Post by Deleted on Nov 12, 2011 17:23:13 GMT -5
Since arriving the two year old colt had started to make an impression on the yard, not in the drastic way which some of the horses pushed into the minds of the staff, but through his character. He was quiet but attentive, his dark eyes always full of life and thought. He didn't feel the need to throw his weight around or kick up a fuss. In fact, he was somewhat patient to say he was a colt. He would wait his turn for workouts as if he had nothing better to do than stand in his stall all day and he would be welcoming but not over affectionate when it did come to his time. Certainly, the colt was respected by the staff for this and it was hoped he would soon make his impression on the track. Once he settled in his new home, once he knew his jockey better, they hoped he would start to produce those wins.
Jacob walked back into the yard, leading another horse back. His dark top was splattered with dirt so he had obviously been up against someone else and, unsurprisingly, Alexia walked behind him. The dark colt scratched the ground with his hoof, moving the bedding which lay where he had scratched. The movement barely made a sound and the colt watched as his jockey returned the other to his stall, removed the tack and took it to the tack room. Moments later he reappeared with different tack and the colt recognised it immediately. He waited until the jockey got to the stall and placed the saddle on the door to step back politely, allowing the boy in.
It had taken a while for the bond between the two to grow to this stage. Until the last few weeks the colt was still evaluating what he thought of the jockey. He had thought about it, he had judged it based on how the boy had treated and rode him. All had been well, and so he had decided to trust the boy, though there was always a chance that evaluation could change. As the tack was placed on the colt waited and as he was led toward the track he prepared himself to run. He loved to run, but he always calculated when he was running and it was already obvious that there would be no competition.
He boxed easily, tossed his head slightly as he waited and took a moment to leave when the gate opened. Even then, he did not speed up immediately. In a race, this would be where he placed himself for the majority of the race and he preferred to be at the very back of the group. At the back he was able to watch the others, evaluate, and mark the competitor he felt most likely to win, he would use them when he broke in the final stretch. He would use them to fire his run and he would intend to beat them.
The run that day was eight furlongs on dirt. The track was firm, the dirt track dusty. As he moved forwards a dust cloud formed behind him. He pushed onwards, pacing himself, thinking for every moment. The wind pushed through his mane, his eyes burned with passion. It felt like he was free, he loved it, but he would never stop calculating everything. As they rounded the last corner Jacob cracked the crop against his rump and he knew the time was upon them. He pushed forward quickly, willing his legs to move faster and he ran as fast as he could. Passing the post he felt the familiar sense of achievement. Another day of work, a day closer to his next time on the track.
Jacob walked back into the yard, leading another horse back. His dark top was splattered with dirt so he had obviously been up against someone else and, unsurprisingly, Alexia walked behind him. The dark colt scratched the ground with his hoof, moving the bedding which lay where he had scratched. The movement barely made a sound and the colt watched as his jockey returned the other to his stall, removed the tack and took it to the tack room. Moments later he reappeared with different tack and the colt recognised it immediately. He waited until the jockey got to the stall and placed the saddle on the door to step back politely, allowing the boy in.
It had taken a while for the bond between the two to grow to this stage. Until the last few weeks the colt was still evaluating what he thought of the jockey. He had thought about it, he had judged it based on how the boy had treated and rode him. All had been well, and so he had decided to trust the boy, though there was always a chance that evaluation could change. As the tack was placed on the colt waited and as he was led toward the track he prepared himself to run. He loved to run, but he always calculated when he was running and it was already obvious that there would be no competition.
He boxed easily, tossed his head slightly as he waited and took a moment to leave when the gate opened. Even then, he did not speed up immediately. In a race, this would be where he placed himself for the majority of the race and he preferred to be at the very back of the group. At the back he was able to watch the others, evaluate, and mark the competitor he felt most likely to win, he would use them when he broke in the final stretch. He would use them to fire his run and he would intend to beat them.
The run that day was eight furlongs on dirt. The track was firm, the dirt track dusty. As he moved forwards a dust cloud formed behind him. He pushed onwards, pacing himself, thinking for every moment. The wind pushed through his mane, his eyes burned with passion. It felt like he was free, he loved it, but he would never stop calculating everything. As they rounded the last corner Jacob cracked the crop against his rump and he knew the time was upon them. He pushed forward quickly, willing his legs to move faster and he ran as fast as he could. Passing the post he felt the familiar sense of achievement. Another day of work, a day closer to his next time on the track.