May Week One
Count Down
Ripley Marsh knew two important things. 1) How to win a race in the Turf Triple Crown and 2) How to ride a front runner. Her green eyes flashed to The Devil's Hourglass who stood proudly in a ray of sunlight, dapples glittering throughout her body. She was a filly made to endure the long Turf Triple Crown trail. The top two year old filly and juvenile of last year had not really started coming into her own until the end of Year Thirteen. Five other horses awaited her in the Preakness Champion Stakes and after her defeat in the Kentucky Open, The Devil's Hourglass was more than ready to crush the opponents that stood in her way. The stout filly had returned to Witch Creek mere hours after her second place finish and since then she'd been training like a demon. Ripley could hardly wait for this workout, to match her top turf filly against one of her top juvenile colts. Both would get a lesson in "pace makes the race" that hopefully would carry over into their respective races.
Maggiletti Reynolds stood beside her muscular dark bay colt. Vagabond peered out of his blinkers at Hourglass, assessing her for everything she was worth. He knew she was tough and strong, by the hateful looks she kept sending his way. He also could sense that today's workout would be more than just a workout. He would have to prove himself and through him, make The Devil's Hourglass show everyone why she was the champion filly of Year Thirteen. The colt switched his long black tail over his rump, impatient to begin the lesson and impatient to return to the track. He'd enjoyed a couple weeks off, but he knew something big was happening. His workouts had been over the dirt more often than the turf. He'd performed beautifully in those tests the humans liked to throw at them. Maggie had cuddled with him after, so he'd knew he'd done something right. Bond nudged the woman who stood at his head, licked her hand with a soft look in his eye. She smiled and stroked his satin neck.
"Bond knows somethings up. He's giving me that look again, the look that says he is wise to all of our plans." Hourglass stomped and snorted, as if she thought Bond didn't have any brains at all, let alone brains smart enough to know Ripley's plans. When her rider mounted up, Hourglass sent a fierce look in Bond's direction before promptly striding off the beaten dirt path and toward the turf track. Ripley sent a warm smile in Maggie's direction. "I think Hourglass thinks he needs to do a little less thinking and a lot more running."
Maggie laughed from Bond's back, sighing when he flitted sideways in an elegant prance. He was a gorgeous horse with all of his old breeding leading to his current form. She and Ripley had a ton of faith in the horse, believed him to be something very special. He would prove it, but a little experience wasn't going to kill him. It would only make him better and stronger and faster as a three year old. Maggie leaned forward, letting the broad horse launch into his ground-swallowing gallop. He was a tough horse to ride, but when he was on, he was on. Maggie went over Ripley's plan in her head. Gallop the mile and a half, prepare to run off the final hill. Hourglass will not be waiting.
Hourglass would definitely not be waiting. The dark bay granddaughter of Touch Up pounded up the first hill, pushing mightily off of her thick haunches. There wasn't a filly in the game who could run like Hourglass for the distance of eleven furlongs. Ripley had one game plan and that was to beat out the other five horses in the race and not look back. That tactic had been extremely successful as a two year old and with no speed to run with her, Hourglass could tick off her own cruising fractions without pressure. Ripley kept her hands locked in the waving black mane, noted the relaxed set of Hourglass' curved neck and savage head. Oh she was ready. The filly Ripley had raised since birth was ready to prove that you never could doubt a champion. Ripley's green eyes flashed excitedly when Hourglass bounded through the valley and up again with relative ease. Hourglass had almost all of the advantages going into this key race. Ripley didn't think she was cocky in saying so, not in the least.
Vagabond bounded over the rolling green hills, mane waving in the breeze. He was so relaxed and so content. He was moving so effortlessly. Vagabond had been training like a champ since his most recent defeat. He had class and professionalism. Maggie was aboard her own Mastermind or her own Cross My Heart or better yet, Paranormal Hunter. Vagabond was just ready to roll. There would be pace in the Follow The Hoofprints Dirt and while Vagabond hadn't run over the surface yet, Maggie wasn't worried. Bond had trained fiercely over these rolling hills and the deeper Witch Creek dirt track.
The blood bay colt crowned the second to last hill three lengths behind The Devil's Hourglass. The star-marked filly was tearing up the turf, flinging clods in her wake and still Ripley hadn't tapped the gas once. Maggie was impressed, but not the least bit surprised. Hourglass looked more like the Hourglass of last year. She looked ready to take on the world and potentially slay them. Maggie patted her colt's neck. "We're running for second today, but we'll give her a run for her money."
Ripley forced herself to hold it together as Hourglass bolted up the final hillside before the three furlong flat. Though Hourglass had gone fast here, Ripley hoped to have a more controlled pace and then put their opponents to hopeless chase at the head of the stretch. She had the right horse to do it too. The auburn-haired woman clenched the reins until Hourglass hit the flat. Then she bolted, all powerful muscle and well-bred bone. The bay filly surged across the grass, flying in the matter of a few seconds. She had a terrifying turn of foot, one relatively unmatched. Ripley remained still on the broad filly's back. Here was a good horse ready to prove herself to the media, her fans and her critics.
Maggie threw the reins at Vagabond's neck, grinned when he bounded over the turf. His head high, the colt revved himself up to catch up with Hourglass. His hooves skimmed the earth so that he almost flew across the track. He moved effortlessly, dodging clods of turf and dirt. He'd shrunk the separation between them from six impressive lengths to three and a half, but Maggie knew Ripley wasn't on the gas pedal. Hourglass was just traveling along at her own cruising speed. The chase had proven futile as Hourglass flew across the finish line and up the cooling-out-hill. Maggie slapped her big colt's neck, pleased with his performance and more ready for the Follow The Hoofprints Dirt than ever. They would not face an Hourglass in that race and there was sure going to be company on the front end. Pace made the race and hopefully, Vagabond would be the benefactor being a closer in a field of mostly front-runners and pre-ceders.
Maggiletti Reynolds stood beside her muscular dark bay colt. Vagabond peered out of his blinkers at Hourglass, assessing her for everything she was worth. He knew she was tough and strong, by the hateful looks she kept sending his way. He also could sense that today's workout would be more than just a workout. He would have to prove himself and through him, make The Devil's Hourglass show everyone why she was the champion filly of Year Thirteen. The colt switched his long black tail over his rump, impatient to begin the lesson and impatient to return to the track. He'd enjoyed a couple weeks off, but he knew something big was happening. His workouts had been over the dirt more often than the turf. He'd performed beautifully in those tests the humans liked to throw at them. Maggie had cuddled with him after, so he'd knew he'd done something right. Bond nudged the woman who stood at his head, licked her hand with a soft look in his eye. She smiled and stroked his satin neck.
"Bond knows somethings up. He's giving me that look again, the look that says he is wise to all of our plans." Hourglass stomped and snorted, as if she thought Bond didn't have any brains at all, let alone brains smart enough to know Ripley's plans. When her rider mounted up, Hourglass sent a fierce look in Bond's direction before promptly striding off the beaten dirt path and toward the turf track. Ripley sent a warm smile in Maggie's direction. "I think Hourglass thinks he needs to do a little less thinking and a lot more running."
Maggie laughed from Bond's back, sighing when he flitted sideways in an elegant prance. He was a gorgeous horse with all of his old breeding leading to his current form. She and Ripley had a ton of faith in the horse, believed him to be something very special. He would prove it, but a little experience wasn't going to kill him. It would only make him better and stronger and faster as a three year old. Maggie leaned forward, letting the broad horse launch into his ground-swallowing gallop. He was a tough horse to ride, but when he was on, he was on. Maggie went over Ripley's plan in her head. Gallop the mile and a half, prepare to run off the final hill. Hourglass will not be waiting.
Hourglass would definitely not be waiting. The dark bay granddaughter of Touch Up pounded up the first hill, pushing mightily off of her thick haunches. There wasn't a filly in the game who could run like Hourglass for the distance of eleven furlongs. Ripley had one game plan and that was to beat out the other five horses in the race and not look back. That tactic had been extremely successful as a two year old and with no speed to run with her, Hourglass could tick off her own cruising fractions without pressure. Ripley kept her hands locked in the waving black mane, noted the relaxed set of Hourglass' curved neck and savage head. Oh she was ready. The filly Ripley had raised since birth was ready to prove that you never could doubt a champion. Ripley's green eyes flashed excitedly when Hourglass bounded through the valley and up again with relative ease. Hourglass had almost all of the advantages going into this key race. Ripley didn't think she was cocky in saying so, not in the least.
Vagabond bounded over the rolling green hills, mane waving in the breeze. He was so relaxed and so content. He was moving so effortlessly. Vagabond had been training like a champ since his most recent defeat. He had class and professionalism. Maggie was aboard her own Mastermind or her own Cross My Heart or better yet, Paranormal Hunter. Vagabond was just ready to roll. There would be pace in the Follow The Hoofprints Dirt and while Vagabond hadn't run over the surface yet, Maggie wasn't worried. Bond had trained fiercely over these rolling hills and the deeper Witch Creek dirt track.
The blood bay colt crowned the second to last hill three lengths behind The Devil's Hourglass. The star-marked filly was tearing up the turf, flinging clods in her wake and still Ripley hadn't tapped the gas once. Maggie was impressed, but not the least bit surprised. Hourglass looked more like the Hourglass of last year. She looked ready to take on the world and potentially slay them. Maggie patted her colt's neck. "We're running for second today, but we'll give her a run for her money."
Ripley forced herself to hold it together as Hourglass bolted up the final hillside before the three furlong flat. Though Hourglass had gone fast here, Ripley hoped to have a more controlled pace and then put their opponents to hopeless chase at the head of the stretch. She had the right horse to do it too. The auburn-haired woman clenched the reins until Hourglass hit the flat. Then she bolted, all powerful muscle and well-bred bone. The bay filly surged across the grass, flying in the matter of a few seconds. She had a terrifying turn of foot, one relatively unmatched. Ripley remained still on the broad filly's back. Here was a good horse ready to prove herself to the media, her fans and her critics.
Maggie threw the reins at Vagabond's neck, grinned when he bounded over the turf. His head high, the colt revved himself up to catch up with Hourglass. His hooves skimmed the earth so that he almost flew across the track. He moved effortlessly, dodging clods of turf and dirt. He'd shrunk the separation between them from six impressive lengths to three and a half, but Maggie knew Ripley wasn't on the gas pedal. Hourglass was just traveling along at her own cruising speed. The chase had proven futile as Hourglass flew across the finish line and up the cooling-out-hill. Maggie slapped her big colt's neck, pleased with his performance and more ready for the Follow The Hoofprints Dirt than ever. They would not face an Hourglass in that race and there was sure going to be company on the front end. Pace made the race and hopefully, Vagabond would be the benefactor being a closer in a field of mostly front-runners and pre-ceders.
Secret Hunter
Maggie knew stubborn when she saw it. Stubborn was currently written all over Paranormal Hunter's face, in her defiant gaze, in her taunt body that promised future movement futile, and her ears that were oh-so-casually twisted to the side. Yes, Para was the most stubborn animal Maggiletti Reynolds had ever worked with, however, the fact that she was brilliant beyond measure played a role. Para was sky-high at the moment in the turf filly division. No one could boast as brilliant a record in Year Fourteen, not even her own stablemate The Devil's Hourglass. Paranormal Hunter had been straight and strong since her career first got started as a juvenile.
Maggie sincerely hoped that her filly's courage and determination carried them to a victory in the second leg of the Turf Triple Tiara, the Cotillion Stakes. Witch Creek's own home-bred Calamity Queen had won that leg last year, but she hadn't been with Witch Creek. The leggy bay mare had been a Star Thoroughbreds horse at the time and though she'd been a grade one at retirement, Queenie had been a huge surprise. Maggie knew there would be no surprises. Not for her, not for Para, not for the audience nor for the competition. Paranormal Hunter brought her A effort every time. Paranormal Hunter brought a devastating closing kick every time. Paranormal Hunter was going to be in huntress mode from start to finish. Maggie could hardly wait for that brilliant drive that turned Para from a mule into a beautiful representation of a thoroughbred.
Reese could only hope Taboo would reach the heights Paranormal Hunter was reaching. The gray-roan filly stood with eyes wide open at the end of the lead shank. The Everyday Hero filly looked as though she were nearing a nervous break down. Reese shook the rope violently, whistling to the filly until the daughter of Forbidden Wings snapped from her reverie. She twitched her tail, a tail that went from near black to the lightest of whites, and finally acknowledged Reese's presence. Taboo sighed, blowing softly through her nose as though she were not certain she was happy to be away from her stall. "It's not so bad little Taboo." The caramel-skinned woman stepped up to the sensitive filly, petting her lightly on the neck. Her pale hide twitched as she turned to face away from Reese. The horse was a difficult case of nerves, but when she ran, she ran as though she possessed wings.
Maggie kept quiet as she forced Para to back up. The heavy filly was equally as quiet. For all of Para's foolishness, the large filly knew when she was in a delicate presence. Her curiosity toward Taboo made Maggie positive that she did have a maternal bone in her body. Maggie climbed onto the back of her bay filly and watched as Reese charmed her way aboard Taboo. The gray filly quivered once, pricked her ears and turned into a completely different horse. Taboo ducked her head at Reese's calming pat, looking abashed.
"Now that the excitement is over..." Reese laughed, nodded. "Ripley left a note about a mile gallop with a three furlong workout. She said, 'keep them on the same page.' Looks like Rips wants us to get them used to having company."
"Sounds about right."
The women turned the fillies in the direction of the turf track, both allowing their mounts to slide into their trots and then their lopes. Para was a lot heavier on her hooves than Taboo. She was a sturdy son of a gun, but she could back her noise up with a swift confidence-bursting kick. Maggie loved her heavy mare, loved her tenacious attitude. It was making her into a turf filly champion. Maggie leaned close, keeping her hands light in the waving black mane. Para pulled herself mightily over the hills, but there was no effort in it. Her interest was in the gray filly who dared to remain beside her.
Taboo floated over the ground, muscles contracting and releasing beneath her dappled hide. She glided over the turf, a princess among paupers. Her breeding was impeccable compared to Paranormal Hunter, but she had a long way to go in her career to match Para. Now was a good time to begin that journey. Reese kept a pinky on the reins, impressed that Taboo did not seem to mind Para's presence. The lumbering bay always seemed to unnerve her competition due to her size and presence. Taboo had never been one to get shaken mid-competition. For all her nuttiness on the ground, Taboo was courageous in full-flight.
The bay and gray galloped in tandem over the hills, challenging each other every so often. Para loved to test and Taboo loved to fight. It was a good workout match, for neither horse wanted to bite off more than they could chew. Reese knew Taboo was just a little bit faster at first nudge than Para. But Para was devastating when things went her way.
Maggie could practically hear Reese's brain clicking along. She was thinking of ways to take down Para's ego and boost Taboo's. It was so obvious that Maggie almost snorted in derision. The South American sure needed to work on her poker face. Maggie would not let Taboo break Para a week before the race. The blonde steeled herself up for the plunge into the three furlong flat. Reese's challenge had been accepted.
Both riders released their mounts with a grunt and a hiss of flying reins. Taboo surged away, daring Paranormal Hunter to keep up. The dappled gray carried her head and tail high, full of pride and arrogance at this moment. She truly relished flying over the soft turf, truly relished the blitzing three furlong distance. It would prepare her well for her start in the Remington Springboard. Her brown eyes flashed when Para charged up to her barrel and then her shoulder. Reese's eyes mirrored the sharp look of her mounts. Both of them geared down for the fight.
Para rolled over the grass with big, bounding effortless strides. She was a terror, a monster to her opposition and yet this one brazen filly would dare to rise up to the challenge. Pars's ears pinned back into her long black mane as she flew over the grass with angst dancing in her eye. You never could underestimate the quiet ones. Maggie kept her hands quiet at the bay's withers. For all her ferociousness, Para usually needed a strong hand to keep going. Today was different, today Para was on her game. She needed no encouragement, just the competition.
The horses rocketed through the wire and up the hillside, hell-bent to destroy the other. But neither would fall. This was not a game of dominoes. The courageous ones did not fall with just a light touch. The bold and strong would always be the last ones standing.
Maggie sincerely hoped that her filly's courage and determination carried them to a victory in the second leg of the Turf Triple Tiara, the Cotillion Stakes. Witch Creek's own home-bred Calamity Queen had won that leg last year, but she hadn't been with Witch Creek. The leggy bay mare had been a Star Thoroughbreds horse at the time and though she'd been a grade one at retirement, Queenie had been a huge surprise. Maggie knew there would be no surprises. Not for her, not for Para, not for the audience nor for the competition. Paranormal Hunter brought her A effort every time. Paranormal Hunter brought a devastating closing kick every time. Paranormal Hunter was going to be in huntress mode from start to finish. Maggie could hardly wait for that brilliant drive that turned Para from a mule into a beautiful representation of a thoroughbred.
Reese could only hope Taboo would reach the heights Paranormal Hunter was reaching. The gray-roan filly stood with eyes wide open at the end of the lead shank. The Everyday Hero filly looked as though she were nearing a nervous break down. Reese shook the rope violently, whistling to the filly until the daughter of Forbidden Wings snapped from her reverie. She twitched her tail, a tail that went from near black to the lightest of whites, and finally acknowledged Reese's presence. Taboo sighed, blowing softly through her nose as though she were not certain she was happy to be away from her stall. "It's not so bad little Taboo." The caramel-skinned woman stepped up to the sensitive filly, petting her lightly on the neck. Her pale hide twitched as she turned to face away from Reese. The horse was a difficult case of nerves, but when she ran, she ran as though she possessed wings.
Maggie kept quiet as she forced Para to back up. The heavy filly was equally as quiet. For all of Para's foolishness, the large filly knew when she was in a delicate presence. Her curiosity toward Taboo made Maggie positive that she did have a maternal bone in her body. Maggie climbed onto the back of her bay filly and watched as Reese charmed her way aboard Taboo. The gray filly quivered once, pricked her ears and turned into a completely different horse. Taboo ducked her head at Reese's calming pat, looking abashed.
"Now that the excitement is over..." Reese laughed, nodded. "Ripley left a note about a mile gallop with a three furlong workout. She said, 'keep them on the same page.' Looks like Rips wants us to get them used to having company."
"Sounds about right."
The women turned the fillies in the direction of the turf track, both allowing their mounts to slide into their trots and then their lopes. Para was a lot heavier on her hooves than Taboo. She was a sturdy son of a gun, but she could back her noise up with a swift confidence-bursting kick. Maggie loved her heavy mare, loved her tenacious attitude. It was making her into a turf filly champion. Maggie leaned close, keeping her hands light in the waving black mane. Para pulled herself mightily over the hills, but there was no effort in it. Her interest was in the gray filly who dared to remain beside her.
Taboo floated over the ground, muscles contracting and releasing beneath her dappled hide. She glided over the turf, a princess among paupers. Her breeding was impeccable compared to Paranormal Hunter, but she had a long way to go in her career to match Para. Now was a good time to begin that journey. Reese kept a pinky on the reins, impressed that Taboo did not seem to mind Para's presence. The lumbering bay always seemed to unnerve her competition due to her size and presence. Taboo had never been one to get shaken mid-competition. For all her nuttiness on the ground, Taboo was courageous in full-flight.
The bay and gray galloped in tandem over the hills, challenging each other every so often. Para loved to test and Taboo loved to fight. It was a good workout match, for neither horse wanted to bite off more than they could chew. Reese knew Taboo was just a little bit faster at first nudge than Para. But Para was devastating when things went her way.
Maggie could practically hear Reese's brain clicking along. She was thinking of ways to take down Para's ego and boost Taboo's. It was so obvious that Maggie almost snorted in derision. The South American sure needed to work on her poker face. Maggie would not let Taboo break Para a week before the race. The blonde steeled herself up for the plunge into the three furlong flat. Reese's challenge had been accepted.
Both riders released their mounts with a grunt and a hiss of flying reins. Taboo surged away, daring Paranormal Hunter to keep up. The dappled gray carried her head and tail high, full of pride and arrogance at this moment. She truly relished flying over the soft turf, truly relished the blitzing three furlong distance. It would prepare her well for her start in the Remington Springboard. Her brown eyes flashed when Para charged up to her barrel and then her shoulder. Reese's eyes mirrored the sharp look of her mounts. Both of them geared down for the fight.
Para rolled over the grass with big, bounding effortless strides. She was a terror, a monster to her opposition and yet this one brazen filly would dare to rise up to the challenge. Pars's ears pinned back into her long black mane as she flew over the grass with angst dancing in her eye. You never could underestimate the quiet ones. Maggie kept her hands quiet at the bay's withers. For all her ferociousness, Para usually needed a strong hand to keep going. Today was different, today Para was on her game. She needed no encouragement, just the competition.
The horses rocketed through the wire and up the hillside, hell-bent to destroy the other. But neither would fall. This was not a game of dominoes. The courageous ones did not fall with just a light touch. The bold and strong would always be the last ones standing.
Threaten The Peace
"Sorry I pulled her away Malcolm, but she is needed here. She's gotten a good vacation on the farm, but now I need her back on the track." Green eyes met flashing cobalt blue eyes, full of annoyance and temper both. The slim auburn-haired woman facing down the broad shoulder black Irish man would have been a sight to see. However, Laura did not like to be involved when the little arguments broke out. Mal and Ripley were partners in this organization. Mal did the early work and Ripley did the conditioning. Sometimes their agendas clashed and resulted in fireworks.
At Mal's snarky response, Laura buried her head into the brown neck of Nirvana. The Gold Storm filly was as solid a companion as they came. She was a rock for Laura in the downtime, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. Laura was experiencing some homesickness, especially now that most of her mounts were retiring. Everyone had their down season and this one appeared to be hers. If riding a grade three racehorse and nearly grade four two year old counted as a down season. Laura knew she was just complaining. It was easy to do so after riding two grade one mares to top class Breeders' Cup efforts at the end of Year Thirteen.
Ripley shook her head and swore at Mal's back. She liked the man well-enough, considered him a big brother of sorts, but sometimes he irked her. The green eyed woman turned to her mount, found his angered eye on her. Night Stalker's son Saintly Touch looked as ferocious as a horse got. His dark coat gleamed like polished obsidian in the low barn light. Saint, a son of her own pride and joy, looked as well-bred and stunning as they came. He faced a tough task in the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt Classic, but he was made to face down such tasks. He was a challenger, a creator of his own races. He was Ripley's only juvenile star and she intended to mold him into a top caliber horse.
Vana was a top class two year old filly as well, potentially the main competitor of the unflappable Siren Call. Laura found it laughable that the two dirt sprinter filly stars had come out of the deal between Intrepid Racing, Valkyrie and Witch Creek. You couldn't write stories like this. Both were bays with blazes, both had fantastic speed and both were tough as nails. One came from a regal pedigree, the other, Nirvana, from a pedigree in need of proving. Siren Call would be going to the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt Sprint and Nirvana would pass it for the Fantasy Stakes in two weeks. She'd needed more time and more exercise. Laura was willing to wait for Nirvana. Nirvana was still only developing.
"We're going to gallop a mile and breeze five furlongs. Nothing too tough on them, just enough to get them ready to run their races." Laura nodded as she tightened the girth, smiling when Vana simply stood. She was such an uncomplicated thoroughbred. Laura mounted up inside the barn, following Ripley who led Saint on foot. The dark colt pinned his ears at Vana's presence, flashing that string of bad temper that Night Stalker foals were known for. Laura patted Vana's head, content that she was on a horse who needed a lot more than pinned ears to react aggressively.
Saint let out a wild whinny as he stepped into the light, looking around with his one good eye. Ripley mounted the colt, pleased when he set off at a high-stepping prance. He was full of high energy and ready to take on his nemesis. Great Revenge and a whole slew of others awaited him in the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt Classic. He would enjoy taking them on and attempting for a win. Ripley would as well. She loved racing, but it had been relatively quiet this week. Ripley only rode one three year old horse this year and that was The Devil's Hourglass. She had a race next week in the Preakness Champion Stakes, but besides that Ripley, along with most of her riders, were just biding their time for the autumn and winter races.
The horses stepped into a trot and then a canter, flinging their tails around in excitement. Neither horse was particularly fast out of the gate. Nirvana definitely loved to settle into stride before she kicked it into high gear in the final stretch. She was a different kind of sprinter. She was a sprinter who could run long enough to potentially be a classic filly contender. Laura felt herself fill with optimism. There was something about this strong bay filly that promised the world to Laura. Vana let Saintly Touch stretch out in front of her, tracking the near black horse with confident strides.
Ripley knew Saint was acting full of himself today. He snatched at the bit constantly, demanded a little more rein than usual and once in a while he flipped leads. He was keeping her on her toes that was for sure. His bright eye analyzed everything, head cocking to allow for more. He felt strong and on the muscle. His shoulders moved powerfully, his dark hide glinting ominously in the sunlight. He loved this track, loved The Wire. He was a fierce horse in the barn, but an even fiercer competitor. Ripley let her hands move in rhythm with his pulsating neck. Saint galloped handily down the backstretch and into the final turn, kicking up his heels when a shadow slid beneath him. Ripley's eyes narrowed. She did not want this foolish behavior. She glanced under her arm, noted Nirvana was galloping strongly to Saint's inside and three lengths back. If he was taking it easy, so was she.
Laura's eyes widened when Ripley tapped her wrist and then her helmet. Signals were a big part of Witch Creek's training. This signal indicated for a faster workout. Laura shook her head, but got after Vana just as Ripley got after Saint. The near black colt charged away from him, ears pinned in his black mane. Vana groaned as she pushed powerfully off of her haunches. Laura stilled herself when Vana galloped powerfully to Saint's outside haunches. She was an agile horse and she would stick it to Saint if necessary.
Ripley let out a satisfied hum when Saint dropped to the ground and got to business. He bore down on the loamy sand as he circled into the backstretch. Full of energy, Saint kicked it up another notch, turning the five furlong breeze into a six furlong workout. His mouth agape around the bit, Saint demanded Vana keep up, tearing them both out of their comfort zones. Ripley shook her head. It had to be a thing with The Devil's babies. Hourglass was a speed freak in a workout as well. And Saint was turning into one. Thank God both filly and colt were more malleable in a race or they'd never be controllable.
Laura gritted her teeth as Vana punched it into another gear just to keep up with the speedy Saint. The Night Stalker colt was setting a blistering pace. Laura backed her filly down slightly, niggling the bit, telling her to take a breather. There were still two furlongs left and while Laura was confident Saint could keep going, she was not as confident in Vana. The blaze faced filly relinquished the unrelenting speed to Saint, settling into her big stride as she trucked into the far turn. She was a tough sucker, but she was not insane. Her nostrils flared in and out with each great stride. She was a bold filly, but she knew to save it for the Fantasy Stakes.
Ripley didn't need a watch to know that Saint was breaking the sound barrier going down the homestretch. She didn't need her ears or eyes to tell her that Vana had pulled herself down to run at a smarter pace. She couldn't hear the Gold Storm filly anymore, but she could hear Saint as he snorted furiously under the wire. He threw his head and launched a buck. If it wasn't for the short stirrups, Ripley would have been tossed. She took a deep breath and began to pull her colt up. He was ready for whatever they threw at him in the Dirt Classic. She wondered if the competition would be ready for him.
At Mal's snarky response, Laura buried her head into the brown neck of Nirvana. The Gold Storm filly was as solid a companion as they came. She was a rock for Laura in the downtime, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. Laura was experiencing some homesickness, especially now that most of her mounts were retiring. Everyone had their down season and this one appeared to be hers. If riding a grade three racehorse and nearly grade four two year old counted as a down season. Laura knew she was just complaining. It was easy to do so after riding two grade one mares to top class Breeders' Cup efforts at the end of Year Thirteen.
Ripley shook her head and swore at Mal's back. She liked the man well-enough, considered him a big brother of sorts, but sometimes he irked her. The green eyed woman turned to her mount, found his angered eye on her. Night Stalker's son Saintly Touch looked as ferocious as a horse got. His dark coat gleamed like polished obsidian in the low barn light. Saint, a son of her own pride and joy, looked as well-bred and stunning as they came. He faced a tough task in the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt Classic, but he was made to face down such tasks. He was a challenger, a creator of his own races. He was Ripley's only juvenile star and she intended to mold him into a top caliber horse.
Vana was a top class two year old filly as well, potentially the main competitor of the unflappable Siren Call. Laura found it laughable that the two dirt sprinter filly stars had come out of the deal between Intrepid Racing, Valkyrie and Witch Creek. You couldn't write stories like this. Both were bays with blazes, both had fantastic speed and both were tough as nails. One came from a regal pedigree, the other, Nirvana, from a pedigree in need of proving. Siren Call would be going to the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt Sprint and Nirvana would pass it for the Fantasy Stakes in two weeks. She'd needed more time and more exercise. Laura was willing to wait for Nirvana. Nirvana was still only developing.
"We're going to gallop a mile and breeze five furlongs. Nothing too tough on them, just enough to get them ready to run their races." Laura nodded as she tightened the girth, smiling when Vana simply stood. She was such an uncomplicated thoroughbred. Laura mounted up inside the barn, following Ripley who led Saint on foot. The dark colt pinned his ears at Vana's presence, flashing that string of bad temper that Night Stalker foals were known for. Laura patted Vana's head, content that she was on a horse who needed a lot more than pinned ears to react aggressively.
Saint let out a wild whinny as he stepped into the light, looking around with his one good eye. Ripley mounted the colt, pleased when he set off at a high-stepping prance. He was full of high energy and ready to take on his nemesis. Great Revenge and a whole slew of others awaited him in the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt Classic. He would enjoy taking them on and attempting for a win. Ripley would as well. She loved racing, but it had been relatively quiet this week. Ripley only rode one three year old horse this year and that was The Devil's Hourglass. She had a race next week in the Preakness Champion Stakes, but besides that Ripley, along with most of her riders, were just biding their time for the autumn and winter races.
The horses stepped into a trot and then a canter, flinging their tails around in excitement. Neither horse was particularly fast out of the gate. Nirvana definitely loved to settle into stride before she kicked it into high gear in the final stretch. She was a different kind of sprinter. She was a sprinter who could run long enough to potentially be a classic filly contender. Laura felt herself fill with optimism. There was something about this strong bay filly that promised the world to Laura. Vana let Saintly Touch stretch out in front of her, tracking the near black horse with confident strides.
Ripley knew Saint was acting full of himself today. He snatched at the bit constantly, demanded a little more rein than usual and once in a while he flipped leads. He was keeping her on her toes that was for sure. His bright eye analyzed everything, head cocking to allow for more. He felt strong and on the muscle. His shoulders moved powerfully, his dark hide glinting ominously in the sunlight. He loved this track, loved The Wire. He was a fierce horse in the barn, but an even fiercer competitor. Ripley let her hands move in rhythm with his pulsating neck. Saint galloped handily down the backstretch and into the final turn, kicking up his heels when a shadow slid beneath him. Ripley's eyes narrowed. She did not want this foolish behavior. She glanced under her arm, noted Nirvana was galloping strongly to Saint's inside and three lengths back. If he was taking it easy, so was she.
Laura's eyes widened when Ripley tapped her wrist and then her helmet. Signals were a big part of Witch Creek's training. This signal indicated for a faster workout. Laura shook her head, but got after Vana just as Ripley got after Saint. The near black colt charged away from him, ears pinned in his black mane. Vana groaned as she pushed powerfully off of her haunches. Laura stilled herself when Vana galloped powerfully to Saint's outside haunches. She was an agile horse and she would stick it to Saint if necessary.
Ripley let out a satisfied hum when Saint dropped to the ground and got to business. He bore down on the loamy sand as he circled into the backstretch. Full of energy, Saint kicked it up another notch, turning the five furlong breeze into a six furlong workout. His mouth agape around the bit, Saint demanded Vana keep up, tearing them both out of their comfort zones. Ripley shook her head. It had to be a thing with The Devil's babies. Hourglass was a speed freak in a workout as well. And Saint was turning into one. Thank God both filly and colt were more malleable in a race or they'd never be controllable.
Laura gritted her teeth as Vana punched it into another gear just to keep up with the speedy Saint. The Night Stalker colt was setting a blistering pace. Laura backed her filly down slightly, niggling the bit, telling her to take a breather. There were still two furlongs left and while Laura was confident Saint could keep going, she was not as confident in Vana. The blaze faced filly relinquished the unrelenting speed to Saint, settling into her big stride as she trucked into the far turn. She was a tough sucker, but she was not insane. Her nostrils flared in and out with each great stride. She was a bold filly, but she knew to save it for the Fantasy Stakes.
Ripley didn't need a watch to know that Saint was breaking the sound barrier going down the homestretch. She didn't need her ears or eyes to tell her that Vana had pulled herself down to run at a smarter pace. She couldn't hear the Gold Storm filly anymore, but she could hear Saint as he snorted furiously under the wire. He threw his head and launched a buck. If it wasn't for the short stirrups, Ripley would have been tossed. She took a deep breath and began to pull her colt up. He was ready for whatever they threw at him in the Dirt Classic. She wondered if the competition would be ready for him.