March Week Five
paradise lost
nirvana & sun king
"Brooks you need to take that arrogant attitude right of this barn before I toss it and your ass outside myself." Laura's eyes filled with heat as she spun away from her relatively calm mount to glare at the older man. Brooks stood with a cocked hip, arm slung around Sun King's shoulders. The ruby red horse could have been his mirror image. Laura's lips twitched, but her irritation would not be quelled. "You're horse doesn't need a bigger head than he's got." King snorted, switched his tail over his rump, insulted. Brooks' cocked a brow. "We'll take that as a perverted compliment." Laura shook her head. "God knows how Ripley tolerates you."
Nirvana's muzzle lightly whuffled over Laura's triceps, giving her chills as she spoke. The blue-eyed girl turned to rub a soft hand down the pure white blaze of her two year old mount. Nirvana had been away from the workout board and racetrack for a very long time. At least it felt like a very long time to Laura. When you're best mount was out of commission for a month and a half, it was bound to feel like a drought. Nirvana had two wins and a third place finish. Her last time out had been February Week One in the My Dear Girl Stakes where she had clipped heels, nearly gone down and stilled rallied strongly to finish third. Nirvana was a tough horse and one with plenty of future potential at that. Laura patted the filly's neck after tightening the girth, nodded in approval at the sleek hide and strong muscles. Nirvana had been blowing up the track in her gallops for a while. She was dying for a workout and would be more than a little ready to test Sun King for everything he had.
Brooks mounted King inside the barn, grinned as the horse bowed forward in a relaxed stretch. Sun King was more on form than any other two year old at Witch Creek. Their hard work was paying off, but it'd been a while since they'd so much as galloped against Nirvana. Brooks believed beyond Saint and King that Nirvana was the best dirt prospect for Ripley's three year old string. "Let's not get too cocky King. She's meaner than she looks." He spun the chestnut thoroughbred on his heels, grinning when the horse bolted out into the sun. The Native Flame colt was a mighty fine horse. He ducked his head to his chest, strutting down the path a couple of feet.
Vana stepped into the sunlight with less pep. She strolled out of the shadows, each step purposeful and relaxed at the same time. Laura leaped on to the stout charger's back, laughed when Vana did nothing more than stand. Oh, she was a different horse than Witch Creek was used to. Everyday she proved it. Laura nudged the filly forward, nodded at Brooks and proceeded to let Nirvana out at a stern jog. Her muscles coiled and released with every smooth stride. Vana was a beautiful mover, a quiet one until she was making her closing charge. Laura couldn't wait to experience that feeling once again. Vana's closing move was different than Dirty Diana's. She just seemed to leap the distance between herself and the leader. It was beyond impressive.
King followed at an irritable gait, ears pinning every time Vana so much as glanced backward. Her unwavering confidence annoyed him. He was used to Spotlight Pride, Casualty of War, and Saintly Touch. All three of those colts had more than a few things to retaliate back with. Nirvana was an icy wall that King wanted to break down with force. He floated onto the track, head and tail high. Sun King was an arrogant bully, but he flaunted his beauty with grace. Brooks posted in the saddle to the trot, stood when the colt lifted into hand gallop. Oh, this was definitely going to be a good workout. Brooks kept his hands light at the colt's withers, reminded by the high cruising speed that King was not as tactical as Mastermind, but was pretty close.
Nirvana lumbered behind the red comet, her hulking shoulders lifting with each great stride. Laura could have sat to the rolling gallop, but her job duties required she stand. Laura leaned forward, hands up on the reins to get good contact with Nirvana's mouth. The filly hardly needed guidance. Smooth as you pleased, the bay daughter of Gold Storm settled down on the rail with her ears flickering against the wind. Laura shivered with anticipation. God, she'd missed this filly. Nirvana was a queen among princesses. Three lengths separated the hardy filly from her flying opponent. She remained level even though her speed had to have picked up in order to keep up.
King pulled his way down the backstretch, mouth agape at the bit, demanding Brooks give him a little more leeway. The blonde man wiggled his fingers, stirring the blood back into them and jiggling the bit in Sun King's mouth. The Native Flame son relaxed down the straightaway, sleek body just swallowing the earth beneath him. He moved without a care in the world, though his flickering eyes and ears betrayed his easy movements. He was so keenly listening for Nirvana that he wouldn't have heard a bomb go off in front of him. King had learned that trouble came from behind and now he was more aware than ever how to stave those late charges off. He was developing into quite a horse.
Laura shook her head when Sun King picked up the speed heading into the far turn. It was time to let them out. A three furlong breeze past the wire was what Ripley had wanted. The chestnut horse bolted into the turn, legs sweeping beneath him with fury and determination. The rule was simple: put enough space between you and the rest of the field and you would not get caught. Laura was familiar with the rule having ridden an explosive turf mare who employed that rule mercilessly. Laura was not going to wait anymore. She threw the reins at Nirvana's neck, chirped wildly and moved her hands and feet almost recklessly. Stirred, the bay filly launched forward with a powerful push off the hind end and soared after Sun King.
The bay filly roared into the turn, carried three wide by her wild momentum. Laura went still, knowing she'd done enough to rouse the inner fires of Nirvana. She remained poised in the saddle, prepared to set the filly off again if necessary. King was barreling down the stretch, ears pinned as he had heard Vana coming. Brooks was hand riding the colt, not wanting to do too much on this fine son of Native Flame and El Sol del Mar. He was dead fit and Nirvana needed this more than they did. He peeked under his arm, shocked to find the blaze faced filly at King's barrel. He turned back to the front, amazed that they still had a quarter of the stretch left to run. She must have sprouted wings.
Vana forced her way up to the front, teeth bared around the bit when King snaked his head out in angry greeting. The muscular filly and lean colt poured on the speed the last half-furlong, throwing down the gauntlet. When the smoke cleared past the wire, Vana had the lead by the length of her white nose. Laura slapped the filly's neck in appreciation, bumped fists with Brooks as his speedy King whipped into the first turn. Brooks pulled the colt to a jog, impressed at his fury. "Next time."
Back on the turn, Laura was overflowing with emotion. "Atta girl, Vana! What a filly!" Laura hugged the bay's neck, laughing like a loon when Vana simply stopped and stood, soaking in the attention.
"Brooks you need to take that arrogant attitude right of this barn before I toss it and your ass outside myself." Laura's eyes filled with heat as she spun away from her relatively calm mount to glare at the older man. Brooks stood with a cocked hip, arm slung around Sun King's shoulders. The ruby red horse could have been his mirror image. Laura's lips twitched, but her irritation would not be quelled. "You're horse doesn't need a bigger head than he's got." King snorted, switched his tail over his rump, insulted. Brooks' cocked a brow. "We'll take that as a perverted compliment." Laura shook her head. "God knows how Ripley tolerates you."
Nirvana's muzzle lightly whuffled over Laura's triceps, giving her chills as she spoke. The blue-eyed girl turned to rub a soft hand down the pure white blaze of her two year old mount. Nirvana had been away from the workout board and racetrack for a very long time. At least it felt like a very long time to Laura. When you're best mount was out of commission for a month and a half, it was bound to feel like a drought. Nirvana had two wins and a third place finish. Her last time out had been February Week One in the My Dear Girl Stakes where she had clipped heels, nearly gone down and stilled rallied strongly to finish third. Nirvana was a tough horse and one with plenty of future potential at that. Laura patted the filly's neck after tightening the girth, nodded in approval at the sleek hide and strong muscles. Nirvana had been blowing up the track in her gallops for a while. She was dying for a workout and would be more than a little ready to test Sun King for everything he had.
Brooks mounted King inside the barn, grinned as the horse bowed forward in a relaxed stretch. Sun King was more on form than any other two year old at Witch Creek. Their hard work was paying off, but it'd been a while since they'd so much as galloped against Nirvana. Brooks believed beyond Saint and King that Nirvana was the best dirt prospect for Ripley's three year old string. "Let's not get too cocky King. She's meaner than she looks." He spun the chestnut thoroughbred on his heels, grinning when the horse bolted out into the sun. The Native Flame colt was a mighty fine horse. He ducked his head to his chest, strutting down the path a couple of feet.
Vana stepped into the sunlight with less pep. She strolled out of the shadows, each step purposeful and relaxed at the same time. Laura leaped on to the stout charger's back, laughed when Vana did nothing more than stand. Oh, she was a different horse than Witch Creek was used to. Everyday she proved it. Laura nudged the filly forward, nodded at Brooks and proceeded to let Nirvana out at a stern jog. Her muscles coiled and released with every smooth stride. Vana was a beautiful mover, a quiet one until she was making her closing charge. Laura couldn't wait to experience that feeling once again. Vana's closing move was different than Dirty Diana's. She just seemed to leap the distance between herself and the leader. It was beyond impressive.
King followed at an irritable gait, ears pinning every time Vana so much as glanced backward. Her unwavering confidence annoyed him. He was used to Spotlight Pride, Casualty of War, and Saintly Touch. All three of those colts had more than a few things to retaliate back with. Nirvana was an icy wall that King wanted to break down with force. He floated onto the track, head and tail high. Sun King was an arrogant bully, but he flaunted his beauty with grace. Brooks posted in the saddle to the trot, stood when the colt lifted into hand gallop. Oh, this was definitely going to be a good workout. Brooks kept his hands light at the colt's withers, reminded by the high cruising speed that King was not as tactical as Mastermind, but was pretty close.
Nirvana lumbered behind the red comet, her hulking shoulders lifting with each great stride. Laura could have sat to the rolling gallop, but her job duties required she stand. Laura leaned forward, hands up on the reins to get good contact with Nirvana's mouth. The filly hardly needed guidance. Smooth as you pleased, the bay daughter of Gold Storm settled down on the rail with her ears flickering against the wind. Laura shivered with anticipation. God, she'd missed this filly. Nirvana was a queen among princesses. Three lengths separated the hardy filly from her flying opponent. She remained level even though her speed had to have picked up in order to keep up.
King pulled his way down the backstretch, mouth agape at the bit, demanding Brooks give him a little more leeway. The blonde man wiggled his fingers, stirring the blood back into them and jiggling the bit in Sun King's mouth. The Native Flame son relaxed down the straightaway, sleek body just swallowing the earth beneath him. He moved without a care in the world, though his flickering eyes and ears betrayed his easy movements. He was so keenly listening for Nirvana that he wouldn't have heard a bomb go off in front of him. King had learned that trouble came from behind and now he was more aware than ever how to stave those late charges off. He was developing into quite a horse.
Laura shook her head when Sun King picked up the speed heading into the far turn. It was time to let them out. A three furlong breeze past the wire was what Ripley had wanted. The chestnut horse bolted into the turn, legs sweeping beneath him with fury and determination. The rule was simple: put enough space between you and the rest of the field and you would not get caught. Laura was familiar with the rule having ridden an explosive turf mare who employed that rule mercilessly. Laura was not going to wait anymore. She threw the reins at Nirvana's neck, chirped wildly and moved her hands and feet almost recklessly. Stirred, the bay filly launched forward with a powerful push off the hind end and soared after Sun King.
The bay filly roared into the turn, carried three wide by her wild momentum. Laura went still, knowing she'd done enough to rouse the inner fires of Nirvana. She remained poised in the saddle, prepared to set the filly off again if necessary. King was barreling down the stretch, ears pinned as he had heard Vana coming. Brooks was hand riding the colt, not wanting to do too much on this fine son of Native Flame and El Sol del Mar. He was dead fit and Nirvana needed this more than they did. He peeked under his arm, shocked to find the blaze faced filly at King's barrel. He turned back to the front, amazed that they still had a quarter of the stretch left to run. She must have sprouted wings.
Vana forced her way up to the front, teeth bared around the bit when King snaked his head out in angry greeting. The muscular filly and lean colt poured on the speed the last half-furlong, throwing down the gauntlet. When the smoke cleared past the wire, Vana had the lead by the length of her white nose. Laura slapped the filly's neck in appreciation, bumped fists with Brooks as his speedy King whipped into the first turn. Brooks pulled the colt to a jog, impressed at his fury. "Next time."
Back on the turn, Laura was overflowing with emotion. "Atta girl, Vana! What a filly!" Laura hugged the bay's neck, laughing like a loon when Vana simply stopped and stood, soaking in the attention.
saintly front
saintly touch & in front
Hooves rustled in sawdust, nostrils flared in and out with a snort, black tail switched over nearly as dark hips. Ripley stared at her seal brown son of Night Stalker and The Devil's Touch, grandson of the fiery Touch Up. His body shone like polished black diamond, his legs were clean cut and lean and his muscle showed Ripley just how well Saintly Touch was doing. The colt had lost his first race last time out, but it hadn't been a disappointment. The gorgeous horse had a long career ahead of him. Ripley was convinced greatness awaited this muscular colt, greatness that his grandsire had never known and his mother had only tasted. Her green eyes swept up to his one good eye, taking in the fire and cold that seemed so interwoven these days. Saint was going through a rough period. He was not friendly, not even to her. He would not be friendly until raceday came and he ended back in that winner's circle.
She lead the tacked colt out of his stall, listened for his soft hoofsteps. He was a sneaky horse, a cunning one with predatory tendencies. He was as dangerous as they came and about as unpredictable. He was her baby through and through. It was time to get back to the track and back where they both belonged. She paused to pull her helmet on her head, nodded as In Front's burly body dragged Brookson Wells into her two year old barn. She grimaced at him when In Front promptly skittered back and caught his leg with a flying hoof. Curse words followed, but In Front was not hit. The fiery colt was becoming more like his sire every day. Force would only send him into a rage.
"Well, hello there Brooks." Ripley chuckled when she knew Brooks was okay. His blue eyes glinted with irritation. "Ripley. I'm coming to dislike that stallion of yours even more. He breeds foolishness into his babies." Ripley smiled, "But he also produces brilliance. Yours appears to be the first since The Devil's Touch that this is so." In Front's blaze marked head twisted to aim a pointed look at his irritated rider. The mahogany bay horse looked like the picture of good health and every bit as good as his three win race streak suggested. He was looking forward to the Louisiana Derby about as much as everyone else. From that point on, In Front would be based at Green Horse Fields until the end of the Triple Crown. He was too good at driving everyone else insane at home.
Saintly Touch assessed In Front with his single eye. The seal brown colt was not quite at In Front's level of musculature, but the stoutness of his dam sure promised that he would be. Ripley patted the colt's neck, quietly acknowledging that he was not going to bite her head off this time. "It'll be a good workout today. Both of them have something to prove. Yours needs to prove he can win at the top level and at Green Horse Fields. Mine needs to prove that he is as good as the rumors say he is." And boy there had been rumors. Saint didn't do anything quietly. Each gallop over the major tracks had set off a firestorm of press and handicapping impressions. Saint was a highly sought after colt because of his insanely good breeding and the after-effects of The Devil's Hourglass' impressive performances.
The colts allowed themselves to be lead outside into the spring light. In Front strutted out, head cocked to the right, analyzing the field of broodmares and foals. The blaze faced colt let out a commanding trumpet, stirring up Finale Slew and The Devil's Touch, both recent retirees from the broodmare band. The current broodmares had long since grown used to the ruckus, though the foals all lifted their heads in interest. Ripley spotted Wallflower. The leggy chestnut filly was the last to put her head down and go back to eating. Her movements were bold and brazen. That would be Ripley's filly in two years time.
Brooks mounted In Front, rolled his shoulders, flexed his legs. Anytime he got aboard In Front was a workout. The muscular three year old was very hard on a body, requiring every ounce of encouragement to get the most out of his hulking frame. Brooks settled into the saddle, allowed the colt to stride down the dirt path. This was going to be some workout to say the least. Brooks glanced back to see Ripley aboard Saint. The seal brown colt walked confidently down the path, head cocked to get a good look at the empty track. Saintly Touch moved as easily as a horse with two eyes and looked just as confident as King and Nirvana had in the last set.
Saintly Touch lifted into a hand-gallop the second Ripley asked for it. She settled easily into her customary position at his withers, a smile blooming on her features. This was a good, quality colt. He moved fluidly and brilliantly, while maintaining a solid speed. She kept her hands light on the colt's mouth, pleased that he had taken the initiative to seize the lead. She'd wanted a good, stiff workout for both colts. In Front needed something to chase and Saintly Touch needed someone to challenge him late. She twined her fingers into the colt's pitch black mane, kept her green eyes dead ahead.
In Front spread himself languidly over the course, huge stride covering the ground effortlessly. He was not a slow horse by any means, but he was one that linked to take his time to get going. However, when he got going, In Front was a sight to behold. Ripley was going to have them gallop a half-mile and run five furlongs. Just enough time for the horses to get the juices stirring. In Front paced Saintly Touch into the first turn, ears flickering over his head when he finally realized that this was going to be a real workout. He straightened up, cocked his head to the inside and firmly gripped the bit between his teeth. Brooks wiggled the bit, reminded the big horse he was still in the saddle.
Saintly Touch floated over the course, head and tail high in the air. He moved with easy confidence, traveled as though this wasn't a very taxing task. The seal brown colt ate up the turn, pulled to a two length lead as he straightened up in the backstretch. His black body covered the track with a presence belonging to more powerful, more experienced horse. He kicked up dirt in his wake, marched to his own beat and held a storm within. His ears were pricked, though every now and then one would flick back to acknowledge the fact that In Front still galloped behind.
The burly bay three year old rumbled over the course as Saintly Touch lead the way into mid-backstretch. The colt was more on the bit than he had been in his other works. He was finally coming to the realization that as good as he was right now, Saintly Touch was a different kind of two year old. Brooks shook the reins at his beast the second Ripley sent hers. Saint was a roaring black tornado beneath her, strides lengthening to impressive distances. He sent rooster tails of dirt spinning up into In Front's chest. The bay colt took up briefly, stunned by the pelting sand. Brooks wheeled the horse to Saint's outside, nodded in approval when In Front simply skipped over the two year olds heels.
Saintly Touch responded malevolently when In Front's big head appeared at his outside flank. The colt kicked on, head angled to the inside, legs flying to the outside. He angled himself deliberately to push the older horse further out into the track. At the head of the stretch, In Front rounded four wide, so fanned he was by Saintly Touch. Brooks was impressed by the near black colt's determination. He reined In Front in, took a moment's breath and then threw down his dare. The bay horse rumbled ominously beneath him, took in a great breath and began his bid for the win.
Ripley clung to Saint's black mane when In Front rocketed up to run nose to nose with her tough as nails two year old. The Night Stalker colt responded with fury, hooves pounding the sandy surface with ferocity. It was the battle of a Night Stalker colt and a Touch Up colt, a Touch Up grandson and a Touch Up son. The blood burned within each horse, egged them on to still greater speeds. Their black manes whipped over their stout necks as they pounded the ground and each other. Saint's youth betrayed his bravery as he crossed only a head short. His eyes burned with fury and hate as In Front finally edged him out and began to gallop away. The colt pulled himself up, bowed his neck and managed to look more dangerous than ever after being beaten square on the nose. She patted her colt's neck, but knew this was no consolation prize. The colt wanted the win, anything less was not nearly good enough.
In Front pulled up in the backstretch, swelled himself up with triumph. He was finally coming into his own. About damn time.
Hooves rustled in sawdust, nostrils flared in and out with a snort, black tail switched over nearly as dark hips. Ripley stared at her seal brown son of Night Stalker and The Devil's Touch, grandson of the fiery Touch Up. His body shone like polished black diamond, his legs were clean cut and lean and his muscle showed Ripley just how well Saintly Touch was doing. The colt had lost his first race last time out, but it hadn't been a disappointment. The gorgeous horse had a long career ahead of him. Ripley was convinced greatness awaited this muscular colt, greatness that his grandsire had never known and his mother had only tasted. Her green eyes swept up to his one good eye, taking in the fire and cold that seemed so interwoven these days. Saint was going through a rough period. He was not friendly, not even to her. He would not be friendly until raceday came and he ended back in that winner's circle.
She lead the tacked colt out of his stall, listened for his soft hoofsteps. He was a sneaky horse, a cunning one with predatory tendencies. He was as dangerous as they came and about as unpredictable. He was her baby through and through. It was time to get back to the track and back where they both belonged. She paused to pull her helmet on her head, nodded as In Front's burly body dragged Brookson Wells into her two year old barn. She grimaced at him when In Front promptly skittered back and caught his leg with a flying hoof. Curse words followed, but In Front was not hit. The fiery colt was becoming more like his sire every day. Force would only send him into a rage.
"Well, hello there Brooks." Ripley chuckled when she knew Brooks was okay. His blue eyes glinted with irritation. "Ripley. I'm coming to dislike that stallion of yours even more. He breeds foolishness into his babies." Ripley smiled, "But he also produces brilliance. Yours appears to be the first since The Devil's Touch that this is so." In Front's blaze marked head twisted to aim a pointed look at his irritated rider. The mahogany bay horse looked like the picture of good health and every bit as good as his three win race streak suggested. He was looking forward to the Louisiana Derby about as much as everyone else. From that point on, In Front would be based at Green Horse Fields until the end of the Triple Crown. He was too good at driving everyone else insane at home.
Saintly Touch assessed In Front with his single eye. The seal brown colt was not quite at In Front's level of musculature, but the stoutness of his dam sure promised that he would be. Ripley patted the colt's neck, quietly acknowledging that he was not going to bite her head off this time. "It'll be a good workout today. Both of them have something to prove. Yours needs to prove he can win at the top level and at Green Horse Fields. Mine needs to prove that he is as good as the rumors say he is." And boy there had been rumors. Saint didn't do anything quietly. Each gallop over the major tracks had set off a firestorm of press and handicapping impressions. Saint was a highly sought after colt because of his insanely good breeding and the after-effects of The Devil's Hourglass' impressive performances.
The colts allowed themselves to be lead outside into the spring light. In Front strutted out, head cocked to the right, analyzing the field of broodmares and foals. The blaze faced colt let out a commanding trumpet, stirring up Finale Slew and The Devil's Touch, both recent retirees from the broodmare band. The current broodmares had long since grown used to the ruckus, though the foals all lifted their heads in interest. Ripley spotted Wallflower. The leggy chestnut filly was the last to put her head down and go back to eating. Her movements were bold and brazen. That would be Ripley's filly in two years time.
Brooks mounted In Front, rolled his shoulders, flexed his legs. Anytime he got aboard In Front was a workout. The muscular three year old was very hard on a body, requiring every ounce of encouragement to get the most out of his hulking frame. Brooks settled into the saddle, allowed the colt to stride down the dirt path. This was going to be some workout to say the least. Brooks glanced back to see Ripley aboard Saint. The seal brown colt walked confidently down the path, head cocked to get a good look at the empty track. Saintly Touch moved as easily as a horse with two eyes and looked just as confident as King and Nirvana had in the last set.
Saintly Touch lifted into a hand-gallop the second Ripley asked for it. She settled easily into her customary position at his withers, a smile blooming on her features. This was a good, quality colt. He moved fluidly and brilliantly, while maintaining a solid speed. She kept her hands light on the colt's mouth, pleased that he had taken the initiative to seize the lead. She'd wanted a good, stiff workout for both colts. In Front needed something to chase and Saintly Touch needed someone to challenge him late. She twined her fingers into the colt's pitch black mane, kept her green eyes dead ahead.
In Front spread himself languidly over the course, huge stride covering the ground effortlessly. He was not a slow horse by any means, but he was one that linked to take his time to get going. However, when he got going, In Front was a sight to behold. Ripley was going to have them gallop a half-mile and run five furlongs. Just enough time for the horses to get the juices stirring. In Front paced Saintly Touch into the first turn, ears flickering over his head when he finally realized that this was going to be a real workout. He straightened up, cocked his head to the inside and firmly gripped the bit between his teeth. Brooks wiggled the bit, reminded the big horse he was still in the saddle.
Saintly Touch floated over the course, head and tail high in the air. He moved with easy confidence, traveled as though this wasn't a very taxing task. The seal brown colt ate up the turn, pulled to a two length lead as he straightened up in the backstretch. His black body covered the track with a presence belonging to more powerful, more experienced horse. He kicked up dirt in his wake, marched to his own beat and held a storm within. His ears were pricked, though every now and then one would flick back to acknowledge the fact that In Front still galloped behind.
The burly bay three year old rumbled over the course as Saintly Touch lead the way into mid-backstretch. The colt was more on the bit than he had been in his other works. He was finally coming to the realization that as good as he was right now, Saintly Touch was a different kind of two year old. Brooks shook the reins at his beast the second Ripley sent hers. Saint was a roaring black tornado beneath her, strides lengthening to impressive distances. He sent rooster tails of dirt spinning up into In Front's chest. The bay colt took up briefly, stunned by the pelting sand. Brooks wheeled the horse to Saint's outside, nodded in approval when In Front simply skipped over the two year olds heels.
Saintly Touch responded malevolently when In Front's big head appeared at his outside flank. The colt kicked on, head angled to the inside, legs flying to the outside. He angled himself deliberately to push the older horse further out into the track. At the head of the stretch, In Front rounded four wide, so fanned he was by Saintly Touch. Brooks was impressed by the near black colt's determination. He reined In Front in, took a moment's breath and then threw down his dare. The bay horse rumbled ominously beneath him, took in a great breath and began his bid for the win.
Ripley clung to Saint's black mane when In Front rocketed up to run nose to nose with her tough as nails two year old. The Night Stalker colt responded with fury, hooves pounding the sandy surface with ferocity. It was the battle of a Night Stalker colt and a Touch Up colt, a Touch Up grandson and a Touch Up son. The blood burned within each horse, egged them on to still greater speeds. Their black manes whipped over their stout necks as they pounded the ground and each other. Saint's youth betrayed his bravery as he crossed only a head short. His eyes burned with fury and hate as In Front finally edged him out and began to gallop away. The colt pulled himself up, bowed his neck and managed to look more dangerous than ever after being beaten square on the nose. She patted her colt's neck, but knew this was no consolation prize. The colt wanted the win, anything less was not nearly good enough.
In Front pulled up in the backstretch, swelled himself up with triumph. He was finally coming into his own. About damn time.
spoils of war
hokum & casualty of war
Ripley was most looking forward to this workout. It promised to be a fiery matchup between their Spring Dawn Treader Cup winner Hokum and the hellion Casualty of War. She tapped her fingers on the clipboard, reading over her notes. Hokum needed a little bit of a challenge, something to fuel his engines for his date in the Sheema Classic. The bay stallion had gotten into a comfort zone by the end of Year Thirteen and now he seemed beyond shock whenever he was beaten. Ripley was ready to snap the big horse back to reality. The best reality check she had was the spitfire, freight train that was Casualty of War. Justin Santiago rode both hard to handle colts. Ripley had designated Laura DeComte to take the reins on Hokum. She'd ridden him in the Breeders' Cup Turf Marathon to a third place finish behind Dazzling Dame and Infinite Warcry. The match would work well as Laura was a bit of an acid test herself. Besides, no one besides Justin could handle Casualty of War. It was a slightly irritating fact, but it had been nearly the case with all of Justin's mounts so far.
Justin took a deep breath before meeting the eyes of his wild horse. Casualty of War looked the image of a hell horse. His body glinted with muscular power beneath a black diamond coat. His legs were long, loaded with muscle and his veins stood out so that the look was viciously emphasized. He was fresh. He was dangerous. He'd won a single race so far and would face off against the most consistent group of two year old turfers in the Magic Million Colts Turf. He would not have an easy time, but while his rivals had been running quite often since January, Sultan had been relaxing and burning up the track at home. He patted the colt's shoulder, ignored his urge to flinch when Sultan spun around, mouth agape beneath the muzzle he always wore. Ripley would remove it before Sultan began his workout.
Laura could feel the tension sizzling in the air when she stopped Hokum right outside the two year old barn. The 18 hand monster had his ears pricked in Justin's direction, his body tense with alertness. He'd grown more and more interested in what came out of the two year old barn. His throne was being challenged too often by horses he considered beneath him. Laura twined her pale fingers in the stallion's mane, pondering her tactics for today's ride. Hokum would not be casually given an easy lead today. Sultan was a vicious runner, a bull-dog of sorts whenever a rival challenged for the right to lead the herd. No, the best option was to keep Hokum back, swing him wide of Sultan down the turf stretch and send him flying. She would have to pay Sultan didn't catch wind of the plan, or Justin for that matter. He knew the bay horse she rode better than anyone else.
Justin whirled his coal black colt around, took a giant breath as the colt walked through the barn entrance. His ears pinned at first sight of Hokum, his teeth bared. Hokum stared imperiously down at the upstart, switched his tail over his rump and looked away. If Justin hadn't seen the sudden bunch in his hindquarters, he wouldn't have suspected Hokum to be ready to strike. He backed the two year old away from the elder horse, nodded when Hokum kicked, just barely missing Sultan's rear. The black two year old bolted off the dirt path, carrying Justin on a briefly wild run. He clung to the whipping black mane, jerked the bit between Sultan's teeth. "No boy. Please not now."
Laura wheeled Hokum after the tornado of a colt, impressed by his agility and turn of foot. The tank could move and reminded her once again why she had become so fond of him in the lead up to the Breeders' Cup. She patted the stallion's neck, closed her fingers around the leathers and breathed. Hokum pulled up to Sultan's haunches just before the beginning of the workout. His big eyes were filled with an eagerness that reminded Laura that all dangerous had not passed. She kept the horse in hand as he pushed mightily up the turf hillside. He would not Casualty of War catch a breather. He'd assessed this two year old as an opponent to be wary of.
Sultan surged over the course, the image of raw speed and power. Justin kept an easy seat, maintained his steady grip on the bit. Gradually, the Man O' War colt settled into his cruising stride, but not until the second valley. He was so full of fire today. He needed this workout to take the edge before his date in the biggest two year old series he'd run in to date. Justin's brown eyes flickered with ambition, nearly mirroring the hard gaze of Sultan's. Both of them wanted to notch a big one. Both of them wanted to prove dominance over their respective competitors.
Hokum traveled beautifully up the hillside, back down and then across the valley. He was a giant, definitely not a gentle one, and he moved with all the harnessed energy in the world. He was biding his time like a predator, ears pricked on Casualty of War, staying close but not too close. Laura eased closer to his neck when Sultan rocketed up the final hillside. On the other side of this steep greenery was the three furlong flat. Hokum pulled ferociously on the bit, demanding release. Laura gave it to him at the crest, clung to him as he launched after Sultan. The two year old was quick enough to know that Hokum took no breathers as his two year old and three year old counterparts did.
He had to admit that he was impressed with Sultan's durability. Justin had long since grown accustomed to stamina filled horses, not expecting a youngest to produce such a solid run in the final stretch of the two mile workout. Casualty of War sped over the grass, kicking up giant clods of turf, eyes burning with fierce desire. Justin leaned close, glad he had pulled his racing goggles on. He glanced beneath his shoulder, puzzled over the fact that Hokum was not right there. Whiplash jerked Justin back into place as Casualty of War shot forward out of his high cruising pace.
Hokum poured it on through the second furlong, had promptly stolen the lead from Sultan when Laura made the decision. His great muscles coiled and released beneath shining hide. He was full of run, full of fire and he was enjoying getting the best of the hotshot. Laura kept her steely eyes set on the goal, but noted that Justin had wisely pulled Sultan up to Hokum's left shoulder. The best way to get Sultan to run was to get him to think their was a fight. As tenacious as a terrier, Sultan clung to Hokum's shoulder, pushed against the older horse's experience with undeniable talent. The bay and black flew through the final furlong, tails streaming out behind them like capes. The pair launched up the cool-down hill, pulling themselves up after nearly another furlong of run.
Ripley nodded in approval at the time on her watch, patted the neck of her bay mount. "Now that is exactly what we were looking for Flamekissed." The former grade five runner dipped his head, mouthed the bit, as if in agreement. She trotted the colt forward when the horse's came over the crest again, heard their heavy breathing and smiled. If that wasn't a battle hardening test, she didn't know what was.
Ripley was most looking forward to this workout. It promised to be a fiery matchup between their Spring Dawn Treader Cup winner Hokum and the hellion Casualty of War. She tapped her fingers on the clipboard, reading over her notes. Hokum needed a little bit of a challenge, something to fuel his engines for his date in the Sheema Classic. The bay stallion had gotten into a comfort zone by the end of Year Thirteen and now he seemed beyond shock whenever he was beaten. Ripley was ready to snap the big horse back to reality. The best reality check she had was the spitfire, freight train that was Casualty of War. Justin Santiago rode both hard to handle colts. Ripley had designated Laura DeComte to take the reins on Hokum. She'd ridden him in the Breeders' Cup Turf Marathon to a third place finish behind Dazzling Dame and Infinite Warcry. The match would work well as Laura was a bit of an acid test herself. Besides, no one besides Justin could handle Casualty of War. It was a slightly irritating fact, but it had been nearly the case with all of Justin's mounts so far.
Justin took a deep breath before meeting the eyes of his wild horse. Casualty of War looked the image of a hell horse. His body glinted with muscular power beneath a black diamond coat. His legs were long, loaded with muscle and his veins stood out so that the look was viciously emphasized. He was fresh. He was dangerous. He'd won a single race so far and would face off against the most consistent group of two year old turfers in the Magic Million Colts Turf. He would not have an easy time, but while his rivals had been running quite often since January, Sultan had been relaxing and burning up the track at home. He patted the colt's shoulder, ignored his urge to flinch when Sultan spun around, mouth agape beneath the muzzle he always wore. Ripley would remove it before Sultan began his workout.
Laura could feel the tension sizzling in the air when she stopped Hokum right outside the two year old barn. The 18 hand monster had his ears pricked in Justin's direction, his body tense with alertness. He'd grown more and more interested in what came out of the two year old barn. His throne was being challenged too often by horses he considered beneath him. Laura twined her pale fingers in the stallion's mane, pondering her tactics for today's ride. Hokum would not be casually given an easy lead today. Sultan was a vicious runner, a bull-dog of sorts whenever a rival challenged for the right to lead the herd. No, the best option was to keep Hokum back, swing him wide of Sultan down the turf stretch and send him flying. She would have to pay Sultan didn't catch wind of the plan, or Justin for that matter. He knew the bay horse she rode better than anyone else.
Justin whirled his coal black colt around, took a giant breath as the colt walked through the barn entrance. His ears pinned at first sight of Hokum, his teeth bared. Hokum stared imperiously down at the upstart, switched his tail over his rump and looked away. If Justin hadn't seen the sudden bunch in his hindquarters, he wouldn't have suspected Hokum to be ready to strike. He backed the two year old away from the elder horse, nodded when Hokum kicked, just barely missing Sultan's rear. The black two year old bolted off the dirt path, carrying Justin on a briefly wild run. He clung to the whipping black mane, jerked the bit between Sultan's teeth. "No boy. Please not now."
Laura wheeled Hokum after the tornado of a colt, impressed by his agility and turn of foot. The tank could move and reminded her once again why she had become so fond of him in the lead up to the Breeders' Cup. She patted the stallion's neck, closed her fingers around the leathers and breathed. Hokum pulled up to Sultan's haunches just before the beginning of the workout. His big eyes were filled with an eagerness that reminded Laura that all dangerous had not passed. She kept the horse in hand as he pushed mightily up the turf hillside. He would not Casualty of War catch a breather. He'd assessed this two year old as an opponent to be wary of.
Sultan surged over the course, the image of raw speed and power. Justin kept an easy seat, maintained his steady grip on the bit. Gradually, the Man O' War colt settled into his cruising stride, but not until the second valley. He was so full of fire today. He needed this workout to take the edge before his date in the biggest two year old series he'd run in to date. Justin's brown eyes flickered with ambition, nearly mirroring the hard gaze of Sultan's. Both of them wanted to notch a big one. Both of them wanted to prove dominance over their respective competitors.
Hokum traveled beautifully up the hillside, back down and then across the valley. He was a giant, definitely not a gentle one, and he moved with all the harnessed energy in the world. He was biding his time like a predator, ears pricked on Casualty of War, staying close but not too close. Laura eased closer to his neck when Sultan rocketed up the final hillside. On the other side of this steep greenery was the three furlong flat. Hokum pulled ferociously on the bit, demanding release. Laura gave it to him at the crest, clung to him as he launched after Sultan. The two year old was quick enough to know that Hokum took no breathers as his two year old and three year old counterparts did.
He had to admit that he was impressed with Sultan's durability. Justin had long since grown accustomed to stamina filled horses, not expecting a youngest to produce such a solid run in the final stretch of the two mile workout. Casualty of War sped over the grass, kicking up giant clods of turf, eyes burning with fierce desire. Justin leaned close, glad he had pulled his racing goggles on. He glanced beneath his shoulder, puzzled over the fact that Hokum was not right there. Whiplash jerked Justin back into place as Casualty of War shot forward out of his high cruising pace.
Hokum poured it on through the second furlong, had promptly stolen the lead from Sultan when Laura made the decision. His great muscles coiled and released beneath shining hide. He was full of run, full of fire and he was enjoying getting the best of the hotshot. Laura kept her steely eyes set on the goal, but noted that Justin had wisely pulled Sultan up to Hokum's left shoulder. The best way to get Sultan to run was to get him to think their was a fight. As tenacious as a terrier, Sultan clung to Hokum's shoulder, pushed against the older horse's experience with undeniable talent. The bay and black flew through the final furlong, tails streaming out behind them like capes. The pair launched up the cool-down hill, pulling themselves up after nearly another furlong of run.
Ripley nodded in approval at the time on her watch, patted the neck of her bay mount. "Now that is exactly what we were looking for Flamekissed." The former grade five runner dipped his head, mouthed the bit, as if in agreement. She trotted the colt forward when the horse's came over the crest again, heard their heavy breathing and smiled. If that wasn't a battle hardening test, she didn't know what was.
tell me a secret
call me crooked & taboo & dirty diana
Laura felt like a million dollars astride her gray roan All For Glory mare. Dirty Diana was as tough as they came, strong and built and glorious. She had a don't mess with me attitude and the look of a flirt. She easily had caught Laura's heart in her teeth and showed no signs of letting go. The sleek dappled out mare tossed her head as she eyed up her youthful competition. Her eyes measured them with discreet interest, as though she did not want to give them the idea that she was too interested. Her body trembled with eagerness as she realized today was a for real workout. Every other day, because Di was getting so strong in her gallops, the gray mare was worked alone. She was becoming too focused, too tough. She couldn't run with Mastermind because they would duel each other into the ground. Top Admiral and Bellefire were too new. Laura patted her mount's neck, eyes glittering with excitement. Today was the day her mare got to run. And then she would be ready to produce a top notch effort in the Born To Soar Memorial Stakes.
Reese crooned to her own gray roan filly, noting the brightness in Taboo's eyes. The haunted filly was beginning to look less so everyday. Her panic attacks were farther apart and her nervousness was beginning to yield into confidence. The Everyday Hero daughter looked prime for a top notch effort. Her light-colored gaze swept from the turf track to the dirt track as if reading Reese's mind. Today's exercise would emphasize speed on tighter turns. There would be no turf workout today, but a wild run on the dirt track versus a sprinter filly and an up-and-coming mare. Reese eased into the saddle, settling down with soft release of breath. Taboo pranced beneath her, tossing her multi-colored mane so that it glinted silver and white in the sunlight. "Good girl Tabz."
Call Me Crooked stood with her ears pricked, dark eyes rimmed with whites. She was a tank, round and the most unathletic of the three racehorses. Her muscles were hidden by fat and she was absolutely solid. It was a trait she had inherited from her grade four winning dam Royal Assault. Crooked Fire's size and burliness hadn't exactly helped. What the fat hid, however, was an innate talent for running. Crook was a running fool, a stubborn one, but with a closing kick like no other. Maggie mounted her well-rounded mount, grinned when Crook began backing up like it was her day job. "Alright, alright Crook. Forward, not backward."
Ripley stepped out from the shedrow leading Mastermind. The elegant chestnut stallion lifted his head, drawing in all the scents before releasing a hair-raising whistle. Reese gazed at the Speed Demon colt. He was becoming more and more the legend every race he ran, every gallop in the morning. Ripley nodded to them after she was mounted. "I want a mile gallop and a four furlong workout ending at the line. I want them all even at the end. So if you have to work them harder from the start do it. We've got to teach these ladies how to capitalize."
Mastermind strutted down the path ahead of the fillies and mare, putting the exclamation mark on Ripley's statement. If any horse knew how to capitalize on a race, it was Mastermind and Ripley Marsh. Reese stroked Tabz' neck, transferring her sight from the strolling chestnut to her anxious filly. Taboo was a nut, the result of Forbidden Wings' genes, but she was an extremely talented nut. She could simply fly over the ground, no matter the surface. She was a classic one, a filly for the ages. Reese knew it and she knew Ripley had a faint idea of how incredible Taboo could be. Reese was sure that their time would come in the three year old races, but it never hurt to have a solid background as a juvenile runner.
Dirty Diana snorted, bowing her neck as she stepped onto the dirt track. Her dark eyes blazed to life and she instantly launched into a gallop. Her muscles coiled and released in swift, agile reactions. She marched over the course, head high, tail lifted, mirroring Mastermind's posture up ahead. She was an upward social climber. She wanted to be on the level of the better horse. Laura knew she would have her hands full today even though Mastermind would not be in the workout with them. Laura peeked under her arm, shaking her head when Taboo gracefully moved into a smooth gallop. Crook was a little less so as she launched off her hind end over-exuberantly with a squeal and small kick.
Maggie wrapped her hands in the stout filly's whipping black mane. Crook was a good one, a rock solid horse that Maggie was beginning to enjoy every day. She had a ton of courage passed down by her sire and the flair of her mama. She thundered over the course until the turn before settling into her long reaching strides. This one had the heart of a lion. Maggie thrilled at the thought of getting Crooks' head down ahead of Taboo and Dirty Diana. It would be such a confidence builder to have her little engine learning to win. Maggie guided the filly to the rail, settling her three lengths of Dirty Diana as Taboo rounded up to the older mare's haunches. The sleek Everyday Hero filly looked more than up to the challenge of keeping Di company for the mile gallop and four furlong workout. "Let her Crook. We'll catch them when they're both down for the count."
Taboo tracked Dirty Diana into the far turn with absolutely no urging whatsoever. The filly was lean and tough, full of herself. Her ears were pricked while Dirty Diana's were pinned in warning. Di was a bit preoccupied with the filly, but her attitude was one that did not allow itself to get passed too often, particularly by what she considered inferior competition. Laura stood in the saddle, tucking her hands in and pulling back. She would not let Di go any faster. Taboo was a midpack runner, but she was so clearly happy with this clip that Laura knew Reese had a ton of horse. Di backed off unwillingly at first, but she did it. Her long strides shortened minutely when Taboo neatly cut in front of her to take the rail. Di's look was one of such disgust that Laura was a bit surprised the big gray mare didn't go after the youth.
Maggie shook her head at the politics that were playing out ahead of her and Crook. her stripe marked filly watched with keen interest. She had slowed down, but now picked up the pace when it appeared Taboo was intent on stringing out the field. Maggie kept her filly going with restless hands and feet, her blue eyes wild with wild eagerness. The trio dashed up the homestretch flinging dirt and dust in their wake. Dirty Diana sat a length and a half off Taboo now while maintaining a sure and steady clip. The younger filly would have to get tired once they rounded into the backstretch and into the four furlong workout. At least that was Laura's hope. Reese was becoming uncannily tough these days on the track.
Taboo was just covering the ground so easily. Reese was a bit stunned when the filly went on with it in the backstretch. Her speed was becoming a blitz and her legs were blurring beneath her. She was a tough, tough filly. The four furlong workout was right up her alley. Reese leaned close as Tabz swept over the dirt, only glancing back when Tabz had settled into stride. Dirty Diana was muscling her way up to the filly's haunches, but she looked like she was putting in more of an effort to do so.
Di cruised up to Taboo's barrel, ears pinned, tail flying out behind her like a cape. The gray mare had moved on her own upon hearing Call me Crooked's flying hoofbeats. The gray would not be beat by some sprinting closer. Diana began to push Taboo to greater speeds around the turn. Her right cocked up so suddenly that Laura had to look when Call Me Crooked roared up on the All For Glory mare's outside. The stout bay filly had turned into a closing machine, wheeling three wide on the turn.
The trio straightened up, Diana and Taboo coming together briefly as they vied furiously for the lead. Crook was grinding away at them, ears pinned, mouth agape beneath the ever-moving Maggie. Reese gritted her teeth, let the reins soar through her hands and laughed when Tabz responded. She repelled both challenges for most of the stretch, but Reese could sense Di was just kicking into gear. Maggie must have felt the same for both fillies sandwiched the older mare between them. Di was thrown off stride, but she courageously battled back between the youngsters, teeth bared. Laura let out a war cry when her tough-as-nails mount got her head down at the wire.
Taboo pulled up, switching her tail over her haunches cockily. Diana may have one, but she'd had to fight with her experience and her maturity. The gray filly's light colored eyes swept from the older gray mare to the tank that whipped back into the first turn all on her own. The real challenger had been the one that had proved to be an ally. Reese patted the filly's neck, thrilled with the battle light shining in her eyes. Perhaps they would make a splash as juveniles after all.
Laura felt like a million dollars astride her gray roan All For Glory mare. Dirty Diana was as tough as they came, strong and built and glorious. She had a don't mess with me attitude and the look of a flirt. She easily had caught Laura's heart in her teeth and showed no signs of letting go. The sleek dappled out mare tossed her head as she eyed up her youthful competition. Her eyes measured them with discreet interest, as though she did not want to give them the idea that she was too interested. Her body trembled with eagerness as she realized today was a for real workout. Every other day, because Di was getting so strong in her gallops, the gray mare was worked alone. She was becoming too focused, too tough. She couldn't run with Mastermind because they would duel each other into the ground. Top Admiral and Bellefire were too new. Laura patted her mount's neck, eyes glittering with excitement. Today was the day her mare got to run. And then she would be ready to produce a top notch effort in the Born To Soar Memorial Stakes.
Reese crooned to her own gray roan filly, noting the brightness in Taboo's eyes. The haunted filly was beginning to look less so everyday. Her panic attacks were farther apart and her nervousness was beginning to yield into confidence. The Everyday Hero daughter looked prime for a top notch effort. Her light-colored gaze swept from the turf track to the dirt track as if reading Reese's mind. Today's exercise would emphasize speed on tighter turns. There would be no turf workout today, but a wild run on the dirt track versus a sprinter filly and an up-and-coming mare. Reese eased into the saddle, settling down with soft release of breath. Taboo pranced beneath her, tossing her multi-colored mane so that it glinted silver and white in the sunlight. "Good girl Tabz."
Call Me Crooked stood with her ears pricked, dark eyes rimmed with whites. She was a tank, round and the most unathletic of the three racehorses. Her muscles were hidden by fat and she was absolutely solid. It was a trait she had inherited from her grade four winning dam Royal Assault. Crooked Fire's size and burliness hadn't exactly helped. What the fat hid, however, was an innate talent for running. Crook was a running fool, a stubborn one, but with a closing kick like no other. Maggie mounted her well-rounded mount, grinned when Crook began backing up like it was her day job. "Alright, alright Crook. Forward, not backward."
Ripley stepped out from the shedrow leading Mastermind. The elegant chestnut stallion lifted his head, drawing in all the scents before releasing a hair-raising whistle. Reese gazed at the Speed Demon colt. He was becoming more and more the legend every race he ran, every gallop in the morning. Ripley nodded to them after she was mounted. "I want a mile gallop and a four furlong workout ending at the line. I want them all even at the end. So if you have to work them harder from the start do it. We've got to teach these ladies how to capitalize."
Mastermind strutted down the path ahead of the fillies and mare, putting the exclamation mark on Ripley's statement. If any horse knew how to capitalize on a race, it was Mastermind and Ripley Marsh. Reese stroked Tabz' neck, transferring her sight from the strolling chestnut to her anxious filly. Taboo was a nut, the result of Forbidden Wings' genes, but she was an extremely talented nut. She could simply fly over the ground, no matter the surface. She was a classic one, a filly for the ages. Reese knew it and she knew Ripley had a faint idea of how incredible Taboo could be. Reese was sure that their time would come in the three year old races, but it never hurt to have a solid background as a juvenile runner.
Dirty Diana snorted, bowing her neck as she stepped onto the dirt track. Her dark eyes blazed to life and she instantly launched into a gallop. Her muscles coiled and released in swift, agile reactions. She marched over the course, head high, tail lifted, mirroring Mastermind's posture up ahead. She was an upward social climber. She wanted to be on the level of the better horse. Laura knew she would have her hands full today even though Mastermind would not be in the workout with them. Laura peeked under her arm, shaking her head when Taboo gracefully moved into a smooth gallop. Crook was a little less so as she launched off her hind end over-exuberantly with a squeal and small kick.
Maggie wrapped her hands in the stout filly's whipping black mane. Crook was a good one, a rock solid horse that Maggie was beginning to enjoy every day. She had a ton of courage passed down by her sire and the flair of her mama. She thundered over the course until the turn before settling into her long reaching strides. This one had the heart of a lion. Maggie thrilled at the thought of getting Crooks' head down ahead of Taboo and Dirty Diana. It would be such a confidence builder to have her little engine learning to win. Maggie guided the filly to the rail, settling her three lengths of Dirty Diana as Taboo rounded up to the older mare's haunches. The sleek Everyday Hero filly looked more than up to the challenge of keeping Di company for the mile gallop and four furlong workout. "Let her Crook. We'll catch them when they're both down for the count."
Taboo tracked Dirty Diana into the far turn with absolutely no urging whatsoever. The filly was lean and tough, full of herself. Her ears were pricked while Dirty Diana's were pinned in warning. Di was a bit preoccupied with the filly, but her attitude was one that did not allow itself to get passed too often, particularly by what she considered inferior competition. Laura stood in the saddle, tucking her hands in and pulling back. She would not let Di go any faster. Taboo was a midpack runner, but she was so clearly happy with this clip that Laura knew Reese had a ton of horse. Di backed off unwillingly at first, but she did it. Her long strides shortened minutely when Taboo neatly cut in front of her to take the rail. Di's look was one of such disgust that Laura was a bit surprised the big gray mare didn't go after the youth.
Maggie shook her head at the politics that were playing out ahead of her and Crook. her stripe marked filly watched with keen interest. She had slowed down, but now picked up the pace when it appeared Taboo was intent on stringing out the field. Maggie kept her filly going with restless hands and feet, her blue eyes wild with wild eagerness. The trio dashed up the homestretch flinging dirt and dust in their wake. Dirty Diana sat a length and a half off Taboo now while maintaining a sure and steady clip. The younger filly would have to get tired once they rounded into the backstretch and into the four furlong workout. At least that was Laura's hope. Reese was becoming uncannily tough these days on the track.
Taboo was just covering the ground so easily. Reese was a bit stunned when the filly went on with it in the backstretch. Her speed was becoming a blitz and her legs were blurring beneath her. She was a tough, tough filly. The four furlong workout was right up her alley. Reese leaned close as Tabz swept over the dirt, only glancing back when Tabz had settled into stride. Dirty Diana was muscling her way up to the filly's haunches, but she looked like she was putting in more of an effort to do so.
Di cruised up to Taboo's barrel, ears pinned, tail flying out behind her like a cape. The gray mare had moved on her own upon hearing Call me Crooked's flying hoofbeats. The gray would not be beat by some sprinting closer. Diana began to push Taboo to greater speeds around the turn. Her right cocked up so suddenly that Laura had to look when Call Me Crooked roared up on the All For Glory mare's outside. The stout bay filly had turned into a closing machine, wheeling three wide on the turn.
The trio straightened up, Diana and Taboo coming together briefly as they vied furiously for the lead. Crook was grinding away at them, ears pinned, mouth agape beneath the ever-moving Maggie. Reese gritted her teeth, let the reins soar through her hands and laughed when Tabz responded. She repelled both challenges for most of the stretch, but Reese could sense Di was just kicking into gear. Maggie must have felt the same for both fillies sandwiched the older mare between them. Di was thrown off stride, but she courageously battled back between the youngsters, teeth bared. Laura let out a war cry when her tough-as-nails mount got her head down at the wire.
Taboo pulled up, switching her tail over her haunches cockily. Diana may have one, but she'd had to fight with her experience and her maturity. The gray filly's light colored eyes swept from the older gray mare to the tank that whipped back into the first turn all on her own. The real challenger had been the one that had proved to be an ally. Reese patted the filly's neck, thrilled with the battle light shining in her eyes. Perhaps they would make a splash as juveniles after all.