Lethal Dose got cruising, she became a hell of a lot more friendly. The bay filly caught In Front down the backside, pulled alongside his thrumming haunches. Her eyes were sharp and bright, her nostrils flared to maximum extension. Laura finally relaxed in the tiny racing saddle and let her hands settle at the filly's withers.
Brooks wasn't surprised to have Lethal Dose right on In Front's outside. As uncooperative as she was, Lethal Dose had a very good cruising speed that could keep up with the fastest of sprinters. She'd hardly broken up in a sweat in the works leading up to this day. He'd known she'd been ready for the likes of In Front. They'd see how ready she was in the final stretch. But for now, both bay horses settled down in a very mutual galloping stride. Their ears were bobbing in tandem, their hooves skimming the dirt surface. Each horse relished the Witch Creek track, trained over it like beasts. It made Laura wish that Ripley would allow people in to race. No horse would be able to touch a Witch Creek horse on the rolling turf hills. The tight turns of the dirt track made Laura convinced that even on the flat track Witch Creek horses would have the upper hand.
The horses whirled through the homestretch, tails flying out behind them. Laura was pleased with Lethal Dose, felt happy to feel strength back in the filly's body. She'd been sick a while due to a foot bruise, but she was back and ready to roll. The words about damn time rolled through Laura's head. Her fingers itched to release the filly, but she forced herself to wait. Patience. Patience. Patience. She always had to remind herself to be patient against Brooks. He always managed to save just enough horse to get the job done. He definitely had enough horse this time around.
Oh damn straight he did, Brooks thought. The colt was pulling as they cruised into the backstretch, demanding release. Brooks gave a little, was rewarded with a bigger stride if not quicker. The increase of stride had knocked Lethal Dose back a bit, but she was tenacious and in response she moved to run neck and neck with In Front. The bay filly had the advantage of the outside and Brooks had to really keep In Front in hand if he wanted to make the turn. Green Horse Fields had turns that allowed In Front to take full advantage of his massive stride. Here, Lee and Laura had the upper hand.
Laura kept the filly close to In Front, brushing her against him on the turn. More than happy to get a little physical, the filly got into the movement, forcing Brooks to tighten the reins up on In Front before they clipped heels. Laura pulled Lee off him just before that exact scenario happened. The bay filly hurtled to the lead, whipping into the stretch a length and a half in front of the Touch Up colt. Laura kept still. This was not a race. In Front was supposed to catch them and test them.
The blaze-faced colt trucked onto the scene along the rail, stride leaping over the course. He possessed a commanding presence, an authoritative vibe. Brooks remained still as the bay horse bounded up level with Lethal Dose. Both horses pinned their ears simultaneously. Lee did not try to pinch In Front again and the big bay had plenty of room to maneuver. The pair ran nose and nose the remaining length of the stretch, pushing each other just enough. Neither crossed the line definitively in front of the other.
Ripley could have clapped at the sight of the filly and colt. She was impressed beyond belief by the move. It was exactly the right pace, the exact right pressure. Time was ticking down. Ripley wanted to add another Belmont Stakes victory to her resume. Perhaps In Front was the one to do exactly that.