Post by S u N f r O s t ~ on Jul 2, 2012 9:33:04 GMT -5
VENTURA AND AMBER BLACK
VEN'S WORKOUT FOR THE DIRTY DUCK STAKES
A willpower like this could not be contained. It could only be harnessed and then shown. There was no other way.
Ven as powerful. She was probably the most powerful filly Amber Black had ever ridden. She prowled over the track as a lion would. Her eyes roved with the glare of the hunter, and her head was lifted disdainfully. Coal black and gorgeous, she had filled out and was ready to begin a racing career that Amber just knew would go down in the books as one of the greatest of all time. She had it in her. The talent roiled within. She was going to be the Next Top Racehorse just as winning the title had said she would be. It was written in stone, and written in Amber's heart. Never had she looked forward to a season more.
Ventura did not bend to the will of others. She preferred to be left alone to her own devices, and if Amber so much as attempted a serious challenge of her ideas a Rising Fury fit ensued. What did that mean? Bucking, kicking, every trick in the book. Sometimes even rolling, though that was rare and hadn't happened since Ven had been broken in under saddle. Amber was glad of that. The filly was sixteen and a half hands high and made of muscle already at a young age. She had been nearly crushed. But the filly wasn't a real killer. True, she was brutal, but killing? Amber snorted. The filly would rather crush and demolish her enemy into obeying her will and her unquestionable dominance, making them subservient, rather than completely destroy them. The pasture ponies had learned well not to mess with Ven. It just wasn't a good idea.
The black filly showed off as soon as Amber mounted up. She tossed her head, her forelock falling across her face just so, and made an attempt to bolt. She was ready to go, but Amber certainly wasn't! She applied light pressure, pulling back slightly on the reins to contain the filly's flight, hoping the Impressario daughter wouldn't start bucking like a mad horse beneath her. Luckily, Ven was being merciful. She just snorted and continued to trot under Amber's guiding head. They would be visiting the dirt track.
The Dirty Duck Stakes currently consisted of a field of nine. A lot of talent had shown up to face them in their debut, and the odds were cut out for them. Amber frowned. She had no doubt in Ven's tactical ability. The filly had inherited cunning from both of her Hall Of Fame parents, and she wasn't a suicidal front runner. They had a mile to run. Ven would take a position behind the leaders and then wait. When she made her move was unknown. A half mile to go? Only a furlong? Whatever the case, Ven's acceleration was like a race car. She could reach top speed rapidly for a new two year old. It had to be the bloodlines...
Nevertheless, their work was cut out for them. Her bloodlines alone had labeled the filly as a threat, and Amber didn't want to disappoint. She wanted Ven to have a smashing debut. To win in this field would be a dream come true. Amber knew Ven had the speed to do it. The filly was competitive and she was born to be a racehorse. She wasn't just competitive, though. She also loved to run. That was important, and Amber loved to ride the filly even if she could be a hellion both on and off the track.
She absent mindedly scratched the filly's satiny black neck as they rode onto the dirt. This had been the crowning surface of her sire's career. Ario had owned the dirt. He had owned the turf, too, but the dirt was special. It had been his. It would be his daughter's, too. Amber grinned and began to warm Ven up. They cantered now, and it was the stride of a champion. Power thrummed in her hooves and legs, and she was ready to go. Primed and wanting. Wanting power. Needing the power that came from winning a race.
Amber smirked as she watched the other two year olds on the track. They lacked the confidence - which was really arrogance - that Ven had. The filly was proud and confident in herself. She moved as though she already owned the dirt even though she hadn't even raced yet. The other horses her age were skittish. They danced uncertainly around the track as though not sure what they were to do. Ven knew exactly what she was doing. She was going to race the wind.
The gates were too busy. Amber skipped them and focused instead on the physical running. Ven hadn't let something like the gates get the better of her. She had always loaded smoothly, though even Amber knew the horse was nervous the first couple of times she had loaded in. Though Ven was too above it all to let that affect her for long. The filly had steeled her mind and gotten over it quickly. Now she practically paraded her superiority when loading into the gates. She was disdainful, and with reason. Her mental powers were truly extraordinary.
Amber prepared herself and then cued the black filly for a gallop. Ven burst forward as though she was starting a race. Her eyes glared ahead as her hooves kicked up a small dust cloud of speed. They moved beautifully, as one pair. Amber felt invincible. The filly was going and going well. Amber wanted to keep going.
Two furlongs passed, and the filly barely accelerated. Her stride remained sure and smooth, the gorgeous definition of a thoroughbred's gallop. A half mile, and Ven wasn't slowing down. She kept moving forward, the confidence and arrogance of an accomplished horse about her. She acted like a winner and she certainly felt like one. Another furlong more, and then Ven was off like a shot. She strode into a higher speed, releasing a kick that Amber knew would become famous, and they were sprinting.
A speed ball of black rounded the turn into the stretch and went for the wire and the power it would bring. Hungry eyes of both rider and jockey sought the source of glory with single minded devotion. The win would be theirs, even if a field of the best had shown up to greet them in their debut.
