Post by S u N f r O s t ~ on Feb 18, 2016 22:22:41 GMT -5
MELODIOUS & HENNA TURATH
The dapple gray filly was majestic. She trotted with the easy energy of a young horse, the liquid quicksilver of her movements nothing short of eye-catching. The energy of the filly was reflected in the mania of her rider's eyes. Henna Turath was a speed demon. Melodious was just her type of filly - fast out of the gate, keen to create the pace rather than follow it, but just well tempered enough to know when to back off. It was rare that you found a horse with a brain like Mel's, the instinct to know when to press the pace and when to let it fall away. She was always high-strung and sweating in the paddock and post parade, but there was never a horse more poised once those gates opened and ready to assume command. And there was no denying Mel's talent. Henna knew that they hadn't gotten off to a good start this season. Several terrible rides had contributed to what many perceived as a filly fizzing out after an amazing juvenile season. Mel had taken seven Horse of the Year races as a juvenile. She was only losing this season due to bad luck, Henna was sure of it.
Time to catch up.
Henna leaned forward and let the filly fly. Mel was most impressive when she was in full flight. The gray filly let loose, her high cruising speed immediately apparent as she clicked off her first quarter in twenty three point five and made it look easy going into the second half. There was energetic ease to this filly, a sense of determination - the heart of a filly ready to fight for every length separating her from victory. And she was going to come back and give every horse out there a run for their money. She would be ready to rock in time for the Turf Triple Sprinter Tiara if Henna had something to say about it. Heart and talent would be answered. Those were her thoughts as her filly bounded away down the turf. She would not give up. She would not give in. She would fight for every step and show the world just how good she was, over and over until it would be impossible for her to be forgotten.
ATHENA'S DESIRES AND VALENCIA ANDREWS
The jockey change had been a hotly contested thing. Henna had always had a thing for the speed. As for Valencia, well, she tended to get along with the distance-speed types. Athena's Desires was a first. Bred for sprinting, trained to sprint, raced to sprint - the cards had fallen into place during the now four year old mare's juvenile season. She had won the Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf Sprint. This had not translated into success as a three year old - two wins were all she had to her name. But now, as a four year old, Athena was back. And with a deadly Valencia in the irons, well. Valencia knew concealing her smirk would do no good. She let the smirk speak for the both of them as Athena coldly cut a path across the turf of the track. Her mare barely regarded the other horses on the track as being present - this was her turf now and as far as she was concerned she had never lost ownership of it.
Athena's main problem, Valencia knew, was her speed-craziness. She was simply just a suicidal front runner. Granted, Athena was bloody fast, but even she had limits. She had calmed down some with the passing of years and knew now how to be less speed crazy. Valencia's stubbornness paired with Athena's coldness had led to a fascinating combination of guts and speed. Valencia loved the black mare's viciously fast way of working and her lightning fast breaks. She wouldn't trade the mare for the world. With two wins on the season, she was coming back and she had plans, oh yes she did.
For now though...Valencia's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Melodious sweeping across the wire with her usual blistering speed. It was enough to make her heart sing with the desire to compete. Athena's ears flicked, head angling to her gray stablemate, and Valencia could practically taste the bitter flavor of animosity on her tongue. Well then. They couldn't be showed up, now, could they? She let Athena coast forward, and with deadly quick strides Athena took command where her stablemate had let off. All Valencia would have to do would be to lean forward...and then the gun would be shot. The bullet that was Athena would fly, cutting the turns sharply, soaring up the backstretch and never flagging. She would only get faster with every furlong. She would laugh in the face of her competitors and just burn them with speed. That was simply Athena's way.
Valencia liked her way. She leaned forward and opened the door, and off done the way the pair went.
