Grey Beauty.
Ghostly Girl & Savita Tusaint
Savita fidgeted with nervous energy, turning her helmet in her hands and watching the pathway to the barn. She hadn't gotten more than a glimpse of Minske lately - nothing for three months, and then he was working with the young horses since the stable's return. They never saw each other, and she definitely hadn't had a chance to speak with him. But with his dad out on business, Minske was stepping in as trainer for the morning. For the first time in over three months, she was really going to see him. She felt her face flush. She didn't know where the infatuation had come from, but it was there and stronger than ever in his absence.
She'd gotten trackside early to wait, and now she finally spotted the horse and trainer leaving the barn. She couldn't make his features out from here, but she remembered them in her mind's eye - lean but strongly built, with blonde hair so pale it looked white in most light. Stormy blue eyes, always cheerful and constantly kind. A smile that made her heart skip a beat every time it was turned on her. She was glad she was as tan as she was - at least the blush didn't show up as obviously as it would have on skin pale like his. The filly beside him was quiet and mild-mannered, though her ears were pricked attentively forward, occasionally flicking sideways to listen to Minske's murmured voice. She had a strange air about her, but it was likely just her oddly mature and docile nature that gave that effect. As they drew closer, Minske smiled, and Savita smiled back on instinct, though her nerves were fluttering. She'd never felt like this, not this strongly - it put her off-balance. She wished jealously, not for the first time, that she could be as close to him as Halexia was. She was always touching him and flirting with him - all of the things Savita would never be so bold to do. What made it worse was that the older woman did the same to all of the other boys. She got to touch him, and she didn't even act like it was special. That's why she hated Hal. It was hard to admit, but she really was beyond jealous.
Hal was far from her thoughts now, though. She was hyper-aware of every moment Minske made once he reached her. "It's been awhile," the man said by way of greeting, and Savita could only nod. Then he just looked at her for a moment, brows furrowed just the slightest bit. "Is something wrong?" he asked, and she could see genuine concern in his eyes. She blushed more fiercely in embarrassment. "No! No, it's just... um... no, I'm fine. So this is the new filly?" Her attempt to change the conversation had to be incredibly obvious, but he just smiled and nodded, turning his attention to the grey. She let out a small breath of relief.
"Yes. From her build and what we got from her previous training reports, she seems to be more of a long-distance type. She's been run mostly on dirt, so we'll start there. She hasn't been started, but with how relaxed she is, I don't see her being a problem." He paused, then shifted. "Well, come give Ghost a try. Her first race is ten furlongs, so we're going to run her that far. Don't push her, but see what kind of stamina we have to work with." Savita nodded, glad to have something work-related to think about rather than her own hormones. Though when she stepped up, her heart gave a painful beat as he held her leg to toss her on. It was a brief and innocent touch, but it affected her nonetheless. Ghost shifted beneath her, as if sensing her turmoil. The filly glanced back, pretty dark eyes seeming to study her. Well, if the filly wasn't a nervous sort, Savita wouldn't make her that way by tensing up. She took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out, putting her attention on the juvenile. "Alright pretty girl, let's see what you've got."
As she shortened the reins, Minske let go of the filly's head and they moved off onto the dirt. The grey moved with incredibly fluid, long-legged strides, hind end reaching beneath her body. Savita couldn't help but be surprised - she had so much coordination for a young horse. She'd probably be a good dressage horse if the whole racing thing didn't work out. "Though I imagine being a dressage horse is a whole lot less fun, so I'd put on a good show, if I were you," she murmured to the horse. Ghost flicked back black-tipped ears, then pressed them forward again with a small huff of breath. Savita rather thought that the filly agreed. She asked the filly to pick up speed, kissing to her and shifting position just a little as the filly responded nicely. It was a change, not having to deal with an over-eager hot-head, but it made Savita question whether or not the filly had a competitive race drive. She was used to more spunk, though she supposed they did have other horses that didn't show much interest in workouts. Maybe she was just one of those.
She asked for more speed again, and again Ghost complied without even a pressing of her ears. Savita found herself liking the filly more and more - such a willing attitude was rare, free of any cranky vices. She was so fluid and easygoing, and again Savita thought of a dressage horse. A well-trained one, at that. Perhaps somebody had played with her with those concepts, or she was just naturally very willing. Savita let the filly adjust and stretch out until she seemed relaxed. Then, with gentle urging, the girl put the filly into a gallop. Ghost stretched out willingly, turning the three-beat gait into four, though again she didn't show any particular drive for further speed. Noting the starting furlong pole, Savita got the filly into what she considered a medium race speed. Ghost complied, sticking close to the rail but not really seeming to focus. It was a long work, and Savita was constantly asking her to maintain speed - not because she was tired, but because she seemed, well, a little bored. In the last furlong, Savita did ask her to pour on a little more, and the filly did so, but eased back a little again after a few strides unless Savita kept urging her.
When they passed the wire, Savita slowed the filly, noting the healthy amount of sweat darkening her grey hide after such a long work. She seemed a little tired, but by no means exhausted. She could've given a lot more. But what if she wouldn't? You couldn't win a race without full commitment. Savita steered the grey toward the gap, allowing her to stretch her neck and walk lazily. She scratched the juvenile idly on the neck, but her attention was elsewhere. "Her time couldn't have been good," Savita said a little frustratedly when they drew to a stop beside Minske. Ghost stood easily as Savita dismounted, then went without a fuss as a hotwalker came to take her away. Minske smiled in a knowing manner, though Savita couldn't see why. "I didn't expect a good time. But how did she feel stamina-wise?" She was a little miffed at the cryptic answer. "It was fine, she could have given a lot more easily. Why didn't you expect a good time?" She wasn't about to let that go, of course. She was going to be the one to race the filly, after all, and she didn't want to go out there on a dud. Seeing her expression, Minske laughed. "It's not what you're thinking. She's got a ton of speed in her. It's just that she seems to have to have a target to chase to really get into it. Don't worry, she'll be totally in her element on race day."
The words brought a rush of understanding. "That's why she kept losing focus, then. She must get bored if she's not chasing." It brought her considerable relief. She'd felt something special waiting inside the filly, and she'd hated to think that that potential couldn't be tapped. Her problem was one easily solved and would never be an issue in a race. She'd just put her behind another horse no matter what. Easy enough.
She'd gotten trackside early to wait, and now she finally spotted the horse and trainer leaving the barn. She couldn't make his features out from here, but she remembered them in her mind's eye - lean but strongly built, with blonde hair so pale it looked white in most light. Stormy blue eyes, always cheerful and constantly kind. A smile that made her heart skip a beat every time it was turned on her. She was glad she was as tan as she was - at least the blush didn't show up as obviously as it would have on skin pale like his. The filly beside him was quiet and mild-mannered, though her ears were pricked attentively forward, occasionally flicking sideways to listen to Minske's murmured voice. She had a strange air about her, but it was likely just her oddly mature and docile nature that gave that effect. As they drew closer, Minske smiled, and Savita smiled back on instinct, though her nerves were fluttering. She'd never felt like this, not this strongly - it put her off-balance. She wished jealously, not for the first time, that she could be as close to him as Halexia was. She was always touching him and flirting with him - all of the things Savita would never be so bold to do. What made it worse was that the older woman did the same to all of the other boys. She got to touch him, and she didn't even act like it was special. That's why she hated Hal. It was hard to admit, but she really was beyond jealous.
Hal was far from her thoughts now, though. She was hyper-aware of every moment Minske made once he reached her. "It's been awhile," the man said by way of greeting, and Savita could only nod. Then he just looked at her for a moment, brows furrowed just the slightest bit. "Is something wrong?" he asked, and she could see genuine concern in his eyes. She blushed more fiercely in embarrassment. "No! No, it's just... um... no, I'm fine. So this is the new filly?" Her attempt to change the conversation had to be incredibly obvious, but he just smiled and nodded, turning his attention to the grey. She let out a small breath of relief.
"Yes. From her build and what we got from her previous training reports, she seems to be more of a long-distance type. She's been run mostly on dirt, so we'll start there. She hasn't been started, but with how relaxed she is, I don't see her being a problem." He paused, then shifted. "Well, come give Ghost a try. Her first race is ten furlongs, so we're going to run her that far. Don't push her, but see what kind of stamina we have to work with." Savita nodded, glad to have something work-related to think about rather than her own hormones. Though when she stepped up, her heart gave a painful beat as he held her leg to toss her on. It was a brief and innocent touch, but it affected her nonetheless. Ghost shifted beneath her, as if sensing her turmoil. The filly glanced back, pretty dark eyes seeming to study her. Well, if the filly wasn't a nervous sort, Savita wouldn't make her that way by tensing up. She took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out, putting her attention on the juvenile. "Alright pretty girl, let's see what you've got."
As she shortened the reins, Minske let go of the filly's head and they moved off onto the dirt. The grey moved with incredibly fluid, long-legged strides, hind end reaching beneath her body. Savita couldn't help but be surprised - she had so much coordination for a young horse. She'd probably be a good dressage horse if the whole racing thing didn't work out. "Though I imagine being a dressage horse is a whole lot less fun, so I'd put on a good show, if I were you," she murmured to the horse. Ghost flicked back black-tipped ears, then pressed them forward again with a small huff of breath. Savita rather thought that the filly agreed. She asked the filly to pick up speed, kissing to her and shifting position just a little as the filly responded nicely. It was a change, not having to deal with an over-eager hot-head, but it made Savita question whether or not the filly had a competitive race drive. She was used to more spunk, though she supposed they did have other horses that didn't show much interest in workouts. Maybe she was just one of those.
She asked for more speed again, and again Ghost complied without even a pressing of her ears. Savita found herself liking the filly more and more - such a willing attitude was rare, free of any cranky vices. She was so fluid and easygoing, and again Savita thought of a dressage horse. A well-trained one, at that. Perhaps somebody had played with her with those concepts, or she was just naturally very willing. Savita let the filly adjust and stretch out until she seemed relaxed. Then, with gentle urging, the girl put the filly into a gallop. Ghost stretched out willingly, turning the three-beat gait into four, though again she didn't show any particular drive for further speed. Noting the starting furlong pole, Savita got the filly into what she considered a medium race speed. Ghost complied, sticking close to the rail but not really seeming to focus. It was a long work, and Savita was constantly asking her to maintain speed - not because she was tired, but because she seemed, well, a little bored. In the last furlong, Savita did ask her to pour on a little more, and the filly did so, but eased back a little again after a few strides unless Savita kept urging her.
When they passed the wire, Savita slowed the filly, noting the healthy amount of sweat darkening her grey hide after such a long work. She seemed a little tired, but by no means exhausted. She could've given a lot more. But what if she wouldn't? You couldn't win a race without full commitment. Savita steered the grey toward the gap, allowing her to stretch her neck and walk lazily. She scratched the juvenile idly on the neck, but her attention was elsewhere. "Her time couldn't have been good," Savita said a little frustratedly when they drew to a stop beside Minske. Ghost stood easily as Savita dismounted, then went without a fuss as a hotwalker came to take her away. Minske smiled in a knowing manner, though Savita couldn't see why. "I didn't expect a good time. But how did she feel stamina-wise?" She was a little miffed at the cryptic answer. "It was fine, she could have given a lot more easily. Why didn't you expect a good time?" She wasn't about to let that go, of course. She was going to be the one to race the filly, after all, and she didn't want to go out there on a dud. Seeing her expression, Minske laughed. "It's not what you're thinking. She's got a ton of speed in her. It's just that she seems to have to have a target to chase to really get into it. Don't worry, she'll be totally in her element on race day."
The words brought a rush of understanding. "That's why she kept losing focus, then. She must get bored if she's not chasing." It brought her considerable relief. She'd felt something special waiting inside the filly, and she'd hated to think that that potential couldn't be tapped. Her problem was one easily solved and would never be an issue in a race. She'd just put her behind another horse no matter what. Easy enough.
Mischief.
Black Magic & Desmond Drake
Shenanigans & Tigris Greenfire
Shenanigans & Tigris Greenfire
Minske couldn't help but thinking, when the two horses were brought out, that it was pretty rare to see two black horses running together in a work. In races there were a few, but bays seemed to dominate and mask the pure color. That was why the pair made such a striking picture, he thought - two dark horses straight out of a fairytale. Well, at least one of them could live up to that. Black Magic had storybook bloodlines and drive - everything you could want out of the ideal racehorse. He just needed to grow into it now. Shenanigans, on the other hand, was something of an anti-hero. Her blood contained the wild card that was Bucephalus, and while the Augusto lines hadn't bled through to make her outright vicious, she definitely wasn't a damsel. He's co-trained the filly with Tigris, and she had created dangerous situations more than once. She's even fractured Tigris' arm during a freak-out. Luckily they'd gotten her pretty well figured out, knowing which buttons to push and which ones to avoid at all cost. It was why Tigris led the filly out now with no chain across her nose and no sign of a whip in sight. She reacted so badly to being told what to do - it made her dangerous, but she was talented enough to make it worth it. Even if no other rider, except perhaps Minske, could safely take her into a race.
Beside Tigris was Desmond, leading the colt. Desmond was an old hat of a rider, and he'd quickly gained the respect of the staff. He seemed able to handle pretty much any horse, and he had more races under his belt than even he cared to keep track of - it helped that he was just plain a nice guy as well. Houdini seemed at ease with him as well, though it would be easy for him to be strung out and nervous with all of the excitement and movement around the barn getting the newcomers in order - and after having moved himself. They were still getting to know the black colt, but so far they loved what they'd seen. Black Magic had been on everyone's radar as a yearling - Valkyrie was no exception. The fact that he hadn't accelerated so far this year didn't bother them in the least - Mourning Passion hadn't been an exceptional juvenile, either. They were excited to see where the big black colt would go. The first step in that was a work like this to see where they were at before his first race.
Minske greeted the two riders and Shanna as well when she reached her nose out to him. The filly might be a wily, bipolar creature, but she had her affectionate side as well. "Just give them a three-furlong breeze. Let Shanna do as she pleases, of course," he said while petting the filly's face. "Don't push them, but let them do as they please. This work could be a rocket." He knew Shanna was competitive, and he'd been told Houdini was as well - at least there was enough time between now and the race for recuperation. Minske looked to Desmond. "You'll have to pull Houdini pack if things get out of hand, because Shanna will fight like a wildcat and holding her up to let him go by isn't an option." Tigris snorted. "Yeah, because I'm not suicidal." Minske laughed, then stepped to the side to leg Tigris up onto the tall filly. As Tigris gathered the reins and moved Shanna out onto the turf, Minske legged Desmond up as well, and the two black horses were out onto the track together.
Tigris guided the long-legged filly to the rail, letting her stretch out while keeping a relatively loose contact on her sensitive mouth. Whenever she tried to go too fast, he squeezed the reins instead of pulling - gentle checking to slow her rather than telling her what to do in a forceful manner. If she'd really wanted to just go, he wouldn't be able to stop her - but she was in a good mood, and she yielded to his cues. Houdini went easily beside them on the outside, not pushing the pace - however, he seemed to ignore Shanna, as if he was on the track alone. Tigris was fine with that - it was much better than someone antagonizing her. They went through the paces, warming up and easing the inherent tenseness out of the young horses. Though really, they were leaps and bounds better than the early months. Experience had fleshed out the juveniles, making them look more and more like the classic contenders they were sure to be. With a nod between the two men, the horses were moved into an easy gallop.
Which Shanna was not willing to accept. She instantly jumped into race speed, and Tigris didn't dare try to forcibly pull her back - that would send her stopping dead, and that was about as dangerous as you could get. Fine, they'd just have a four furlong work instead of three. Desmond had taken the cue, and Houdini had taken off a few steps behind, putting him about two lengths from Shanna's tail. Desmond didn't bother pushing Houdini to the front, instead letting him hang back a little behind the volatile filly. Shanna ran with excited eagerness, not anger, so Tigris leaned forward and let her run. They went easily for three furlongs, then Houdini turned on the heat. The increased rhythm of hooves behind her fueled Shanna's drive, and she reacted as the black colt drew closer with every stride. Ears pinning, the stretched those long legs out and flattened her stride, accelerating. Houdini rallied as well, though, his turn of foot allowing him to inch up her outside with bold determination. It was close when they crossed the wire - both jockeys would claim that they'd crossed first, but it was impossible to tell. As instructed, Desmond eased Houdini off first, and only then did Shanna allow Tigris to slow her gently back to a walk. He scratched the black filly's neck wryly - even if she didn't listen, she'd run and responded well to the pursuit. And Houdini had given the massive sort of chase they liked to see - things were looking good, to say the least.
Beside Tigris was Desmond, leading the colt. Desmond was an old hat of a rider, and he'd quickly gained the respect of the staff. He seemed able to handle pretty much any horse, and he had more races under his belt than even he cared to keep track of - it helped that he was just plain a nice guy as well. Houdini seemed at ease with him as well, though it would be easy for him to be strung out and nervous with all of the excitement and movement around the barn getting the newcomers in order - and after having moved himself. They were still getting to know the black colt, but so far they loved what they'd seen. Black Magic had been on everyone's radar as a yearling - Valkyrie was no exception. The fact that he hadn't accelerated so far this year didn't bother them in the least - Mourning Passion hadn't been an exceptional juvenile, either. They were excited to see where the big black colt would go. The first step in that was a work like this to see where they were at before his first race.
Minske greeted the two riders and Shanna as well when she reached her nose out to him. The filly might be a wily, bipolar creature, but she had her affectionate side as well. "Just give them a three-furlong breeze. Let Shanna do as she pleases, of course," he said while petting the filly's face. "Don't push them, but let them do as they please. This work could be a rocket." He knew Shanna was competitive, and he'd been told Houdini was as well - at least there was enough time between now and the race for recuperation. Minske looked to Desmond. "You'll have to pull Houdini pack if things get out of hand, because Shanna will fight like a wildcat and holding her up to let him go by isn't an option." Tigris snorted. "Yeah, because I'm not suicidal." Minske laughed, then stepped to the side to leg Tigris up onto the tall filly. As Tigris gathered the reins and moved Shanna out onto the turf, Minske legged Desmond up as well, and the two black horses were out onto the track together.
Tigris guided the long-legged filly to the rail, letting her stretch out while keeping a relatively loose contact on her sensitive mouth. Whenever she tried to go too fast, he squeezed the reins instead of pulling - gentle checking to slow her rather than telling her what to do in a forceful manner. If she'd really wanted to just go, he wouldn't be able to stop her - but she was in a good mood, and she yielded to his cues. Houdini went easily beside them on the outside, not pushing the pace - however, he seemed to ignore Shanna, as if he was on the track alone. Tigris was fine with that - it was much better than someone antagonizing her. They went through the paces, warming up and easing the inherent tenseness out of the young horses. Though really, they were leaps and bounds better than the early months. Experience had fleshed out the juveniles, making them look more and more like the classic contenders they were sure to be. With a nod between the two men, the horses were moved into an easy gallop.
Which Shanna was not willing to accept. She instantly jumped into race speed, and Tigris didn't dare try to forcibly pull her back - that would send her stopping dead, and that was about as dangerous as you could get. Fine, they'd just have a four furlong work instead of three. Desmond had taken the cue, and Houdini had taken off a few steps behind, putting him about two lengths from Shanna's tail. Desmond didn't bother pushing Houdini to the front, instead letting him hang back a little behind the volatile filly. Shanna ran with excited eagerness, not anger, so Tigris leaned forward and let her run. They went easily for three furlongs, then Houdini turned on the heat. The increased rhythm of hooves behind her fueled Shanna's drive, and she reacted as the black colt drew closer with every stride. Ears pinning, the stretched those long legs out and flattened her stride, accelerating. Houdini rallied as well, though, his turn of foot allowing him to inch up her outside with bold determination. It was close when they crossed the wire - both jockeys would claim that they'd crossed first, but it was impossible to tell. As instructed, Desmond eased Houdini off first, and only then did Shanna allow Tigris to slow her gently back to a walk. He scratched the black filly's neck wryly - even if she didn't listen, she'd run and responded well to the pursuit. And Houdini had given the massive sort of chase they liked to see - things were looking good, to say the least.
Sweetheart Run.
Spitterfly & Vivien Charron
As the other riders cleared out for the day, Vivien waved them off while walking down to the track. At his side walked Spitterfly, the talented and incredibly sweet filly that Vivien had almost instantly bonded with. The lead rope was held only loosely in his hand, and the filly's nose came down to touch him as they walked. Vivien smiled and stopped, and she immediately stopped walking as well, dark eyes curious and ears pricked forward at him. He brought both hands up to her cheeks, scratching them while she pressed her nose to his chest. "You're a good girl," he crooned in his naturally soft tones, laughing as the grey sniffed toward his pockets. He pulled away, pushing her nose gently back. "Nothing for you right now. You've gotta work first." Plus, Cole would kill him if he knew Vivien snuck Spitter goodies every now and then. Vivien turned toward the track again, and started jogging - before the lead even tugged on her, Spitter followed his lead, moving up quickly to trot at the blonde's pace. Vivien laughed and Spitter shook her head playfully. Then, wanting to try it, Vivien stopped dead. Spitter was only a half-beat slower, and once again she turned her head to him immediately, curiously watching as if waiting for his next move.
"She'd be a good showmanship horse," came a voice from up ahead, and Vivien immediately turned with a blush at being caught playing with the filly. Minske's smile was kind, not mocking, and Vivien tried to push down his embarrassment as he closed the rest of the distance to the assistant trainer. They had become closer - friends, even - but Vivien's naturally shy nature wasn't so easily shelved. "I didn't teach her that," he felt he had to justify, and Minske shook his head. "I don't think anyone did. She's just that responsive. Though I do think she's already more responsive to you that she is to most." Vivien blushed again, and turned his attention to the filly rather than continue to look at the older man. Minske moved to his side to leg him up, then said, gently, "That's not a bad thing. If she's that responsive on the ground, imagine what she'll do for you on the track?" A little startled, Vivien looked down at Minske from the saddle, then smiled. He wasn't one for talking much, but his expression showed his pleasure just fine. Minske stepped back. "Just two furlongs to sharpen up. Get what speed out of her you can." Vivien nodded, picking up the reins. The lightest shift of his body had Spitter moving forward, and Vivien barely had to gesture with the reins to get her to adjust her course. He found himself smiling just at her responsiveness.
The filly moved like a dream, smooth and taut and full of raw and untapped energy. Vivien found himself having to dial down his normal cues, as the filly responded to light movement so easily - there was no reason to be more forceful than necessary. He put her through her paces, getting more and more eager to really let her go and see what kind of speed that lean muscle could produce. The filly, unsurprisingly, seemed to sense his eagerness, and she mirrored it, starting to lean into the big just a little bit more. He asked her into a gallop, the leaned forward, whispering, "Let's see what you've got." He pushed his hands forward along her neck and Spitter was off like a shot, Vivien leaning in hard against the movement. He felt the surging of her body, heard the quick rhythm of her hooves against the turf. His long hair, tied back, was like a streamer behind him from beneath his helmet. He didn't want to stop her - he wanted to ride this tidal wave longer, feel the exhilaration of the crisp wind against his face. And yet they crossed the wire, cruising along at the rail in as strong a gallop-out as he had ridden. He knew he was smiling like an idiot when he pulled up to the gap, leaning over Spitter's withers to rub her neck appreciatively with both hands.
Minske was smiling as well. "What did I say? I've never seen her run like that. You bring something out of her." And Vivien couldn't deny it - there was something deeply personal in how well she ran for him, and he wasn't willing to pass it off as simple luck. She was his, plain and simple, and he would take her to glory.
"She'd be a good showmanship horse," came a voice from up ahead, and Vivien immediately turned with a blush at being caught playing with the filly. Minske's smile was kind, not mocking, and Vivien tried to push down his embarrassment as he closed the rest of the distance to the assistant trainer. They had become closer - friends, even - but Vivien's naturally shy nature wasn't so easily shelved. "I didn't teach her that," he felt he had to justify, and Minske shook his head. "I don't think anyone did. She's just that responsive. Though I do think she's already more responsive to you that she is to most." Vivien blushed again, and turned his attention to the filly rather than continue to look at the older man. Minske moved to his side to leg him up, then said, gently, "That's not a bad thing. If she's that responsive on the ground, imagine what she'll do for you on the track?" A little startled, Vivien looked down at Minske from the saddle, then smiled. He wasn't one for talking much, but his expression showed his pleasure just fine. Minske stepped back. "Just two furlongs to sharpen up. Get what speed out of her you can." Vivien nodded, picking up the reins. The lightest shift of his body had Spitter moving forward, and Vivien barely had to gesture with the reins to get her to adjust her course. He found himself smiling just at her responsiveness.
The filly moved like a dream, smooth and taut and full of raw and untapped energy. Vivien found himself having to dial down his normal cues, as the filly responded to light movement so easily - there was no reason to be more forceful than necessary. He put her through her paces, getting more and more eager to really let her go and see what kind of speed that lean muscle could produce. The filly, unsurprisingly, seemed to sense his eagerness, and she mirrored it, starting to lean into the big just a little bit more. He asked her into a gallop, the leaned forward, whispering, "Let's see what you've got." He pushed his hands forward along her neck and Spitter was off like a shot, Vivien leaning in hard against the movement. He felt the surging of her body, heard the quick rhythm of her hooves against the turf. His long hair, tied back, was like a streamer behind him from beneath his helmet. He didn't want to stop her - he wanted to ride this tidal wave longer, feel the exhilaration of the crisp wind against his face. And yet they crossed the wire, cruising along at the rail in as strong a gallop-out as he had ridden. He knew he was smiling like an idiot when he pulled up to the gap, leaning over Spitter's withers to rub her neck appreciatively with both hands.
Minske was smiling as well. "What did I say? I've never seen her run like that. You bring something out of her." And Vivien couldn't deny it - there was something deeply personal in how well she ran for him, and he wasn't willing to pass it off as simple luck. She was his, plain and simple, and he would take her to glory.
Homecoming.
Amarillo Sky & Halexia Suhail
Though no one really liked to admit it, everyone at Valkyrie hated even the thought of having to work with Amarillo Sky. While his surprising early return to the farm was greeted with excitement over his recent achievements, there was also that edge of dread that they were once more going to have to deal with the nastiest form of Augusto breeding. It was a strong, mutual, universal dislike - for everyone except Halexia. Call it Beauty and the Beast, but there was a bond between the woman and horse that no one could explain or even attempt to replicate. Hal had been beyond excited when she heard the stallion was coming home, and had been the first (and only) staff member on the trailer to take him out. At first he'd tensed, ears pinning like he was ready for a fight, but all it took was her hand trailing over his side and up to his head for him to realize who was there and relax into a completely different horse. She'd hugged his neck before untying him - something the other staff may have died trying - and he didn't so much as snap at her. Call it love, or fate, or soulmates - but whatever it was, Hal had tamed the nasty, vicious beast in Rillo.
Only when it came to her, of course. Which is why she'd opted to take him out for his work hours after the others were done, when there wasn't likely to be a single other horse around. Tigris had opted to join her, more for safety's sake than anything - while she trusted the stallion implicitly, Tigris was worried that he'd suddenly throw a fit and throw her. Tigris kept his distance when she led Rillo up, and it was easy to see why - even with Hal there as a buffer, the stallion immediately pinned his ears and bared his teeth, a clear threat of what would happen if the man came closer. The dislike was mirrored on Tigris' features. "Oh come on, how are you going to leg me up from over there?" Hal asked in amusement, and Tigris frowned. "If he doesn't stop looking at me like I'm fresh meat, I'm not helping you up. Do something about it." Perhaps a unreasonable request for anyone else, but Hal looked thoughtful. She turned to the bay, stroking him and mumbling something under her breath for a few moments. Rillo visible relaxed, though he did still keep a spiteful eye on Tigris. When Hal turned around, she was smiling triumphantly. Tigris shook his head. "No. No, you did not just whisper to that nasty beast and he just folds. Freaky witch."
"I love you too," Hal said almost blissfully, and Tigris shook his head again. He didn't say more, because Rillo looked like he was responding to Tigris' tone of voice in a bad way - best to get her on and moving out before whatever spell she'd worked had worn off. As quickly as he could, Tigris ducked in and threw the woman on, careful to keep his body turned so he'd at least see teeth coming. Then he backed away again, wary the whole time. Hal just scratched the stallion's neck, sitting easily and naturally on his strong back. While some horses were retired by five, the recently-made grade one stallion would run into his sixth year, and he'd never looked more fit. Despite his reservations about the stallion's personality, he couldn't complain about the sheer athletic prowess. "Watch my baby work," Hal said as she turned him to the track. Tigris didn't respond, simply leaning against the rail to watch.
Hal turned the powerful stallion to the dirt track, steady hands firm yet yielding to his mouth. Rillo chewed the bit, but he didn't toss his head around like he once had. He didn't fight or try to bully his way around. It seemed as if his time at Witch Creek had been well-spent, and Hal could only be grateful for their finishing touches - it was up to her now to see it through. She had every faith in him, though. He was finally starting to show the world that he was the superstar she'd always known him to be. They warmed up without incident, horse and rider easily sliding back into their old rhythm and taking basically no time to get reaccustomed to each other.
When she reached three furlongs from the wire, Hal let him loose. He was in top physical shape, so she just wanted to feel and remember the powerful animal that he was, and see what she was working with in the upcoming race. The stallion took the slack she gave and more, roaring out of his easy pace and into a full-blown drive. His ears were pinned to his skull, but not at her - it was as if he felt even the wind itself was his enemy, and he was determined to defeat it. She didn't even have to urge him to unleash his raw speed - he did it all on his own. She let out a whoop as they went, grinning the whole way, and the sound only seemed to encourage him more. She felt like they were practically flying, and was once again thankful that her boy was home. Even if Witch Creek had done a wonderful job, she couldn't help but feel that he was hers, and that she could bring the best out of him. They roared by the wire, and she saw Tigris smiling at the rail, mirroring her own expression. The horse was a rocket, and he would show the world what maturity could do.
Only when it came to her, of course. Which is why she'd opted to take him out for his work hours after the others were done, when there wasn't likely to be a single other horse around. Tigris had opted to join her, more for safety's sake than anything - while she trusted the stallion implicitly, Tigris was worried that he'd suddenly throw a fit and throw her. Tigris kept his distance when she led Rillo up, and it was easy to see why - even with Hal there as a buffer, the stallion immediately pinned his ears and bared his teeth, a clear threat of what would happen if the man came closer. The dislike was mirrored on Tigris' features. "Oh come on, how are you going to leg me up from over there?" Hal asked in amusement, and Tigris frowned. "If he doesn't stop looking at me like I'm fresh meat, I'm not helping you up. Do something about it." Perhaps a unreasonable request for anyone else, but Hal looked thoughtful. She turned to the bay, stroking him and mumbling something under her breath for a few moments. Rillo visible relaxed, though he did still keep a spiteful eye on Tigris. When Hal turned around, she was smiling triumphantly. Tigris shook his head. "No. No, you did not just whisper to that nasty beast and he just folds. Freaky witch."
"I love you too," Hal said almost blissfully, and Tigris shook his head again. He didn't say more, because Rillo looked like he was responding to Tigris' tone of voice in a bad way - best to get her on and moving out before whatever spell she'd worked had worn off. As quickly as he could, Tigris ducked in and threw the woman on, careful to keep his body turned so he'd at least see teeth coming. Then he backed away again, wary the whole time. Hal just scratched the stallion's neck, sitting easily and naturally on his strong back. While some horses were retired by five, the recently-made grade one stallion would run into his sixth year, and he'd never looked more fit. Despite his reservations about the stallion's personality, he couldn't complain about the sheer athletic prowess. "Watch my baby work," Hal said as she turned him to the track. Tigris didn't respond, simply leaning against the rail to watch.
Hal turned the powerful stallion to the dirt track, steady hands firm yet yielding to his mouth. Rillo chewed the bit, but he didn't toss his head around like he once had. He didn't fight or try to bully his way around. It seemed as if his time at Witch Creek had been well-spent, and Hal could only be grateful for their finishing touches - it was up to her now to see it through. She had every faith in him, though. He was finally starting to show the world that he was the superstar she'd always known him to be. They warmed up without incident, horse and rider easily sliding back into their old rhythm and taking basically no time to get reaccustomed to each other.
When she reached three furlongs from the wire, Hal let him loose. He was in top physical shape, so she just wanted to feel and remember the powerful animal that he was, and see what she was working with in the upcoming race. The stallion took the slack she gave and more, roaring out of his easy pace and into a full-blown drive. His ears were pinned to his skull, but not at her - it was as if he felt even the wind itself was his enemy, and he was determined to defeat it. She didn't even have to urge him to unleash his raw speed - he did it all on his own. She let out a whoop as they went, grinning the whole way, and the sound only seemed to encourage him more. She felt like they were practically flying, and was once again thankful that her boy was home. Even if Witch Creek had done a wonderful job, she couldn't help but feel that he was hers, and that she could bring the best out of him. They roared by the wire, and she saw Tigris smiling at the rail, mirroring her own expression. The horse was a rocket, and he would show the world what maturity could do.