Post by Dante on Sept 16, 2011 14:04:28 GMT -5
-------------------------
LADY OPHELIA
workout with
ERIN TRUBELL[/b]
-------------------------
[/center]
Curses. The redheaded jockey had learned more curses than ever before having been assigned to Lady Ophelia. The filly was missing more than a few screws. If people thought the horse had lost her marbles, they didn't realize the filly probably threw the marbles into the win. The filly stamped and threw her head and wouldn't hold still, as Erin tried to mount, electing to turn on her haunches a little when Skylark came to hold her. At least Erin didn't need a leg up. At nearly six feet tall, the possibly hollow-boned lady could get onto the cremello filly from the ground. Once she was on, she shortened her reins further and held Ophelia as best she could as Skylark let go and nodded. "Just let her go. Nine furlongs is on her shorter side. Heaven knows, it might tire her, anyhow." Somehow, Erin doubted that. Ophelia was the sort of horse that just didn't stop. Erin was well -used to having to hold her back. Unless the filly was in front, she wasn't in some semblance of happiness. If she wasn't beating people up, the horse was pissed off.[/color][/b]
"Oh, shush!" Erin grumbled in spite of herself as they were loaded into the gate. Ophelia, seeing the dirt ahead of her, whinnied and tossed her head. Unfortunately, using the crop in the closed gate with his horse was a bad idea. Fortunately, Erin's side meant she had more than enough strength and size to shift her balance and hold the filly. She forced herself to remember that once the gates opened, it would be a lot better. Once Ophelia had something other than her to try and beat up, they'd be working in unison. It was much like trying to swim upstream in white water. You'd drown under the sheer force. But if you turned yourself around, you'd be flying with the current, the water now being harnessed to your benefit. Once she and Ophelia were on the same page, Erin would be able to stop dropping inappropriate language all over the track at at the filly. Oh, she'd been named right. She was insane. But the Shakespearean Ophelia hadn't been mean while she'd been at it, she'd thrown flowers and sung and then promptly drowned, either on purpose on in sad accident, no one would know. This filly If she died, it would be in her heart blowing up from trying so hard. Erin had to admire that in her. The filly wanted what she wanted, and no horse was ever going to stop her at it.
The ginger jockey's blue eyes scanned ahead of the track, waiting for the gate- THERE! They sprung open and in a matter of a heartbeat, Ophelia pulled forwards. You'd think she was a cold, with all the pounding and stomping and power behind the strides, though it made Erin worried to think what testosterone would have added onto this. For her part, Erin had little to worry about now. She kept Ophelia on a straight line near the rail, but not to near (the filly had jumped it once as a yearling while being trained, and had rampaged into the winners circle) and kept her from wavering. This time, she just let Ophelia have her head, even gave her the crop. When the stick hit her, the cremello's ears pinned back and she sped more, frustrated that there would even be the idea in someone's head she was too slow. The dirt kicked up on Erin and onto the very pale cream body, adding flecks of brown into the mix. All either horse or rider could hear was the pound of her hooves and the wind, everything else was a blur, save for the pole that marked the end of this run. Skylark, who was standing beside it, was nothing more than a blueish blur.
Her motions fluid, her muscles rippling, Ophelia looked majestic at such speed. her mane and tailed streamed out behind her, and she'd doubtlessly stand out in a field of bays and chestnuts and blacks. She was something else, that was for sure. An insane something else, but one that was powering on like nine furlongs was child's play. At the halfway point, the filly didn't seem at all bothered, and true or not, Erin felt as though she was constantly accelerating over the soft dirt. In fact, the filly was so charged up to go that when they crossed the marker and the timer stopped, Erin let Ophelia go a little further before bringing her speed back down and looping her back to Skylark. Sweaty as the filly was, she was still snorting and stamping for more.
"She's good," Erin said a bit breathlessly. "Flawless run, in my eyes. If we discount the gate."
"If we discount the gate." Skylark agreed. "But her time...holy-" His next couple words were conveniently drowned out by Ophelia's whinnying again "- awesome. If she does that again, which I knew she will, we're set. More than set! Our mad horse will run them down." Skylark laughed. "I love her. After all, Prison Hill was an asylum for a time!"
-----------------------
WORKOUT STATS
words| 860
workout surface| Dirt
distance| 9 furlongs
horse| Lady Ophelia
jockey| Erin Trubell
type| closed workout (do not reply)
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
