May Week Three
war ain't pretty
Reese was one of the only jocks who hadn't been allowed to take their yearling to the racetrack. Awestruck hadn't been ready to make a public entrance and a scolding Malcolm saw to it that Reese wouldn't have a hand in the filly's early training. The man was being an absolute hog when it came to the wild filly, but Reese relented... though after many snarky comments and a warning from Ripley Marsh. The South American woman now sat with a snarky look on her face aboard Bella Luna. The mare was now almost pure white with darker dapples glittering on her rump. The four year old mare was a beauty to say the least and well-worth missing out on an afternoon of fun with the crew. Bella Luna was winless in several starts now and rather bored of playing around at home. Reese was beginning to think that one race a month was not cooperating with the daughter of Sea Struck. No it was not.
Bella Luna pricked her dark-trimmed ears, snorted at the sight of Casualty of War coming around the corner. The big black colt looked tremendous this morning, his hide glittering like black diamond. Brooks sat easily on the proud colt's back, a smile on his face. Brookson was not usually Casualty of War's rider. That title belonged to Justin who was having fun at The Wire with Uno Momento. Brooks simply rolled his eyes. Justin's loss today was his gain. The colt felt a roiling powerhouse, each muscle primed to perfection. Sultan was not the easy-going horse that Ripley seemed dead sure he was. She thought she didn't have passion in her ranks. He blamed her retirement of all of the good horses for lack of passion. She just had to see the value in the ones they had and quit shuffling them out. Then she'd see. Witch Creek had passionate horses, Casualty of War among them.
Reese nodded to Brooks as he pulled alongside Bella Luna. The light colored mare tipped her nose in Sultan's direction, but didn't respond to his high and mighty attitude. She was above him after all in maturity and hierarchy. Reese stroked her mane, pleased that there was one horse whose skin Casualty of War could not get under. The same could not be said for Reese's two year old mount Spotlight Pride. Those two had become bonafide rivals. "Are you as mad as I am that we got left behind?"
Brooks shrugged, shook his head. "Not particularly. I've been playing with Artemis. She's a little sore on her feet and couldn't make the trip. And tell you the truth, I wanted a good workout with some of our current horses." He nodded as Sultan tossed his head, played with the bit in his mouth. He was a live-wire colt and definitely an interest of Brooks. "I have two workouts on tap today. Sultan and Optimus. Definitely not lacking in the boredom department."
Reese scoffed, rolled her eyes and nudged Bella Luna into a jog off the well-beaten path. The gray mare danced over the green grass, head tilted up to get all the air she could. She was such a happy horse, such a dignified one. She was ready to get back to work and remind everyone why she was the only Turf Triple Crown winner. Her black mane whipped in the wind, leaving marks on Reese's face. It thrilled her to be aboard this mare. Reese hadn't forgotten what Bella Luna was capable of, unlike the media and Ripley Marsh. "So what's the workout today, Assistant Trainer Brookson Wells?"
He knew Reese was trying to aggravate him. The woman had been a bit of a bitch ever since Mal decided to poke at her where it hurt. Luckily, he had thick skin and had an affection for the prickly woman. Prickly women, in his experiences, had wounds they were careful to hide. "We'll do the usual. One and a half mile gallop, three furlong breeze. Nothing too taxing and it'll leave plenty of gas in the tank for their next starts."
As if understanding Brooks' words, Casualty of War leaped out from under him. The coal-black animal tore up the hillside, bit firmly clamped beneath his teeth. He knew this wasn't Justin Santiago aboard him. Justin would have snatched the bit before he could even think about grabbing it. Brooks' teeth gritted as he jabbed furiously with the reins, jostling the colt off-stride. The horse trumpeted in disgust, but the mistake of making the noise caught him. Brooks jerked at the just the correct moment and tore the bit from the colt's eager grasp. In response, Sultan dashed down the hill like a mad-man, eyes blazing with fury.
Bella Luna hung back away from the battle, still maintaining her effortless gallop. Sultan could be a basket-case all he wanted, but with that attitude he'd never make the mile and a half, let alone the three furlong breeze. Reese patted her mare's neck, appreciating her brains. Bella was still young by the rest of the world's judgement, but she was a good, solid horse for such a "young" horse. At only four, Bella had plenty of room to act like a brainsless banshee. But she didn't. She behaved and because of the good-behavior, their partnership was beyond successful.
Brooks finally managed to settle the Man O' War colt down. In that space of time, he decided he wanted this beast for his own. Sultan was a strong horse, an arrogant one with talent beyond his years. He just needed a lesson, or several, in the manners department. Brooks perched over the colt's withers as the horse tore through the first mile with ease and brilliant speed. The black colt was awfully handy, leaping from hill to hill, rating himself down when necessary. He was going to be a good one. He was tireless and he was going to have a word or two to say when Bella Luna finally got into gear. He shouldn't have the stamina, but he did. Brooks could feel it like he could feel his own hand.
Reese knew Bella could have trouble when Brooks stilled himself up after the mile marker passed. The man only was still when he had an explosive horse beneath him. In a split-second decision, Reese dropped the reins and turned the three furlong breeze into a five furlong workout. Bella Luna immediately gave Reese everything she needed. She dropped low to the ground, becoming more of a comet than a swan. Her ears fell back into her black cloudy mane and her eyes brightened in intensity. Brooks twisted in stunned surprise when Bella Luna assumed command, two furlongs before she was supposed to. Sultan fought viciously, nearly ripping Brooks' arms from their sockets. The man had no choice but to release and pray.
The black and gray horses sped over the terrain without much of a care in the world. Both of them were full of themselves, both were running under full steam and willpower. Bella Luna was viciously fast and Casualty of War was just vicious. When he drew alongside of her within the three furlong marker, he pushed all of his weight into her, forcing her to engage him and battle him physically. Reese couldn't help but think of Infinite Warcry when she looked at Sultan. Infinite Warcry possessed that same brutish force. She was thrilled for Bella to receive this sort of challenge.
Brooks was awfully impressed with the colt's iron constitution. He didn't give in easily. He kept a brilliant pace and made Bella Luna work as she had yet to do in a race. The duo soared through the final two furlongs, crossing the line with heavy breaths, but with lighter hearts. The riders bumped fists, laughing in the face of danger. Oh there was nothing else that compared to being on the back of a thoroughbred in full-flight.
Bella Luna pricked her dark-trimmed ears, snorted at the sight of Casualty of War coming around the corner. The big black colt looked tremendous this morning, his hide glittering like black diamond. Brooks sat easily on the proud colt's back, a smile on his face. Brookson was not usually Casualty of War's rider. That title belonged to Justin who was having fun at The Wire with Uno Momento. Brooks simply rolled his eyes. Justin's loss today was his gain. The colt felt a roiling powerhouse, each muscle primed to perfection. Sultan was not the easy-going horse that Ripley seemed dead sure he was. She thought she didn't have passion in her ranks. He blamed her retirement of all of the good horses for lack of passion. She just had to see the value in the ones they had and quit shuffling them out. Then she'd see. Witch Creek had passionate horses, Casualty of War among them.
Reese nodded to Brooks as he pulled alongside Bella Luna. The light colored mare tipped her nose in Sultan's direction, but didn't respond to his high and mighty attitude. She was above him after all in maturity and hierarchy. Reese stroked her mane, pleased that there was one horse whose skin Casualty of War could not get under. The same could not be said for Reese's two year old mount Spotlight Pride. Those two had become bonafide rivals. "Are you as mad as I am that we got left behind?"
Brooks shrugged, shook his head. "Not particularly. I've been playing with Artemis. She's a little sore on her feet and couldn't make the trip. And tell you the truth, I wanted a good workout with some of our current horses." He nodded as Sultan tossed his head, played with the bit in his mouth. He was a live-wire colt and definitely an interest of Brooks. "I have two workouts on tap today. Sultan and Optimus. Definitely not lacking in the boredom department."
Reese scoffed, rolled her eyes and nudged Bella Luna into a jog off the well-beaten path. The gray mare danced over the green grass, head tilted up to get all the air she could. She was such a happy horse, such a dignified one. She was ready to get back to work and remind everyone why she was the only Turf Triple Crown winner. Her black mane whipped in the wind, leaving marks on Reese's face. It thrilled her to be aboard this mare. Reese hadn't forgotten what Bella Luna was capable of, unlike the media and Ripley Marsh. "So what's the workout today, Assistant Trainer Brookson Wells?"
He knew Reese was trying to aggravate him. The woman had been a bit of a bitch ever since Mal decided to poke at her where it hurt. Luckily, he had thick skin and had an affection for the prickly woman. Prickly women, in his experiences, had wounds they were careful to hide. "We'll do the usual. One and a half mile gallop, three furlong breeze. Nothing too taxing and it'll leave plenty of gas in the tank for their next starts."
As if understanding Brooks' words, Casualty of War leaped out from under him. The coal-black animal tore up the hillside, bit firmly clamped beneath his teeth. He knew this wasn't Justin Santiago aboard him. Justin would have snatched the bit before he could even think about grabbing it. Brooks' teeth gritted as he jabbed furiously with the reins, jostling the colt off-stride. The horse trumpeted in disgust, but the mistake of making the noise caught him. Brooks jerked at the just the correct moment and tore the bit from the colt's eager grasp. In response, Sultan dashed down the hill like a mad-man, eyes blazing with fury.
Bella Luna hung back away from the battle, still maintaining her effortless gallop. Sultan could be a basket-case all he wanted, but with that attitude he'd never make the mile and a half, let alone the three furlong breeze. Reese patted her mare's neck, appreciating her brains. Bella was still young by the rest of the world's judgement, but she was a good, solid horse for such a "young" horse. At only four, Bella had plenty of room to act like a brainsless banshee. But she didn't. She behaved and because of the good-behavior, their partnership was beyond successful.
Brooks finally managed to settle the Man O' War colt down. In that space of time, he decided he wanted this beast for his own. Sultan was a strong horse, an arrogant one with talent beyond his years. He just needed a lesson, or several, in the manners department. Brooks perched over the colt's withers as the horse tore through the first mile with ease and brilliant speed. The black colt was awfully handy, leaping from hill to hill, rating himself down when necessary. He was going to be a good one. He was tireless and he was going to have a word or two to say when Bella Luna finally got into gear. He shouldn't have the stamina, but he did. Brooks could feel it like he could feel his own hand.
Reese knew Bella could have trouble when Brooks stilled himself up after the mile marker passed. The man only was still when he had an explosive horse beneath him. In a split-second decision, Reese dropped the reins and turned the three furlong breeze into a five furlong workout. Bella Luna immediately gave Reese everything she needed. She dropped low to the ground, becoming more of a comet than a swan. Her ears fell back into her black cloudy mane and her eyes brightened in intensity. Brooks twisted in stunned surprise when Bella Luna assumed command, two furlongs before she was supposed to. Sultan fought viciously, nearly ripping Brooks' arms from their sockets. The man had no choice but to release and pray.
The black and gray horses sped over the terrain without much of a care in the world. Both of them were full of themselves, both were running under full steam and willpower. Bella Luna was viciously fast and Casualty of War was just vicious. When he drew alongside of her within the three furlong marker, he pushed all of his weight into her, forcing her to engage him and battle him physically. Reese couldn't help but think of Infinite Warcry when she looked at Sultan. Infinite Warcry possessed that same brutish force. She was thrilled for Bella to receive this sort of challenge.
Brooks was awfully impressed with the colt's iron constitution. He didn't give in easily. He kept a brilliant pace and made Bella Luna work as she had yet to do in a race. The duo soared through the final two furlongs, crossing the line with heavy breaths, but with lighter hearts. The riders bumped fists, laughing in the face of danger. Oh there was nothing else that compared to being on the back of a thoroughbred in full-flight.
optimum speed
Oprimus Unstoppable, a son of Shiver Me Timbers and Train Wreck, was a solid sort of a horse. The kind of horse that possessed brilliance and endurance and withstood every challenge. Optimus was not the horse who finished in the lower positions. His last start in the Quick Cup had been a bit startling, especially after training so sensationally and racing so beautifully. When Optimus lost, it seemed he really lost. After three brilliant victories, the bay had thrown in a clunker. It was time to get back on track and build up the sturdy horse's confidence once again.
Brooks patted the colt's nose, letting his fingers stroke the white snip. Optimus was a special boy to Brookson Wells. He was a kind soul with a need for speed. He had bratty tendencies, but no thoroughbred had the angel gene. Brooks appreciated the hard-trying colt and knew that they would be in a better position for the sprinter series if only the colt had more experience. Optimus kept getting handed the short end of the stick. The races wouldn't fill or he came down with a cold and had to be scratched. It wasn't fair to him, but Brooks couldn't fault him for either reason.
Optimus snorted, yawning in Brooks' face as though he were bored with the monotony of staying home. He wanted adventure, seemed to do well at Green Horse Fields and The Wire. He had one more week of relaxation before Brooks threw him into the thick of it. A start in the Summer Cup Grade Four Dirt Sprint awaited him. Brooks just needed to get in one last solid workout and they would be good to go. The man patted the three year old's shoulder as he led him from the shadows into the light.
Optimus let out a forceful neigh and snort, demanding attention from the stallions and mares. Most every other racehorse was either at The Wire or Green Horse Fields, awaiting trailers to return tonight. The short colt danced sideways, eyes rolling white with mock anxiety and fear. Brooks let the horse skip away before reeling him back in for a pat. He climbed aboard, smirking when Optimus spun in a circle of his own accord. He was a goofy horse to say the least.
Straightened out, the Shiver Me Timbers colt made a beeline for the dirt track. Head bowed, neck arched, Optimus put on a show for no one, but the pigeons and crows. He was a showman this 15.3 hand horse. Spunky and out of the box. Optimus dashed through the gap, immediately picking up a rolling canter-gallop. He wasn't one to waste any time. Brooks leaned close to his neck, a smile lightening up his facade. Optimus, the jetsetter, was about to take off in full flight.
A shifting of hands and the bay colt pushed forecefully off of his rump and charged down the homestretch. He had a furious way of going, of pounding the earth with such angst and annoyance. He behaved as though he hated the world, but his gaze was lighthearted and full of flight. Brooks appreciated the mixture, knew Optimus was facing small-dog syndrome. He wanted to be bigger, but his little body could only be faster. He flew through the furlongs, turning the one mile gallop into a one mile breeze. He needed this good long blow-out. Brooks remained still, letting the horse go as long as he pleased. He had a week to get back up to snuff and race in the Summer Cup. This sort of work was exactly what the little horse needed.
Optimus surged into the backstretch, head and tail high in full appreciation of the moment. He was a pure soul, a confident one and he relished this sort of work. Brooks only had to remain on his back for the duration. The little engine that could raced back into the homestretch, eyes full of light and joy. He snorted with each stride, showing off for the invisible onlookers. As he dashed beneath the wire, Brooks let out a hoot himself. Optimus was ready for more. For more competition and for more fun. It was neat to have a good-natured horse who took pride in his running. The colt settled into a walk coming off the track, chest bloated with pride and breathing awfully easy for a colt who just had himself a one mile run.
Brooks patted the colt's nose, letting his fingers stroke the white snip. Optimus was a special boy to Brookson Wells. He was a kind soul with a need for speed. He had bratty tendencies, but no thoroughbred had the angel gene. Brooks appreciated the hard-trying colt and knew that they would be in a better position for the sprinter series if only the colt had more experience. Optimus kept getting handed the short end of the stick. The races wouldn't fill or he came down with a cold and had to be scratched. It wasn't fair to him, but Brooks couldn't fault him for either reason.
Optimus snorted, yawning in Brooks' face as though he were bored with the monotony of staying home. He wanted adventure, seemed to do well at Green Horse Fields and The Wire. He had one more week of relaxation before Brooks threw him into the thick of it. A start in the Summer Cup Grade Four Dirt Sprint awaited him. Brooks just needed to get in one last solid workout and they would be good to go. The man patted the three year old's shoulder as he led him from the shadows into the light.
Optimus let out a forceful neigh and snort, demanding attention from the stallions and mares. Most every other racehorse was either at The Wire or Green Horse Fields, awaiting trailers to return tonight. The short colt danced sideways, eyes rolling white with mock anxiety and fear. Brooks let the horse skip away before reeling him back in for a pat. He climbed aboard, smirking when Optimus spun in a circle of his own accord. He was a goofy horse to say the least.
Straightened out, the Shiver Me Timbers colt made a beeline for the dirt track. Head bowed, neck arched, Optimus put on a show for no one, but the pigeons and crows. He was a showman this 15.3 hand horse. Spunky and out of the box. Optimus dashed through the gap, immediately picking up a rolling canter-gallop. He wasn't one to waste any time. Brooks leaned close to his neck, a smile lightening up his facade. Optimus, the jetsetter, was about to take off in full flight.
A shifting of hands and the bay colt pushed forecefully off of his rump and charged down the homestretch. He had a furious way of going, of pounding the earth with such angst and annoyance. He behaved as though he hated the world, but his gaze was lighthearted and full of flight. Brooks appreciated the mixture, knew Optimus was facing small-dog syndrome. He wanted to be bigger, but his little body could only be faster. He flew through the furlongs, turning the one mile gallop into a one mile breeze. He needed this good long blow-out. Brooks remained still, letting the horse go as long as he pleased. He had a week to get back up to snuff and race in the Summer Cup. This sort of work was exactly what the little horse needed.
Optimus surged into the backstretch, head and tail high in full appreciation of the moment. He was a pure soul, a confident one and he relished this sort of work. Brooks only had to remain on his back for the duration. The little engine that could raced back into the homestretch, eyes full of light and joy. He snorted with each stride, showing off for the invisible onlookers. As he dashed beneath the wire, Brooks let out a hoot himself. Optimus was ready for more. For more competition and for more fun. It was neat to have a good-natured horse who took pride in his running. The colt settled into a walk coming off the track, chest bloated with pride and breathing awfully easy for a colt who just had himself a one mile run.