Post by *Ripley* on May 29, 2013 11:13:10 GMT -5
The Surge
Witch Creek Workouts
Bella Luna& Frozen Motion. Red Herring& Mastermind.
Cross My Heart& Wish Upon A Star. Indian Darling& GS Royal Crown.ray of hope
starring Bella Luna and Frozen Motion
Reese's heart was pounding out of her chest while she tacked Bella Luna up for the morning ride. Cameras clicked here and there, voices chattered reverently in the background, fingers tapped on cellphones, recording thoughts and prayers. Reese sent out a prayer herself on the beautiful Wednesday morning. She prayed that Bella Luna had a fantastic workout, prayed that the gray filly would make it through the remaining part of the week and head into the Belmont Turf Classic unaffected by all of the hoopla. And there had indeed been hoopla in the past week. It grew everyday like a giant snow ball as they roared closer and closer to the final leg of the Turf Triple Crown.
A hand landed on Reese's shoulder jerking her from her thoughts. Ripley met Reese's eyes, calming her in the way of a horse. Reese felt a breath whoosh from her chest, her dark eyes softened. Don't go clamming up on me little sis. This race means the world to all of us and win it or lose it, the journey has given us more memories than a single win. Ripley's eyes shifted to the three year old filly that had become the center of attention in the racing world. This time last year Ripley had simply been trying to figure out the gifted filly. Now, the filly was rewarding Witch Creek with every win she brought home, every glance, every heart-pounding gallop. Bella Luna was becoming something Ripley had not dreamed of finding yet.
Reese tightened the girth, felt herself relax as she pulled on her helmet. The press hummed with excitement at the simple notion. Reese mumbled under her breath and Bella turned to look at her with questioning eyes and a soft nicker. Hey there pretty girl. You ready to go out and have some fun. Give 'em something to talk about? The Sea Struck filly bobbed her head, flipped her darker forelock up and down. Reese smiled, stroked the filly's face. If that wasn't a yes, Reese didn't know what was.
Brooks rode over aboard Frozen Motion. The dappled-gray charger greeted Bella Luna with a touch of muzzles and a flick of ears. He wasn't new to all of the press. He'd garnered attention like this going into the Preakness Champion Stakes last year. However, Infinite Warcry had stolen the attention in that race. Freeze had gone into the Belmont Turf Classic much like a seasoned veteran goes into a regular race. There had been very little regalia with no crown on the line. Brooks patted Reese's leg when she was finally settled in Bella Luna's saddle. Hang in there kiddo. She's going to give you one Heck of a ride.
Reese nodded, a smile touching her mouth when Bella swung on her hind legs to face her adoring press. The gray filly was nearly perfect in Year Thirteen, with only two nose losses to her name. She'd won the Kentucky Open with authority and the Preakness Champion Stakes with her determination. The Belmont Turf Classic was right in Bella's wheelhouse and Reese Balling Jones was pretty ready to call game, set and match. Her expertise rested in marathon races and Bella was just the horse to complete the circuit. Bella Luna was the most kind mannered, easy going filly to deal with. She had the cruising speed, the talent, the ability to rate off a fast past and to remain high geared when the pace wasn't so fast. The Preakness Champion Stakes had been the scary race for Reese. The Belmont Turf Classic was her most anticipated.
Brooks admired the stallion and filly as they strode down the tunnel of people and out toward the turf track. Frozen Motion had won the Kentucky Open and Belmont Turf Classic last year with authority and ease. He was getting back on top of his game just now, heading into the late season turf races as a grade one champion. The Royal Red Richard Memorial Stakes would have last year's Belmont Turf Classic winner, an unlikely spot, but it was proof of how versatile Frozen Motion had become. He would face Stride of Perfection's Sugar Jayde, a miler, instead of arch-nemesis Infinite Warcry. They would travel seven furlongs with Freeze settled a length behind Sugar Jayde. Brooks knew that if Freeze won the stakes the iron horse would still not be given his dues. Brooks hoped beyond all hope that the iron horse's day would come, but, God, if Bella Luna walked away with the Turf Triple Crown trophy, he would not be upset.
Ripley smiled as they finally reached the turf track, brushing off the few reporters that dared to track her. To be in this position for this race, two years in a row was a feat in itself. To be here two years in a row with the favorites for the final leg was even more impressive. Hearts would break in sadness and tears would cry in joy based on Bella Luna's performance in the Belmont Turf Classic. There would be a roar of fanfare or silence so loud that not even the crickets would dare chirp. It all awaited the gray filly with the elegant greyhound body. Bella Luna had taken to the track. And with no Triple Crown on the line, the spotlight was all on the turf filly.
Reese shook the reins, sighing in relief when they moved away from the crowded rails. Brooks jogged Frozen Motion beside them, blue eyes sharp and keen. His stallion bowed his neck, snorted and cast an arrogant glance around the racetrack. There was no one out on the track today. Most every trainer was watching the pair of horses take to the turf. Brookson couldn't blame them in the least. Bella Luna was potentially going to be the first horse to sweep the Turf Triple Crown. He was only too proud to be riding alongside the gray filly as she took her final workout over the track.
Bella Luna skipped right over the turf, taking a few moments to crow hop enthusiastically. Reese rode it out, keeping light contact with the snaffle bit. The reins hung slack around the gray gal's neck as she looked ahead, ears flicking only once in a while. Reese was only too glad that Bella seemed immune to the tumultuous emotions running rampant in her rider. The gray filly was dead focused on the racetrack, locked on her competition. Frozen Motion bounced off her inside shoulder a few times, daring her and egging her on. The gray miss grew stronger, propelling herself forward forcefully into a long strided gallop when they reached the backstretch.
Freeze bobbed along inside of her, outside ear locked on her as well. His tapered gray head and white rimmed eye were more excited than Brookson had seen all year. Freeze was coming back into his own, ready to make a name for himself and truly become an iron horse. His strides lengthened until he too became a greyhound of magnificent proportions. He simply cruised over the turf course, playing alongside his filly counterpart. Bella was not all fun and games today. Reese could have sworn a switch had somehow been flicked in her head. The filly breathed in and out of her nostrils, swelling her chest up with large amounts of air as she galloped. Her muscles vibrated with enthusiasm and more than once she knocked for Reese to release the bit. Then she'd leave it alone when no release was given.
Bella Luna seemed to be a different horse to Reese as she swept over this racetrack. Maybe the gray filly did know what awaited her next time she ran. Maybe she knew exactly what was going on. Her eyes were dark with focus, her body was lined with tension. And yet... Her gallop was brilliant. She was settled, collected, calm. Reese felt a shiver go down her spine. This filly had the mindset of a champion. The Belmont Turf Classic was Bella Luna's race to lose. Suddenly, Reese was filled with an inner strength, drawn from her brilliant three year old filly.
Brooks could feel the gather of power alongside Freeze. He shook his head, cursed under his breath. Frozen Motion was brilliant, but Bella Luna was so on top of her game that it might not matter. He glanced sideways, eyeing Reese as they rounded the far turn and into the homestretch. The jock looked calmer now than he had seen her in days, maybe months, since before Bella Luna had began the journey. The grays cruised alongside one another, quiet and graceful as they traveled. All eyes were focused on them, but neither horse reacted. They were lost in the middle of the track, miles away from the attention that had dogged them for weeks.
Silence dribbled in as Bella Luna and Frozen Motion moved into the clubhouse turn again. The pace was swifter than before. The pair would execute a seven furlong workout on top of their lung-building mile and a quarter gallop. Reese perched quietly, brown eyes focused on the spread of green before her and her champion filly. Brooks tightened his grip on Freeze's reins, brought the stallion's attention back to him. Freeze bunched his muscles the moment the furlong pole swept by. Inherently quicker, the four year old leaped into action, leaving Bella Luna a length behind.
Reese watched as Brooks' mount bounded away effortlessly from him, but did nothing more than let the reins slide through her fingers as Bella Luna lengthened herself. The gray filly glided over the turf course, nostrils flared, but not in any particular hurry. A great wave of relaxation spread from rider and horse as the pace quickened to a racing gallop. This would be how the race played out come Belmont Turf Classic day. Italian Ice and possibly Blue Me Away, if he was entered, would break on either side of Bella Luna and head for the lead immediately, leaving the gray unharmed and where she liked to be. Ode To Glory would fall behind Bella Luna in fourth for most of the mile and a half journey. Reese could see Bella Luna doing things like she always did in the most important race of her life.
Perhaps that was the most important thing about the gray filly. She was consistent, no matter the race, no matter the competition. She would give it her all and do it with ease. It was Bella Luna's greatest gift of all. Reese smiled a huge smile as Bella stepped up her speed a notch to keep Frozen Motion close and within range. Brooks was continually checking for them under his arm as they swept through the first three furlongs of the workout. :24 seconds for the first quarter. Ripley hummed to herself at the time on her watch, but kept her eyes pinned to her horses.
Freeze floated over the course, king of his domain, in a way that reminded everyone, including his trainer, that last year the three year old classics had centered around him. Brooks could feel the power flowing like a river beneath him as they entered the late backstretch. Freeze was just waiting to be called upon for his run, to repel Bella Luna's bid to pummel him. He was her toughest competitor at the moment. Reese still did not move a muscle even when Frozen Motion drew off to lead by two and a half lengths. Bella's ears were locked back in her gray tresses, her eyes glittered with fire. She was waiting for Reese to press the button, wanted her jockey to do it any second now. Reese urged her filly to settle, kept her seat silent. The gray filly let out a sigh, came back to earth off of her adrenaline rush.
Brooks was shaking his head as Frozen Motion practically loped into the homestretch. What was Reese doing? Didn't she realize that Freeze was basically walking the dog on the front end. He niggled the reins then. He couldn't wait anymore for her. His horse needed the workout. With a whoosh, the dappled gray stud slammed into high gear, surging over the turf course he loved dearly. Brooks grinned as Frozen Motion flew up the track. This horse was magnificent. He was a champion.
Reese didn't think anymore, didn't bide her time. She jumped forward, flinging her body into Bella Luna's forward motion. The gray filly's head shot up just a second before Frozen Motion kicked into high speed. With a snort, the Sea Struck filly went from gliding to flying. Her legs swept over the course, flinging up clods of turf in her wake as she launched by the six furlong pole. Frozen Motion raced three lengths in front, unhurried by Brookson Wells to do much more. Bella Luna swallowed the ground with her tremendous strides, pouring on her late running speed with such swiftness that in a matter of three seconds she was at Frozen Motion's haunches.
Brooks looked up in shock when the light dappled gray filly rapidly drew up to run head and head with his iron-horse. Frozen Motion pinned his ears in fury and kicked forward, his gears hidden, but powerful. Reese did not move a muscle, but Bella responded to the rousing competition with a fire all her own. She gathered a large breath, her ears pricked straight up and she sauntered under the wire a length in front. Reese laughed in awe as the gray filly galloped out over the track, floating in a world of her own.
Brookson patted his mount, a smile touching his own face even as Frozen Motion grew more furious. The gray horse reached farther, forcefully galloping on by Bella around the turn. An outrider rode in to help Brooks slow Freeze down. The stud tossed his head, nostrils flared and snorting furiously. He was not happy, but as they were turned back around, Brooks could do nothing but look at Bella Luna. The gray filly bucked twice as she cantered back toward Ripley looking as if she hadn't just run a race. Brooks patted Freeze, smiled. Even if Bella Luna didn't take the Turf Triple Crown, Brooks didn't mind saying that Frozen Motion had gotten beaten by a legend of Witch Creek Stable.
Reese's heart pounded out of her chest as the gray filly bucked and bolted in Ripley's direction. The press was humming again, louder this time and with more fervor. The favorite for the Belmont Turf Classic had not let them down in her last workout. Reese eyed Ripley's face for any sign of anger or unhappiness. When she saw tears trailing down the trainer's face, Reese finally let her grin turn into a beaming smile. Ripley patted the gray filly's shoulder as they passed. Saturday would not make or break Bella Luna. Saturday, Witch Creek was going into the final leg of the Turf Triple Crown with their heads held high. Maybe, just maybe, their heads would be carried even higher after the running of the Belmont Turf Classic.prince& the pauper
starring Red Herring and Mastermind
If Bella Luna was the star in the making, then Red Herring and Mastermind were stars on the down-low. The crowd disbanded for the moment at the barn once they caught Ripley and Reese's final statement on the Turf Triple Crown contender. Red Herring had finished third in the Kentucky Derby, had not run in the Preakness, and now looked to be an outsider going into the Belmont Stakes at The Wire. Red Herring had then finished behind a heavily raced Born To Impress in the Summer Cup Grade Three Dirt. Therefore, Red Herring simply was not on the press' radar at the moment. No one really was in this years Triple Crown. Sizzling Dawn from Stride of Perfection Stable's had stolen the show in the Preakness and was not going into the Belmont. Born To Impress, winner of the Kentucky Derby was not going to the Belmont because of distance limitations. The only possible story the press could come up with at the moment was a victory by Nightshade, second in both the Kentucky Derby and Preakness Stakes.
Brooks waved his hand in dismay as Ripley droned on about the press coverage. He knew it already, didn't really care. Red Herring was the animal to get him to the winner's circle in the Belmont Stakes. He was tuned up in his gallops and his races in the Summer Cup and the Do Your Best Stakes would have him more than ready for a bid for the final jewel. The powerful chestnut colt was a star and now that he was running at Green Horse Fields where supposedly there was stronger competition, he was better than ever. The ruby horse snorted emphatically as though he had been tuned into Brooks' thoughts. The magnificent beast had settled down quite nicely on his vacation and looked to bigger and badder than ever. Brooks patted the colt's powerful shoulder, blue eyes shining. This monstrous colt was going to make the big time sooner or later.
Ripley turned off her voice for a second, eyed Mastermind with her green gaze. The sleek son of Hall of Famers Speed Demon and El Sol del Mar was fighting for a chance to remain in the racing string this season. He had not won a race since his first start of the year, but had strung a bunch of second place finishes together. He needed a breakout race, needed to come down the lane and get the win he so craved. He needed a confidence builder and this workout would indeed be a confidence builder. Red Herring was the bane of Mastermind's existence at Witch Creek and a very much loathed competitor. The miler and seven furlong specialist craved to dominate the classic horse with every fiber of his being. Today's workout would prove to Ripley whether or not Mastermind still wanted to race. It would be his prep for the Gemini/Divine Stakes and the Boys Party two weeks from now. He would face Tears of Blood most likely in the Boys Party, a big rival for the season. If the Gemini Stakes failed to cancel, the chestnut colt would face him there as well. Ripley was intent on beating In Stride Racing's colt and filly duo, the bane of her existence for the last two seasons.
Brooks swung eagerly into the saddle, picked up his reins and nearly laughed when Red Herring lifted into a rear. For once, cameras were turned the big colt's way as he pawed and whistled in his coltish way. Brooks slammed down into the colt's withers, forcing him to the ground. Red was feeling his oats today. Ripley nodded to him in approval just as she too swung into the saddle. Mastermind's hooded head turned to face Red Herring, ears pricked and eyes keen with fury. Ripley patted her colt's neck, feeling his muscles twitch in irritation. She locked her helmet into place with a smile gracing her lips. Today was going to be a blast.
Red Herring lead the way to the racetrack, neck bowed, nostrils flared. He danced on his toes and looked the picture of fury in motion. He too craved a win having been in the final picture multiple times, but never in the winner's circle since The Wire. Brooks balanced as the colt danced his way to the track, noted a few people following to get a look at the two horse procession. Perhaps they were more curious than they let on.
Ripley sat silent and still as Mastermind stalked quietly behind his boisterous stablemate. His ears were up and he did snort a few times, but he was all business. He was the pro who wanted to get back on his podium. The next race out and the one after that, Mastermind would give his competitors hell. The head trainer grinned, patted her well-bred colt. He meant the world to her. She'd waited so long for him to reach this point in his career. He was so close to proving himself as the champion, but close was not good enough. Mastermind would have to make the final leap, believe in her ability to make the moves on the track. Everyone had long since forgotten about him, but Ripley had been following the racing circuit quite closely. What watching told her had been that you never forgot your champions. And Mastermind was the champion on the track, but not in the polls.
Red Herring bounced into stride the moment he touched the dirt. His large form was surprisingly agile and he just shot into his gallop. Brooks leaned close to the flying red mane, eyes focused on ahead and not on Ripley or Mastermind. This blaze-faced beast was his sole concentration at the moment. The Belmont Stakes was the goal in two weeks and Red Herring was not going to be caught in a speed duel like in the Kentucky Derby. Like Ashes to Ashes had last year, this glorious animal would learn to rate and relax. Brooks lightly pulled back on the reins, shaking the bit out of Red's grip. The colt just shrugged it off and settled. In the gallop, Red was incredible. In a race, everything changed. Brooks would have to trick him into galloping for most of the duration of the Belmont Stakes. There was no need to blitz the competition on the front end in a mile and a half race. No need at all. It would throw off the closers like Born To Impress and Nightshade. Everyone would be surprised when Red Herring did not run up to join Sweet Inferno on the front end. He would stalk and settle.
Mastermind danced into his gallop, loping along behind Red Herring without much effort. The big red tank in front of him was not something he wasn't used to. Red and Mastermind galloped together frequently at Witch Creek. But they worked out together very infrequently. Ripley kept light contact with her chestnut colt, settled into his beautiful stride and felt extremely confident. Mastermind was ready to bloom again in mid-season. He had slackened off like this in Year Twelve, but by the end of that year as well, the chestnut had been running strongly left and right.
His ears were pricked and he covered the ground with his easy-going strides, not in any hurry. He played like a little kid even as Red Herring too seemed to settle. He seemed curious about Red today. Ripley was as well. The muscled horse usually ran off into his gallops, but today Brooks seemed to have him settling down nicely. She was betting it was a tactical change for the mile and a half classic awaiting the burly red Arizona colt. Her colt would never run that far. He appreciated the simple seven furlongs and the one turn mile. He was bloody brilliant and there was really no need to change that.
Red Herring stretched out his gallop on command up the backstretch, lengthening, but not necessarily quickening. Brooks went with the giant motion, grinning like a fool when there was no insane tug on the bit. He glanced under his arm to catch sight of Mastermind lining out as well. Ripley didn't move a muscle until she caught him looking. When he motioned for her, Ripley allowed Mastermind to quicken. Brooks held in his breath when the colt caught up in two swift strides. He could run faster than the speed of light at short distances. Ripley caught the Speed Demon colt back up to run level with Red Herring.
Can you go on ahead with Mastermind? We'll work 'em like that for however long you want. Just give me the sign when you're about to finish. Ripley's eyes narrowed in consideration. Six furlongs then Brooks. She dipped back into his position, let the reins soar between her fingers and her brilliant colt went on with it. Red Herring's head flew into the air, ears pricked, mouth gaping in protest. Mastermind flew to a length and a half lead before Ripley called on him to slow down again. Brooks ran his hands down the neck of his powerhouse, made light tapping movements with the reins rather than pulling straight back. Gradually, Red Herring settled down, but he was sweating up for all his efforts.
The wind whipped through Ripley's air as Mastermind floated through his lead change in the far turn. The hooded colt did everything fluidly and without much effort. He was a tough son of a gun and yet he was elegant in his motion. He was by far the prettiest mover in the barn. She leaned close to her handsome colt's neck, not urging, but eager to keep up the cruising pace. He needed a lung opener, needed to feel what it was like to be in front. Sweet, handsome man. Mastermind's ears flicked, shook then refocused on the track ahead. His tense muscles said he hadn't forgotten about the competition rumbling behind him, but his ears said he was ready for anything Red Herring threw down.
Brooks was thinking similarly as Red lumbered along behind his grade two stablemate. The ruby red colt was settled, his eyes burning as he became aware of the new game. And to Red, stalking was a game. A game he was just being introduced to. When Mastermind sped up to cruise through his opening quarter mile, Red just lumbered along, ears flicking, but not tense. His wall-eyes looked wild as he spread himself out behind his stable-mate nemesis. Brooks eased him along, let the rein slide through his gloved hands, switched Red's lead as they marched back into the clubhouse turn.
Three furlongs had passed without any problems for either pair of horses. Ripley's mouth was cocked in a smile. Mastermind was full of run and he knew he was going to be released. He could feel the adrenaline surging down the leathers from his rider. He bowed his neck, finally pulled at the bit. Ripley took a hand off the rein, gave a thumbs up for about three seconds, then let her ruby horse go.
Brooks let his monster run the moment the signal went up. Two seconds later, Red Herring was bearing down on Mastermind with ground-eating racing strides. The button had been pushed and like a rocket Red Herring had lifted for take off. Ripley grimaced when Red came up beside them on the outside, but she did not pump Mastermind any. Her colt hated the inside rail with a passion, but for once he did not act crowded. Red thundered alongside them, head angled in to intimidate Mastermind from moving up to the lead.
Brooks wanted to let out an evil cackle so bad. He felt so in the moment with this burly horse charging beneath him. Red Herring was going to surprise in his two races. A new talent had been located in the blaze-faced monster. Brooks glanced to the left, noted Ripley's pained expression when she found herself glued to the rail. Mastermind's hooded face did not look tense. His body looked relax even when Red came in to brush shoulders and push him closer to the silver inner rail. Ripley sent a furious glare in Brooks' direction. Brooks just shrugged. If she didn't want the heat, she shouldn't be a jockey.
The pressure remained steady through two more furlongs and Mastermind was now effectively locked on the rail. Red stuck to him like a burr and went no faster than necessary. He was up to his old tricks again. The stalking would work for the first mile and quarter in the Belmont, but his old tactic sure wouldn't hurt for the last quarter mile. Sweet Inferno would be on their inside after all. Mastermind was simply filling in.
Ripley's brain was screeching as she asked Mastermind for a lead change into the final turn. The swift chestnut colt responded, shoulder bouncing off of Red's. His ears swept back into his long, wild tresses, lost in the moment of aggression. Ripley was hoping beyond all hope that Mastermind would respond to her command in the homestretch. She had to shake Red Herring off once and for all.
Brooks let Red remain caught on Mastermind until they straightened into the homestretch. Then he shook the reins. Red responded with a powerful rush, knocking Mastermind back a length and moving so that the rail became not much of an option. The red colt trucked home with a force that promised Brooks he would have a similar response in the next two races. He was in his glory and so blissfully happy with his steed.
Ripley gritted her teeth as Red Herring closed up the rail by half a horse length. This was the moment to test Mastermind's strength and need to win. She tightened her fingers on the braided leather and leaned close. She might have just pressed the trigger of a loaded gun. Mastermind shot forward with a quicksilver turn of foot and flew into a full out sprint. He busted through the hole that barely existed, knocking Red Herring off stride for a moment. Ripley was so floored that she encouraged for more speed.
Mastermind responded with a terrifying lunge and drew away from Red briefly. His ears shot up, his nostrils quivered with a wild sounding call. Brooks dove down the moment Mastermind gained clear run and rapidly encouraged Red for more. The Arizona colt roared up again on the outside, massive chest filling with air, hooves pounding the sand-dirt mixture beneath. He stormed up to Mastermind's side in the shadow of the wire, poked his head in front only to be fended off by his foe. Mastermind's ears were again lost in his mane as he fought tooth and nail with his nemesis.
The horses flew beneath the wire, head and head. A whisker may have separated them, but there was no true need to know the victor of this battle. The pair of horses galloped out brilliantly, running nearly workout speed through a seventh furlong. The riders pulled them up, adrenaline flooding their systems. There was nothing like being locked in battle. Ripley bumped her fist with Brooks, grinning like a fool. We're ready to go to war. Are you?
Brooks grinned at her, feeling the rush of everything between himself and Ripley. Oh we're already on the battle field beating the warning drums. He gave his colt a slap on the neck, eyes lit up with the excitement.wishing well
starring Cross My Heart and Wish Upon A Star
Maggie smiled at Ripley as she walked by with Mastermind prancing at the end of the lead line. The colt glittered like a ruby in the light, more on his toes than he had been the entire season. Maggie was hoping for similar results for her mount in the ten furlong Duchess Stakes on the turf. It would be the final leg of the Turf Triple Tiara. And she was more than ready to take it on and compete. She had full faith in her horse, having been partnered up with the filly since the beginning of her two year old season. Maggie Reynolds turned to eye the mahogany bay filly standing with her ears pricked and eyes glowing with excitement.
Hey there pretty girl. Wanna go run down some the black filly today? Wish bobbed her head up and down, not understanding, but with perfect timing. Maggie stepped up to rub the tapering blaze, admiring the awareness that glimmered in this filly's eyes. Maggie opened the stall, leading her with only a light touch on the reins. Wish nickered and stepped politely as ever out of the stall and into the dimming chaos. She'd been wanting to get out of the stall all day, not used to being cooped up. Wish Upon A Star sure loved her pasture time and was quick to gather anxiety back in the racing barn. Maggie would be anxious too with all the attention Witch Creek was receiving these days.
It'll all pass after the Belmont Turf Classic though. No worries little missy. Wish snorted and walked with her head level with Maggie's hand. She was a treat hog, but kind about it. Wish did everything perfect. She was classy and classically built. She had heart and a will and today she would learn what it was like to have a winning drive. Maggie patted the filly's satin neck, teeth showing in an aggressive smile when Ripley drew the coal black filly from her stall besides what was the makeshift office. Wish stomped, ears twitching uneasily.
Cross My Heart was only slightly smaller than Wish who reflected perfect stamina and speed. Yet... there was something about her that told you she was a big deal. Maggie pondered the scarcely marked filly as she swung into the saddle. There was not a faster horse in the barn at this point and time. There probably never would be a horse that possessed Cross' speed and could carry it to the distance she could carry it. Not only was Cross one of the top -if not the top horse- in her sprint division, but she had crossed over to take on the distance turf fillies in the Debutante, the first leg of the Turf Triple Tiara, and had beaten them there as well. Maggie patted Wish's neck, not intimidated in the least. Wish was a fine wine that would grow better as she got older. Cross was simply scary fast.
Ripley stroked the black tresses that waved wildly about Cross' savage head and short neck. The three year old stood, ears pricked at the cameras, nostrils flared and eyes full of aggression. She was wildly beautiful and unlike Wish she did not take to the fumbling attention of non-horse people. She'd been out for her gallops every morning, impressed with every breathtaking stride, but she was unapproachable by anyone not from Witch Creek. Ripley didn't mind in the least. At least she could find some solace in all of the crown chaos.
The head trainer nodded for Maggie to follow her out to the turf track. Cross hadn't been worked out in a while. Her workouts were her races, but with a month between the Quick Cup and the Girl's Festival, she needed a lung opener. The once-kill-pen filly had turned into a beast out on the track and she was respected no matter the field she entered. She'd taken on the distance fillies and now she was setting her sights on the sprinter crown. Her only opponent entered in the Girl's Festival at the moment was long time rival Innocent Passion who she had beaten in the Debutante. Cross was not going to duck anyone nor should she have to.
Wish pranced alongside Cross out over the dirt course, ears bobbing sideways and tongue flipping up and down around her tongue strap. The daughter of Hall of Famer Everyday Hero had been soaking in the attention so much so that several times during the week the top dutch door had to be closed and a do-not-disturb sign put up. Wish was relatively lightly raced compared to Mastermind and Cross, but she had her own fan club. And boy did she know it. Her fourth place finish in the second Turf Tiara leg in the Cotillion hadn't knocked her out of training for a moment. The next day she was practically breaking the door down, something Wish would never do. She'd been jogged and cantered until her heart was content. If anything, Wish Upon A Star was coming in better to a race than she had her entire career.
The bay and black fillies strode onto the turf track as if they owned the place. It was closed momentarily to all horses except for those competing the major three year old classics. A few horses exercised, but the line of people standing at the rail only grew to watch Witch Creek. Ripley patted Cross, eyeing the spectators. I can't really remember a sprinter getting this much attention. Except maybe Pegasus Wings. Maggie shrugged, petted Wish's shoulder. The bay filly thought the crowd was for her and she strutted for them with all she had. A sprinters never taken a leg in the Turf Tiara before. Ripley nodded, sighing a little. With every race Cross ran it seemed like the pressure grew slightly. Her little filly drew a crowd like honey drew flies. But she couldn't complain. The aura that Cross possessed was what originally had drawn Ripley to her in the first place.
The horses sped up beautifully into their opening gallop, Wish on the rail. The bay filly only had the fault of not quickening on command. Other than that, Maggie could place her wherever she wanted. Wish was not afraid. Maggie drew her a half-inch from the rail with just a light tug on the reins. She then pulled her until the stirrups on both riders' saddles touched. Cross bared her teeth. Wish kept the pressure on. No, her classy filly was not afraid of much.
Ripley kept a keen hold on Cross as Wish darted about on Maggie's commands. All of their training helped during the running of the races. Ripley had had to relearn when she'd taken on Cross My Heart. She'd never ridden a true blue sprinter horse before and, boy, had it been an eye opener. The hold was all that kept firmly planted to the ground. She galloped along with economy and ease, but her mouth was taunt on the bit. She strained, but not too harshly, not like before. She wanted to bury Wish, to run away to her happy, adrenaline-crazed heaven. Ripley kept her locked, kept her loaded.
Wish settled back off of Cross' inside haunch, maintaining her position on the rail, but not running straight into Cross' killer speed. Maggie let her filly relax on a loose rein, happy she would catch a breather this time unlike Ripley. Wish relaxed right into the bit, played with it, but did nothing more. She was satisfied with her rhythm and perfectly in-tune with herself. Maggie sighed. The final leg of the Turf Triple Tiara had not come up that strong this year. Passion Heart would be leading, but she only had one win to her name. Beautiful Liar, winner of four, would be settled in either stalker position or mid-pack with Wish. And Fleet Majesty, leased from Witch Creek to Stride of Perfection, would be closing. Wish had the most wins and a win in a major prep for Turf Tiara. It was not often that Wish ended up the favorite, shaky favorite, but favorite nonethless.
But as Wish cruised over the turf, Maggie was beginning to think maybe Wish should be the favorite more often. The bay filly chugged along the rail, eyes keen on Cross now, knees rising and falling with her dancing rhythm. Maggie eyed Ripley for a sign of movement as they hauled up the backstretch. Cross for once looked settled. It would be a dog fight to the finish as always.
Ripley glanced under her arm, shook her head. She'd felt Wish's pressure the entire way up the homestretch, into the clubhouse turn and into the backstretch. She'd known the Everyday Hero filly was finally making some improvement, but, God, not this much. Her watch was clocking Cross in a :22 2/5 split. The black filly was cruising and Wish was not backing off. Cross' speed killed her opponents off before the real running began. It was a talent and a destructive one, but thankfully not self-destructive. The free-wheeling filly had settled down just into the backstretch, regretfully letting Ripley have her typical shot at leadership. The black knew she could steal off at anytime, but, unlike before, she didn't want to. Cross had grown to have a semblance of affection for those who cared for her.
The auburn-haired woman leaned close as they flew past the middle marker. She clocked it in :44 1/5 at least. Wish was still there, pressuring Cross, but Cross wasn't acknowledging her yet. Cross wore invisible blinkers apparently. Maggie grumbled from aboard her muscled bay, shaking her head. Scary fast and scarily professional too. Maggie narrowed her baby blues on the growing turn. Wish's body filled with tension from the rush of adrenaline and then Maggie was left in shock.
Cross snorted, Ripley's eyes rounded and Maggie was left holding on for dear life. Wish shot up the rail, ears locked back in her wild black mane and took command. Her legs pumped with growing strides as her speed increased to something she had not yet exposed Maggie to outside of her winning races. Maggie clung to her filly as they cranked into the far turn, would have been gawking if not fearful of bugs.
The black filly was the first to shake out of the shock as Wish began to take the lead by a length and a half. Her body vibrated with fury and Ripley deemed it was about darn time she let the black have her way. Flinging the reins to the wind, Ripley sent Cross My Heart soaring. She whipped over the turf course on furious hooves, ears back in her mane as Wish drew closer to the single goal in her life. The winner of the Debutante Stakes had been headed few times and definitely not so early in a race. Now that she had experienced it, she was not going to lose.
Maggie heard the cobalt train car of one coming before Wish did. One only had to listen for furious snorting to know the rival was coming on a full head of steam. She shook the reins at Wish now, regaining her jockey composure and sent her running for home. Wish did not break stride when Cross roared up on the outside close enough to clank stirrups again. The lightly marked filly's eyes were rimmed red and she increased her speed to pull in front of Wish. Wish was just as furious now, having her plot now crumble like a sand castle in the waves. Her black tipped ears locked back. She locked the bit between her teeth. And took it to Cross for everything she was worth.
Racing blood pounded in the heads of these two horses. Competition fueled them to run to faster speeds, to lengthen their strides even further. The riders bid them no more as the fillies swept up the homestretch. Cross repeatedly bolted into Wish, not making contact but as a method of intimidation. Wish would not be intimidated. She did not falter. She met Cross for every racing stride she had and then some. Maggie begged for more, noted the sudden intensity blooming from their opponent. The race was about to be over with.
Luckily, the wire came first and Wish managed to get to the line at the time Cross did. Cross rebroke and swept away to a four length lead. Maggie thanked God that Wish knew what the shadow of the wire meant. Her filly had been spared a broken heart. Wish was tough, but she needed to get tougher before she handled the likes of Cross' company. Maggie patted her filly's elegant neck, praising her even when she gave a squeal and a buck. Her nostrils were flared, her eyes bright. She was sweated up, but loaded with energy.
Cross met them at the gap, taking the long route around the track. Her savage head was cocked Wish' way. Her eyes shooting sparks of hatred and dominance. Ripley patted her dragon's neck. Easy there. You slayed the princess, but there are others out there. Our tale hasn't ended yet. The raven-bodied horse dipped her head as if in agreement and settled alongside Wish who was full of herself, taking in all of the snapping cameras. Maggie bumped fists with Ripley. We'll give as good as we got next time out. Because we took on the dragon and came out dead even at the wire. Ripley smiled, petted her filly. Perhaps this sudden rival princess wasn't slayed just yet. Perhaps she was just rising to power.american beautiful
starring Indian Darling and GS Royal Crown
A gray colt and a bay filly stood in an empty barn row. There were no admirers here. Witch Creek had packed in the horses so that the entire row was filled. Bella Luna and her entourage, Mastermind and Cross were all on the other side. This spillover of two horses was unrecognized by the press, unappreciated and below their high society, high talent minds. Maggie appreciated the press' snobbery more than anything else at this point in time. Especially because her horse in particular needed to go unnoticed until the week of the Queen's Plate, the first leg of the Canadian Triple Crown.
Maggie patted the colt's steely neck, smiling into irritated dark brown eyes. GS Royal Crown was surly, angry and unhappy about being here at Green Horse Fields. There had been no races open to a grade two horse at The Wire. The only race Crow could go in was the Divine Stakes over seven furlongs at here. He needed the race and it wouldn't kill him to get out of his stall to do some work for a change. The race and the prep in the Divine Stakes were all meant to end at the major goal of the Queen's Plate. The Divine Stakes would be hard and against Mastermind, but it would really be nothing but a paid workout for Crow.
The gray Seabiscuit colt had been on fire since he'd begun Year Thirteen. He'd cranked out seven wins, three of them against older horses at both Green Horse Fields and The Wire. He'd won two preps for the Triple Crown. He was the most underated three year old in the country because he had not gone to the Kentucky Derby. A grade two colt of GS Royal Crown's caliber was hard to hide, but so far it was working. Two weeks out from the 9 furlong Queen's Plate and Maggie was flying on Cloud Nine.
Laura DeComte drew up the girth on Indian Darling, blue eyes sharp, red hair pulled back beneath her helmet in a no-nonsense bun. Indian Darling twitched as the leather was brought up to wrap around her belly, but she was too busy paying attention to the people funneling around the side of the barn to do much more. Laura was pleased with the shift in attention, glad that none of her horses were quite in the limelight. Indian Darling would go in the Coaching Club American Oaks over 10 furlongs, her prime middle distance. She would face Acorn winner Ventura and Mother Goose winner War Cry. Indian Darling was ready to rock and roll, having not done much running against those two in the middle jewel of the Tiara.
Darla had come back sweated, but not tired. She'd simply spun her wheels on the race track, much like Born To Impress had over the peanut butter later in the Preakness. Darla had loathed the track with a passion and hadn't put in much effort at all. This time would be different. This time, Laura had full plans to get Darla in gear as soon as the gates opened and she was free to run. Darla was her partner now. Ripley, however, had given some direction that Laura actually approved of.
Darla was not going to fall way out of it this time. Not with War Cry on the front and Ventura just to her inside. The pace would be tough, but if it wasn't Darla was not going to be three lengths out. Actually, she'd be about a length and a half off of the pace. She'd get clear sailing once she broke from the gate. Laura rubbed her hands together, blue eyes full of eagerness. Darla rubbed her head on the clasped hands until the opened. Her eyes gleamed as well. She wanted to run and escape the barn. Only one more week of this Green Horse Fields nonsense and she'd be able to head home.
Maggie was already seated on GS Royal Crown's strong back by the time Laura was ready to climb aboard. The gray colt bobbed his head up and down eagerly, playing with his bit. His muscles stood out like carving on a marble sculpture. At the moment with Mastermind trying to gain his form, there was no better colt standing in the Witch Creek barn. Maggie patted his neck, walked him the back way to avoid the main barn chaos, and let him stride out to the dirt track.
Indian Darling danced along, ears pricked, head turning around to take in everything. She was the only one who seemed to not have settled in. She was also the most lightly raced of the three year olds and she was apt to show some improvement here and during the races. Laura let the flighty filly have her way, let her step into a trot after her stablemate who stalked along with ease. Darla whinnied once, then twice, short bursts of anxiety. Crow remained quiet, remained confident and gradually Darla settled down. Laura patted her silken neck, a grin touching her mouth. The filly was a good one. She just needed some more racetrack education.
The crowd was slim except for the clockers at the rail when GS Royal Crown and Indian Darling took center stage. Some clockers straightened up immediately at the sight of the steel gray colt, but many of them remained relaxed, babying their coffees. Those clockers were the mainstays at GHF. The straighteners were the big boys from The Wire. They knew what both horses were capable of. Darla nickered at them and the closest of them let out a chuckle at the friendly filly. She bolted at the sound, passed GS Royal Crown and was trotting up the track in no time. Laura let out a relieved sigh as Darla settled back down. Hey silly girl. It's not like you don't know them. The filly huffed saying that she wasn't so sure about that.
GS Royal Crown caught up on his long greyhound legs; his head was tucked down to his chest. Maggie let the high energy horse have his head, admired his striding. This colt was her superstar three year old of the year. He had once been a turf horse, but now as time passed, he seemed more and more like he appreciated the good ol' dirt. He moved into his quicksilver canter, switched to the inside rail on command and settled there with his great stride eating up the ground. In a jog, Crow was not the best mover. In a canter or gallop, there was no horse better.
Indian Darling dashed up to their outside, keen on running head and head with her gray partner. Laura was keen on keeping her there. The filly was feeling her oats today and it was better to get these jitters out now than on the day of the Coaching Club American Oaks. The bay filly turned her neat head inward, ear tuned to Crow like a radar gun. Any signal of increased speed and she would be off like a shot to go after him. Laura jiggled the reins, drew her attention back.
Maggie felt a smile touch her lips, her blue eyes wide with excitement. Crow felt like a machine beneath her, a powerful, fluid one that could run all day. He cruised into the backstretch, stretching his body out until he was nearly parallel to the rail. Maggie perched over his withers, her hands quiet even when Darla began to play alongside of her colt. Crow was not fooled. He did not play. He was a professional at this game.
Darla gradually began to level out up the backstretch, her cupped ears were flicking still, but she did not dance from side to side. Darla was more of a live wire than Fiery Touch had been at this point last year. Darla was a more nervous horse with a more brilliant turn of foot. Laura could not wait to let her explode in the five furlong workout. Ripley had set the distance and she was probably fighting the reporters off to get a good look at her "dark horses." Laura shrugged. She was sure the clockers would catch it on video because Darla would be in a major three year old race next week.
Maggie eased forward when the furlong pole whipped by, lifted the reins and let Crow run out into his racing stride. The steel gray colt responded with a burst of flying speed before settling into a coasting gallop. He was an easy ride. He was eager to please and he knew how to get the job done. His ears disappeared into his mane as he galloped up the backstretch. He was never one to play on the track.
Indian Darling's ears towered up above her small head when Crow shot away to lead. She pulled briefly up to run with his haunches before her usual race horse sense kicked in. She pulled out of his wind torrent by shifting to the outside and back. And that was when Laura knew Darla would be better prepared for her run in the Coaching Club. The bay Native Flame filly settled like a champ, hooves landing in a perfectly relaxed rhythm as she followed the gray colt. Her ears remained pricked and she ran straight and true. On race day she would wear a blinkered hood like normal. No, there was no doubt in Laura's mind that the filly would be ready to run.
Crow rumbled over the track through fractions of :23 3/5 and then :46 2/5. His muscled body covered the dirt track like a flowing wave. He was designed to look powerful and steady at all points of the race. A horse could head him, take off to a length or five length lead and he would remain steady until called upon. It was his best tribute. Maggie leaned close, glad for her goggles as the gray colt glided into the final turn. He was so relaxed, so in hand that Maggie was pleased even before the workout was complete. This was what she wanted from her big horse, her best three year old. He was a champ alright.
Laura grinned when Darla began to drag at the bit. Crow was really moving along with no effort, just as Ventura and War Cry would in the CCA Oaks. This was a perfect set-up for the race next week. Laura pursed her lips, debated for a minute and then changed everything with a simple flick of her hands. Darla snatched the bit between her teeth as if she had predicted this very moment, reached with all her might and then shot forward as if she had just left a rocket launcher.
Crow was moving simultaneously for the homestretch when Maggie heard the pin drop from the caboose. She braced for the moment when Indian Darling roared down on them with her usual Hellfire self. She wasn't disappointed when three seconds later, Darla did just that, sweeping up to GS Royal Crown's outside with her eyes gleaming fire. Crow bared his teeth and twisted as if he was going to savage the filly, but Maggie jerked his attention back. The colt and filly moved as one into the homestretch, legs flying over the dirt, kicking up a tornado in their wake.
The pair of horses had everyone's attention when Ripley dashed up to the rail, frazzled but unharmed. Crow was moving like an express train on the inside and Darla was moving like a whirling dervish. A laugh bloomed in Ripley's throat at the sight of them moving so fast and so brilliantly over the dirt course they had not called their own. None of Green Horse Field's horses would have an advantage over these two anymore. Not with the way they flew over the course as if they owned it. Hums echoed from the clockers' mouths then and Ripley knew Maggie's plot to keep Crow hidden had been busted wide open.
Power and fury rippled through both the gray and the bay as they charged up the track. Darla bolted forward and the Crow battled his way back to the top, muscling her around when she got too close. Darla stepped up, bared her teeth and threatened savagery upon her stable-mate now. Laura and Maggie shook the reins at the them, telling them to give it a rest. It worked by edging them to greater speed. The horses met on the wire at the same time, blistering with loathing and fire. Their gallop out was superb and strong. It felt almost like the pair had actually traveled a solid seven furlong work instead of a quick five.
Ripley pulled her sunglasses down when the bay filly and steel gray horse pulled up to excited trots. She moseyed over to the clockers, grinned into their interested faces. Time please? One of them swallowed, sent a glance out at the horses then responded. :23 3/5, :46 2/5, :59 1/5, 1:10 flat, 1:26 for the seventh. Ripley nodded, turned away before a huge grin plastered itself across her face. It was the best set of numbers she'd heard of yet. She slapped hands with the riders when they strolled off the track, nodded at their reports. But really she couldn't help thinking that her dark horses were sitting on the best races of their lives yet.