Champions Emergent
Beautiful Liar & Desmond Drake
Ode To Glory & Halexia Suhail
Ode To Glory & Halexia Suhail
When they picked up Beautiful Liar upon their return to the track, the Valkyrie staff hadn't imagined the pretty grey mare would reach the form she had. Then again, Minske pondered, they really shouldn't have been surprised. Leah had shown a flash of pure brilliance in her three-year-old year, even if it hadn't been in HOTY company. And now that she had well settled into the routine, her rider, and her training, she was right on the edge a potential late-season upset. She hadn't won a HOTY yet this season, but she was running top-three against seasoned champion horses and holding her own. And from what Minske saw, she was continuing to improve with every work, every race, and she was going to shake some things up in the second half of the year. The mare's last two races had been HOTYs, one at Green Horse Fields and one at the newer Battlestone Down, and she had finished third in both. With her rapid improvement and Desmond's experienced hands, Minske doubted she'd be behind that way for long.
Ode To Glory seemed to be in much the same boat lately. While he did have the back class and even high-level wins on the season, success was becoming more fleeting as the year went on. He done fairly poorly in April, and then, due to a lack of races, had not run again until June. His first race back had been close, but he'd still finished third. However, with a rider like Hal aboard and a horse who held grudges like Ode did, Minske felt strongly that the stallion would rebound to his earlier form. He looked every inch the champion he was trying to be as Hal rode him out, reins firm as the stallion trotted down the lane. He was built stocky and strong, but it didn't seem to slow him down in a fight. The big grey looked impressive in the warm morning air, a presence of strength about his every movement. He was from lines that were now uniquely blended between Stride of Perfection and Valkyrie - his impressive sire was now homed at Valkyrie Stud and On To The Spotlight was still foaling at SOPS. As Minske watched him, he had the feeling that these were the sort of horses he could get used to. They were the sort of horses they seemed to excel at, underdog nobodies aside. They often ended up leasing or buying horses that their partners at Stride of Perfection no longer had time for or that conflicted with their more shining stars. Ode, Sweet Inferno, Alucard... all ready to prove themselves once out of the shadows of their former stablemates.
Minske was presiding over the first works of the day, as Cole had a meeting with some new potential leasers for some of their horses. Tigris had been none too thrilled to learn that Bowen Arrow and Fifty in Front might go to some newer stables to race the rest of the year, but Minske had somewhat soothed his anger. He would have time to focus on some of his other horses, and besides, Finn was likely to run the following year anyway. Finn had been Tigris' first ever mount, as Handsome Tabby had been Minske's, so Minske understood the pain in losing an animal you were close to. However, at least Finn would be coming back. Tabs was virtually lost to his first jockey. Minske shook his head, not wanting to dwell on unpleasant thoughts, and turned to see Desmond trotting Leah down the path as well. Ode's ears swiveled at the sound of the incoming equine, but he was more excited for the track than paying attention to the mare. So Hal urged the stallion out onto the turf while she had his attention. Leah whickered when she caught sight of Minske, and Desmond obligingly slowed the pretty grey so she could butt her nose into Minske's waiting hand. Where Ode was power, Leah was grace. Her name suited her perfectly with her tall, elegant stature. It was a little strange to see how two horses of the same color and height could be so incredibly different and distinct. "She sure is good to you, isn't she?" Desmond commented, patting the mare's neck lightly with one hand. Minske smiled, pushing at the mare's probing lips playfully. "She's friendly, the more she gets to know you. Not that she's mean otherwise." Minske stepped back, allowing Desmond to reclaim the mare's focus and send her out to the track. Minske walked to his customary position on the rail, watching as the riders quickly took the horses through their warm-up in the midsummer heat. It was still morning, so the temperature hadn't soared quite yet, but the horses did have a slight sheen of sweat when they were taken to the rail.
Five furlongs was the mark, and Ode led the pair. He wasn't the type of horse to get heady and pushy on the lead, even if he wasn't the most comfortable there, so Hal was able to get him into a brisk gallop without much of a problem. Leah settled nicely about a length back, not pressing but not backing off of her leader either. It was a little further forward than she tended to be during a race, but Desmond didn't let her drop back and she was willing enough. The first three furlongs unfolded without incidence, rounding the turn with both horses saving ground on the rail. However, as they turned for home, Desmond swung Leah to the right and shook her up, giving her a clear track for running room to gain on the stallion. With a flick of her tail she gave chase, slender yet powerful legs eating the ground with lengthy strides as she slowly gained on her competition. Hal held back longer than she normally would have, letting Leah get right at Ode's neck before allowing the eager stallion loose. She wanted a dogfight, and she got it. The two pounded out down the stretch together, hooves churning up turf all along the way. Minske couldn't say who got there first, but it was an impressive thing to watch and a good time to boot. Leah was eased first on the gallop out, and she seemed none too pleased with it. The mare loved a chase, and she was loathe to see any horse pulling away from her. It was just that sort of drive that was going to get her somewhere big, and soon.
Ode To Glory seemed to be in much the same boat lately. While he did have the back class and even high-level wins on the season, success was becoming more fleeting as the year went on. He done fairly poorly in April, and then, due to a lack of races, had not run again until June. His first race back had been close, but he'd still finished third. However, with a rider like Hal aboard and a horse who held grudges like Ode did, Minske felt strongly that the stallion would rebound to his earlier form. He looked every inch the champion he was trying to be as Hal rode him out, reins firm as the stallion trotted down the lane. He was built stocky and strong, but it didn't seem to slow him down in a fight. The big grey looked impressive in the warm morning air, a presence of strength about his every movement. He was from lines that were now uniquely blended between Stride of Perfection and Valkyrie - his impressive sire was now homed at Valkyrie Stud and On To The Spotlight was still foaling at SOPS. As Minske watched him, he had the feeling that these were the sort of horses he could get used to. They were the sort of horses they seemed to excel at, underdog nobodies aside. They often ended up leasing or buying horses that their partners at Stride of Perfection no longer had time for or that conflicted with their more shining stars. Ode, Sweet Inferno, Alucard... all ready to prove themselves once out of the shadows of their former stablemates.
Minske was presiding over the first works of the day, as Cole had a meeting with some new potential leasers for some of their horses. Tigris had been none too thrilled to learn that Bowen Arrow and Fifty in Front might go to some newer stables to race the rest of the year, but Minske had somewhat soothed his anger. He would have time to focus on some of his other horses, and besides, Finn was likely to run the following year anyway. Finn had been Tigris' first ever mount, as Handsome Tabby had been Minske's, so Minske understood the pain in losing an animal you were close to. However, at least Finn would be coming back. Tabs was virtually lost to his first jockey. Minske shook his head, not wanting to dwell on unpleasant thoughts, and turned to see Desmond trotting Leah down the path as well. Ode's ears swiveled at the sound of the incoming equine, but he was more excited for the track than paying attention to the mare. So Hal urged the stallion out onto the turf while she had his attention. Leah whickered when she caught sight of Minske, and Desmond obligingly slowed the pretty grey so she could butt her nose into Minske's waiting hand. Where Ode was power, Leah was grace. Her name suited her perfectly with her tall, elegant stature. It was a little strange to see how two horses of the same color and height could be so incredibly different and distinct. "She sure is good to you, isn't she?" Desmond commented, patting the mare's neck lightly with one hand. Minske smiled, pushing at the mare's probing lips playfully. "She's friendly, the more she gets to know you. Not that she's mean otherwise." Minske stepped back, allowing Desmond to reclaim the mare's focus and send her out to the track. Minske walked to his customary position on the rail, watching as the riders quickly took the horses through their warm-up in the midsummer heat. It was still morning, so the temperature hadn't soared quite yet, but the horses did have a slight sheen of sweat when they were taken to the rail.
Five furlongs was the mark, and Ode led the pair. He wasn't the type of horse to get heady and pushy on the lead, even if he wasn't the most comfortable there, so Hal was able to get him into a brisk gallop without much of a problem. Leah settled nicely about a length back, not pressing but not backing off of her leader either. It was a little further forward than she tended to be during a race, but Desmond didn't let her drop back and she was willing enough. The first three furlongs unfolded without incidence, rounding the turn with both horses saving ground on the rail. However, as they turned for home, Desmond swung Leah to the right and shook her up, giving her a clear track for running room to gain on the stallion. With a flick of her tail she gave chase, slender yet powerful legs eating the ground with lengthy strides as she slowly gained on her competition. Hal held back longer than she normally would have, letting Leah get right at Ode's neck before allowing the eager stallion loose. She wanted a dogfight, and she got it. The two pounded out down the stretch together, hooves churning up turf all along the way. Minske couldn't say who got there first, but it was an impressive thing to watch and a good time to boot. Leah was eased first on the gallop out, and she seemed none too pleased with it. The mare loved a chase, and she was loathe to see any horse pulling away from her. It was just that sort of drive that was going to get her somewhere big, and soon.
Bold Passion
Sweet Inferno & Halexia Suhail
Mourning Passion & Savita Tusaint
Mourning Passion & Savita Tusaint
It was almost hard to believe, but there was some definite frustration in the barn over Mourning Passion's recent performances. After an incredibly dominant three-year-old season and a fairly good start to the year, the stallion had hit a slump. He'd run pretty well up until April, with the exception of the Carter Handicap, but after nearly two months off he'd struck out with a fourth and third in his May races. There didn't seem to be anything physically wrong with him, nor was he losing form or mindset in any way. Cole was confident he was just a little off because of the break and he was eventually going to get pissed at continuously finishing behind and break loose for a win. Minske hoped that was true, particularly for his rider's sake. Savita took Mourn's every loss personally, and it played with her confidence. Quite frankly, Minske was secretly hoping for the stallion to snag his first win since March partly so he wouldn't have to pep talk Savita back into action after every race. It was somewhat tiring being the staff's therapist.
Sweet Inferno had been a little more noteworthy of late. While she fell to him in her most recent race in the Summer Cup, Sweetie had managed to beat one of the hottest stallions of the year, Anodyne, in The Great Graduation Derby the race before. She was on a steady and solid path, and her mistakes had been few. Nobody was lulled into thinking the year would be easy, not with the type of competition she was up against, but she was likely the most talented and fit horses currently at the farm. If anyone could help sharpen Mourn up again for his upcoming campaign to the Breeders' Cup Classic, it was the Crooked Fire mare. Hal rode the black's buck as she kept her moving toward the dirt, obviously well used to the antics before a work. Sweetie was the only mare Hal rode, as she was very adept with stallions and was normally placed there. However, she just seemed to click with Sweetie, and their results showed it. Both had a relaxed yet razor-sharp focus while on the track before a race, and both had tempers that they were able to channel very effectively so they hardly seemed like tempers at all.
Minske flashed Savita a smile as she followed Hal with Mourn, and was relieved to see that Savita smiled back, not embarrassedly looking away like she tended to when she was still dwelling on a loss. Head up and eyes forward was the way to take on difficult odds, and having her in the right mindset was half the battle. Mourn was ever the same, head proudly held and eyes looking on those around him with disdain. The stallion still had no particular love for his rider, at least not outwardly. He seemed to tolerate her presence a little more than others, but he was nobody's pet and didn't want to be pampered or babied. Regardless of that aloof nature, though, he was well respected in the barn and was definitely one of their stars. "Keep Mourn a half-length back, okay? Don't let him loose until the last furlong, and really push him to accelerate." Minske gave orders now as easily as his father, and was able to exert his own whims and ideas over the training of the horses. It was an exciting sort of power, but he wielded it responsibly - not that his riders would have let him do otherwise. Savita gave him a smile and a nod, then took Mourn out onto the dirt. The stallion went with business-like movements, graceful without the least bit of wasted energy.
The riders took the horses through their warmup quickly and efficiently, Sweetie taking on her workmanlike mentality now that she was on the track. She and Mourn easily went side by side, eyeing each other but knowing they needed to wait for the time to really let loose. It struck Minske that the pair was oddly well-suited to each other - though Sweetie had a very slightly more mareish build, they would have been impossible to tell apart from a distance. If they weren't already on board with her first foal being by Radiance, he may have tried to convince Larsa that this was a match worth pushing for. He would tuck the idea away anyway, since he never knew what opportunities would arise. The pair was taken up to a canter, and there were none of the mild fireworks that frequented the works of the hotheads and young animals. And yet they seemed far more powerful, as if every stride was barely containing a freakish amount of power. Perhaps they were. Finally the horses were taken to the rail and the riders followed his instructions, getting the horses into a gallop with Mourn just back from Sweetie. Mourn was the first to show eagerness for more speed, but Savita easily kept the stallion in hand. As they went, Mourn's strides continued to stretch out, and Savita had a harder time keeping the stallion in check just based on his incredible reach. Hal never lost track of her pursuer though, and Sweetie seemed as chilly and attentive as could be. Finally, with two furlongs left, Savita pushed Mourn into action. She hardly had to urge him into the acceleration she desired at all - he was eager enough to run the mare down on his own. Minske could immediately tell what the result would be, and watched as Mourn ate away the distance of the very game mare. In a marathon battle, Sweetie could run circles around Mourn for days. But when it came to outright speed at this short of a distance, Mourn could not be challenged. He gained ground with every stride, then he was passing the Sweet Stalker daughter with an almost haughty flick of his tail. Hal encouraged Sweetie to fight, but the battle was already lost.
Quite frankly, Minske was glad the two horses ran in different divisions - that would be a conflict that would probably drive him mad. As it was, he was completely confident in their fitness moving forward.
Sweet Inferno had been a little more noteworthy of late. While she fell to him in her most recent race in the Summer Cup, Sweetie had managed to beat one of the hottest stallions of the year, Anodyne, in The Great Graduation Derby the race before. She was on a steady and solid path, and her mistakes had been few. Nobody was lulled into thinking the year would be easy, not with the type of competition she was up against, but she was likely the most talented and fit horses currently at the farm. If anyone could help sharpen Mourn up again for his upcoming campaign to the Breeders' Cup Classic, it was the Crooked Fire mare. Hal rode the black's buck as she kept her moving toward the dirt, obviously well used to the antics before a work. Sweetie was the only mare Hal rode, as she was very adept with stallions and was normally placed there. However, she just seemed to click with Sweetie, and their results showed it. Both had a relaxed yet razor-sharp focus while on the track before a race, and both had tempers that they were able to channel very effectively so they hardly seemed like tempers at all.
Minske flashed Savita a smile as she followed Hal with Mourn, and was relieved to see that Savita smiled back, not embarrassedly looking away like she tended to when she was still dwelling on a loss. Head up and eyes forward was the way to take on difficult odds, and having her in the right mindset was half the battle. Mourn was ever the same, head proudly held and eyes looking on those around him with disdain. The stallion still had no particular love for his rider, at least not outwardly. He seemed to tolerate her presence a little more than others, but he was nobody's pet and didn't want to be pampered or babied. Regardless of that aloof nature, though, he was well respected in the barn and was definitely one of their stars. "Keep Mourn a half-length back, okay? Don't let him loose until the last furlong, and really push him to accelerate." Minske gave orders now as easily as his father, and was able to exert his own whims and ideas over the training of the horses. It was an exciting sort of power, but he wielded it responsibly - not that his riders would have let him do otherwise. Savita gave him a smile and a nod, then took Mourn out onto the dirt. The stallion went with business-like movements, graceful without the least bit of wasted energy.
The riders took the horses through their warmup quickly and efficiently, Sweetie taking on her workmanlike mentality now that she was on the track. She and Mourn easily went side by side, eyeing each other but knowing they needed to wait for the time to really let loose. It struck Minske that the pair was oddly well-suited to each other - though Sweetie had a very slightly more mareish build, they would have been impossible to tell apart from a distance. If they weren't already on board with her first foal being by Radiance, he may have tried to convince Larsa that this was a match worth pushing for. He would tuck the idea away anyway, since he never knew what opportunities would arise. The pair was taken up to a canter, and there were none of the mild fireworks that frequented the works of the hotheads and young animals. And yet they seemed far more powerful, as if every stride was barely containing a freakish amount of power. Perhaps they were. Finally the horses were taken to the rail and the riders followed his instructions, getting the horses into a gallop with Mourn just back from Sweetie. Mourn was the first to show eagerness for more speed, but Savita easily kept the stallion in hand. As they went, Mourn's strides continued to stretch out, and Savita had a harder time keeping the stallion in check just based on his incredible reach. Hal never lost track of her pursuer though, and Sweetie seemed as chilly and attentive as could be. Finally, with two furlongs left, Savita pushed Mourn into action. She hardly had to urge him into the acceleration she desired at all - he was eager enough to run the mare down on his own. Minske could immediately tell what the result would be, and watched as Mourn ate away the distance of the very game mare. In a marathon battle, Sweetie could run circles around Mourn for days. But when it came to outright speed at this short of a distance, Mourn could not be challenged. He gained ground with every stride, then he was passing the Sweet Stalker daughter with an almost haughty flick of his tail. Hal encouraged Sweetie to fight, but the battle was already lost.
Quite frankly, Minske was glad the two horses ran in different divisions - that would be a conflict that would probably drive him mad. As it was, he was completely confident in their fitness moving forward.
Hunters
Stalking The Stars & Clarimonde Tusaint
Bowen Arrow & Tigris Greenfire
Bowen Arrow & Tigris Greenfire
The heavy clouds beginning to roll in weren't unexpected, but that didn't make them any more enjoyable. Minske knew that in only a few minutes, half an hour at the most, they were going to be drenched. It wasn't the horses he was worried about - most of them hardly seemed to care about the elements - but the riders were another story. Wet clothes and tack tended to make everyone miserable, but it was good experience to keep the horses working through the rain. They'd rather they weren't startled in a race if they hadn't run much in the water. He figured they'd at least have this work done before it started. The longer the rain stayed away from Tigris, the better the mood his friend was likely to stay in. He wasn't so worried about the other rider, Clarimonde - while he might get unhappy, he wasn't one to show it. Or rather, he was always quiet and somewhat frigid, so his unhappy mood didn't present much differently. He and Minske got along alright just because of Minske's open and accepting nature, but even then they couldn't be called friends. He sat Stalking The Stars like he was born in the saddle, guiding her mostly with his knees as he adjusted his helmet. For her part, the mare was sweet and mellow as usual, looking forward with interest but not overt eagerness. Any other horse would have run off before a work with her reins loose on her neck - but of course Clarimonde knew his mounts impeccably, and there wasn't a hint of nervousness or agitation in his movements. Minske envied his self-assured nature. "You guys are going three furlongs. This is just maintenance, so follow your gut." Clarimonde glanced at him sidelong as the mare walked past him, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement. He picked up the mare's reins, and immediately she got more eagerness about her gate, trotting out in a prancing fashion.
Tigris went by a moment later, trotting the excited bay stallion through the gap. Bowen Arrow and Stalking The Stars had both been doing pretty well this year. Star had won nearly half of her races, and aside from one bobble in February hadn't finished worse than second. Her breeding was showing as she got older - she was potentially a candidate to keep around for another year if she seemed in form. Bow had three wins on the year, including a recent win in the Seashell Cup, and a hearty helping of seconds, including in two HOTY races. He would likely never be superstar material, but they were very excited with how he'd done so far in his final season. He was only one win away from grade one, something that was impressive for a stallion that had had a very rocky two-year-old year. Tigris caught the bay up to Star, and the two went easily and quickly through their warm-up together. Bow was headstrong but manageable, and Star was a dream as always. The horses seemed oblivious to the coming rain despite the dark clouds now rolling over the sky. Moisture saturated the air, making it seem heavy and damp. Minske put the hood up on his light jacket just before the horses were taken into a gallop - better to be warm than wet. The pack horses ran side-by-side at an easy pace until they were about halfway through the turn, and then Tigris urged Bow for more. Star responded instantly, keeping even with the stallion as they moved into a race speed. The two never left each other as they swung down the stretch, pushing and surging against the turf as they came home under hand rides. Whenever one horse picked up speed, the other would match it, and by the time they swept by the wire, they were going at a near-blistering pace under their own power. Minske didn't mind, not really, especially since it was only over a short distance. The riders eased them back a little and let them gallop around the far turn again, keeping the time strong, and it started to rain just as the horses were brought back to a walk. While they might be unhappy about being wet, everyone could at least be happy with that performance.
Tigris went by a moment later, trotting the excited bay stallion through the gap. Bowen Arrow and Stalking The Stars had both been doing pretty well this year. Star had won nearly half of her races, and aside from one bobble in February hadn't finished worse than second. Her breeding was showing as she got older - she was potentially a candidate to keep around for another year if she seemed in form. Bow had three wins on the year, including a recent win in the Seashell Cup, and a hearty helping of seconds, including in two HOTY races. He would likely never be superstar material, but they were very excited with how he'd done so far in his final season. He was only one win away from grade one, something that was impressive for a stallion that had had a very rocky two-year-old year. Tigris caught the bay up to Star, and the two went easily and quickly through their warm-up together. Bow was headstrong but manageable, and Star was a dream as always. The horses seemed oblivious to the coming rain despite the dark clouds now rolling over the sky. Moisture saturated the air, making it seem heavy and damp. Minske put the hood up on his light jacket just before the horses were taken into a gallop - better to be warm than wet. The pack horses ran side-by-side at an easy pace until they were about halfway through the turn, and then Tigris urged Bow for more. Star responded instantly, keeping even with the stallion as they moved into a race speed. The two never left each other as they swung down the stretch, pushing and surging against the turf as they came home under hand rides. Whenever one horse picked up speed, the other would match it, and by the time they swept by the wire, they were going at a near-blistering pace under their own power. Minske didn't mind, not really, especially since it was only over a short distance. The riders eased them back a little and let them gallop around the far turn again, keeping the time strong, and it started to rain just as the horses were brought back to a walk. While they might be unhappy about being wet, everyone could at least be happy with that performance.
Science and Myth
Valine & Clarimonde Tusaint
Criosphinx & Tigris Greenfire
Criosphinx & Tigris Greenfire
The light rain had turned to a downpour by the time Minske led Valine out to the track. Just hearing her, you'd think the filly was throwing a full-blown fit with her squealing and general carrying on. However, Val wasn't hurting anything but Minske's ear drums - aside from her mouth and quivering sides, she was walking along as if she wasn't making any noise at all. Horses answered her whinnies from all corners of the farm and it only fed her constant calling. The only thing Minske could do to quiet her noise was to fill the silence with his own voice, since it was the dullness of the falling rain that caused her to cry out. So he kept up a steady stream of basically nonsense as they made their way to the track, glad the filly was quiet and curiously attentive to him as long as he wasn't silent for more than a moment. He wasn't really mad about her high-maintenance nature, though. She was lovable in spite of it, and she was slowly coming into her own, as sprinters sometimes did. While she wasn't racking up the wins, she also wasn't backsliding, and had only finished out of the money once this season. And that was her first race of the year. Experience was bringing this filly forward one step at a time, and he knew her potential was far from tapped.
When he made it trackside, Clarimonde was just getting there as well. He was just as sopping wet as Minske, but he still took a minute to survey the bay filly. "Do you think Cole will let her run in the Tiara?" He finally asked as he let Minske give him a leg up. Minske was a little surprised, as Clari hardly talked to anyone, but took it in stride. "Well, he's run her in a prep, so that's a start. Depending on the field, yeah, I think he'll let her run. Especially if you think she's got it in her." Clari didn't respond other than having a thoughtful look on his face - at least, Minske thought it was thoughtful. The rain made it hard to tell. Gathering his reins, the boy moved the filly out onto the dirt. She was whickering under her breath against the bit, but was mostly distracted from her noisiness now that she was otherwise occupied. A moment after Val touched dirt, the quick sound of hooves thudding against the ground in a trot caused Minske to turn. Tigris breezed past him on the thick chestnut colt, flashing him a grin as he let the juvenile carry himself out to the track. Minske leaned against the rail, yelling over the pouring rain at him. "Maybe if you weren't late you wouldn't have to hurry so much!"
"Nah, I just want him to think the rain is full of fun and privileges!" his friend yelled back, and Minske rocked back on his heels and shook his head in an indulgent manner. The horses were breezing a short two furlongs, and Minske had earlier instructed them to let the horses go at their own pace - for the same reason Tigris was letting bust out. He wanted them to acclimate and have some fun in the bad weather so they wouldn't dread it on a race day. From what he could see as they warmed up, though, that wasn't going to be much of a problem. Valine seemed thrilled with the sloppy mud, practically splashing with her front legs as she cantered down the center of the track. Criosphinx, though he was younger, wasn't quite as youthfully exuberant, but he didn't seemed bothered by it in the least, either. Cry had had an incredibly solid start to his career, making up for his insignificant pedigree by nabbing three wins, sitting on the brink of grade four. He was mostly running in undercards, but Minske felt he was the sort to build his way into higher competition as he got older. They weren't in a huge hurry to rush the big, burly colt.
The horses were moved to the rail with the filly on the inside. Soupy mud splashed off their heels as they were urged into a gallop, both horses going at a fairly languid pace as they approached the starting pole. Tigris asked for speed first, not specifying a pace but letting the reins slack and urging with his voice until Cry acted like he had some run in him. Valine responded, mostly because she hated being left behind and running alone, and by the end of the two furlongs the two horses had reached a pretty respectable speed. Clarimonde urged Val for more right before the wire, given that the filly had a tendency to slack off sometimes and not push for the lead at the end of the race. She responded well though, pushing her shoulders ahead of the juvenile colt without any heavy urging, ears pricked forward and absolutely fresh even when she was pulled up. Clarimonde gave her a quick pet, glove coming back from her neck muddy. Cry looked irritated, but that was fine as well - he'd be raring to go next time.
When he made it trackside, Clarimonde was just getting there as well. He was just as sopping wet as Minske, but he still took a minute to survey the bay filly. "Do you think Cole will let her run in the Tiara?" He finally asked as he let Minske give him a leg up. Minske was a little surprised, as Clari hardly talked to anyone, but took it in stride. "Well, he's run her in a prep, so that's a start. Depending on the field, yeah, I think he'll let her run. Especially if you think she's got it in her." Clari didn't respond other than having a thoughtful look on his face - at least, Minske thought it was thoughtful. The rain made it hard to tell. Gathering his reins, the boy moved the filly out onto the dirt. She was whickering under her breath against the bit, but was mostly distracted from her noisiness now that she was otherwise occupied. A moment after Val touched dirt, the quick sound of hooves thudding against the ground in a trot caused Minske to turn. Tigris breezed past him on the thick chestnut colt, flashing him a grin as he let the juvenile carry himself out to the track. Minske leaned against the rail, yelling over the pouring rain at him. "Maybe if you weren't late you wouldn't have to hurry so much!"
"Nah, I just want him to think the rain is full of fun and privileges!" his friend yelled back, and Minske rocked back on his heels and shook his head in an indulgent manner. The horses were breezing a short two furlongs, and Minske had earlier instructed them to let the horses go at their own pace - for the same reason Tigris was letting bust out. He wanted them to acclimate and have some fun in the bad weather so they wouldn't dread it on a race day. From what he could see as they warmed up, though, that wasn't going to be much of a problem. Valine seemed thrilled with the sloppy mud, practically splashing with her front legs as she cantered down the center of the track. Criosphinx, though he was younger, wasn't quite as youthfully exuberant, but he didn't seemed bothered by it in the least, either. Cry had had an incredibly solid start to his career, making up for his insignificant pedigree by nabbing three wins, sitting on the brink of grade four. He was mostly running in undercards, but Minske felt he was the sort to build his way into higher competition as he got older. They weren't in a huge hurry to rush the big, burly colt.
The horses were moved to the rail with the filly on the inside. Soupy mud splashed off their heels as they were urged into a gallop, both horses going at a fairly languid pace as they approached the starting pole. Tigris asked for speed first, not specifying a pace but letting the reins slack and urging with his voice until Cry acted like he had some run in him. Valine responded, mostly because she hated being left behind and running alone, and by the end of the two furlongs the two horses had reached a pretty respectable speed. Clarimonde urged Val for more right before the wire, given that the filly had a tendency to slack off sometimes and not push for the lead at the end of the race. She responded well though, pushing her shoulders ahead of the juvenile colt without any heavy urging, ears pricked forward and absolutely fresh even when she was pulled up. Clarimonde gave her a quick pet, glove coming back from her neck muddy. Cry looked irritated, but that was fine as well - he'd be raring to go next time.
Long Journey
Aphrodite's Chant & Clarimonde Tusaint
Fifty in Front & Tigris Greenfire
Monarch's Journey & Vivien Charron
Fifty in Front & Tigris Greenfire
Monarch's Journey & Vivien Charron
"Minske, what the hell is that monster you're on?" Tigris didn't soften his words as he caught sight of his friend on the track, who was, for the first time, above a horse. And not one he'd ever seen. "And where have you been hiding it?" he added, really registering the pure size of the horse. It was as tall as any of their tallest Thoroughbreds, even Shenanigans, and was much bigger. He stood placidly as Minske flashed Tigris a grin, patting the big grey on the neck. "A friend of dad's had this guy for sale and I snatched him up. I don't think even Chiquato could stand up to him." Tigris couldn't find flaw in that logic, though it was still strange seeing Minske on the massive horse. "So he's going to be a pony, then?" he asked as the grey came up to walk beside Tigris' chestnut. Fifty in Front tossed his head and pinned his ears at the other horse, but to Tigris' surprise the grey pinned his ears right back, and Finn submitted. He still looked a little grumpy, but he wasn't going to fight. "I think it's probably as good a job as any for him. And it'll be easier for me to save your sorry ass if Finn throws you." His he grinned slyly sidelong and Tigris made a face just before kicking Finn into a trot and moving away from Minske. "He hasn't thrown me in a year, you know!" he called over his shoulder, all righteous indignation.
Grinning, Minske moved Panther to the outside of the track just in time to watch Aphrodite's Chant and Monarch's Journey trot off after Finn. The grey watched them go, not even bothering to prick his ears in interest - they were flopped out to the side almost comically, and he was idly chewing his bit. Not needing to worry about the horse beneath him, Minske took out his stopwatch and watched the horses warm up. Finn was the senior in the group, and so far this year had been trucking along the way he was apt to do. Since coming to Valkyrie nearly two years ago, Finn had turned around both his attitude and his record, rising to grade three under the farm's training and care. He hadn't, perhaps, done better than 'average' in the last few months, but he hadn't finished out of the money recently either and his latest race had resulted in a win that had them all optimistic. He was right on the edge of grade two, so Minske was confident in thinking he'd at least hit that milestone by his retirement at the end of the year. The other two horses working were juveniles, and one was by and large widely recognizable, at least in the dirt circuit. Aphrodite's Chant continued to wow over impressive competitors, taking both the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt and The Radiance Classic in the last two months. She'd officially won half of her races so far in her career, and it was a somewhat Cinderella story that everyone on the farm could get behind. The filly was going along excitedly, gaping her mouth against the bit as Clarimonde kept her at an even pace. She was a little different in works than in a race, as she currently would have run away from her workmates without a care while in a race she enjoyed company for most of the run. She was a flashy horse by nature, and she was hard not to look at when she was out there. If she kept on track, the filly was aimed for The Youth Challenge series in October and November and would attempt to take the Breeders' Cup Juvenile Fillies at the end of the year. Aside from some major turn of events, Minske expected her form to hold.
The last of the workers was perhaps the easiest to overlook. Monarch's Journey was not a flashy horse - not in looks nor in attitude. He had a serious nature and, while quite a handsome animal, didn't quite draw the eye. Minske, for one, loved that trait. He could be overlooked by competitors, fans, everything - the only time the bay colt was truly noticed was when he ran. And he ran well. The colt, despite his meager bloodline, hadn't finished worse than third yet in his career. His workmanlike and intelligent attitude was becoming increasingly evident and more important as he grew into his size, and he was definitely going to be a dark horse in the coming years. As Minske watched, the horses moved into their four furlong work on the backstretch, with Finn moving easily and excitedly on the lead with Chance and Arch side-by-side barely a length behind. Arch was barely under a hold at all, while Clari was keeping Chance well in check. Tigris was doing the same with Finn. They went through the first furlongs easily, with Arch steadily creeping up Finn's inside until he was pressing at the stallion's lead. Finn pinned his ears at the colt's approach, and after a few strides and a furlong and a half left to run, Tigris let Finn do as he pleased. Gathering the reins and leaning low on the stallion's neck, Finn took the cue and kicked into drive. He immediately began pulling away from the bay even though Vivien asked for him to chase, and another moment later Chance had drawn alongside the colt. Finn was practically on his own from that point - Tigris hardly urged him and he put up a much more mature time passing the wire than the younger horses. Chance hovered by Arch's side for a moment before steadily inching away, crossing the wire in front of Minske about a half-length in front of Arch, and doing it handily, even if she didn't have a chance to catch the chestnut ahead. Minske knew it was a measure of how good Chance was, not anything bad for Arch. His time was still very good and likely very competitive. He was by far the smartest of the three animals and seemed very disgruntled on the gallop-out, not happy with being passed up by the filly and the stallion. That drive and his slow maturity would bring him his day very soon.
Grinning, Minske moved Panther to the outside of the track just in time to watch Aphrodite's Chant and Monarch's Journey trot off after Finn. The grey watched them go, not even bothering to prick his ears in interest - they were flopped out to the side almost comically, and he was idly chewing his bit. Not needing to worry about the horse beneath him, Minske took out his stopwatch and watched the horses warm up. Finn was the senior in the group, and so far this year had been trucking along the way he was apt to do. Since coming to Valkyrie nearly two years ago, Finn had turned around both his attitude and his record, rising to grade three under the farm's training and care. He hadn't, perhaps, done better than 'average' in the last few months, but he hadn't finished out of the money recently either and his latest race had resulted in a win that had them all optimistic. He was right on the edge of grade two, so Minske was confident in thinking he'd at least hit that milestone by his retirement at the end of the year. The other two horses working were juveniles, and one was by and large widely recognizable, at least in the dirt circuit. Aphrodite's Chant continued to wow over impressive competitors, taking both the Follow The Hoofprints Juvenile Dirt and The Radiance Classic in the last two months. She'd officially won half of her races so far in her career, and it was a somewhat Cinderella story that everyone on the farm could get behind. The filly was going along excitedly, gaping her mouth against the bit as Clarimonde kept her at an even pace. She was a little different in works than in a race, as she currently would have run away from her workmates without a care while in a race she enjoyed company for most of the run. She was a flashy horse by nature, and she was hard not to look at when she was out there. If she kept on track, the filly was aimed for The Youth Challenge series in October and November and would attempt to take the Breeders' Cup Juvenile Fillies at the end of the year. Aside from some major turn of events, Minske expected her form to hold.
The last of the workers was perhaps the easiest to overlook. Monarch's Journey was not a flashy horse - not in looks nor in attitude. He had a serious nature and, while quite a handsome animal, didn't quite draw the eye. Minske, for one, loved that trait. He could be overlooked by competitors, fans, everything - the only time the bay colt was truly noticed was when he ran. And he ran well. The colt, despite his meager bloodline, hadn't finished worse than third yet in his career. His workmanlike and intelligent attitude was becoming increasingly evident and more important as he grew into his size, and he was definitely going to be a dark horse in the coming years. As Minske watched, the horses moved into their four furlong work on the backstretch, with Finn moving easily and excitedly on the lead with Chance and Arch side-by-side barely a length behind. Arch was barely under a hold at all, while Clari was keeping Chance well in check. Tigris was doing the same with Finn. They went through the first furlongs easily, with Arch steadily creeping up Finn's inside until he was pressing at the stallion's lead. Finn pinned his ears at the colt's approach, and after a few strides and a furlong and a half left to run, Tigris let Finn do as he pleased. Gathering the reins and leaning low on the stallion's neck, Finn took the cue and kicked into drive. He immediately began pulling away from the bay even though Vivien asked for him to chase, and another moment later Chance had drawn alongside the colt. Finn was practically on his own from that point - Tigris hardly urged him and he put up a much more mature time passing the wire than the younger horses. Chance hovered by Arch's side for a moment before steadily inching away, crossing the wire in front of Minske about a half-length in front of Arch, and doing it handily, even if she didn't have a chance to catch the chestnut ahead. Minske knew it was a measure of how good Chance was, not anything bad for Arch. His time was still very good and likely very competitive. He was by far the smartest of the three animals and seemed very disgruntled on the gallop-out, not happy with being passed up by the filly and the stallion. That drive and his slow maturity would bring him his day very soon.
Learning Curve
Jericho & Tigris Greenfire
Santana's Legend & Vivien Charron
Santana's Legend & Vivien Charron
It was only recently that Minske had taken some interest in the lines of the horses beyond the obvious immediate family, and he'd probably been more surprised than he should have been that Jericho was Valkyrie's deepest pedigree. His direct sire line was accounted for for four full generations before the well ran dry, something that not many horses of his age could boast. Between Rosalind, High Times, and Shooting Star, Jericho was likely related to half of the horses currently on the track - and his first planned foal, out of Shenanigans, would related to half again as many with Augusto thrown into the mix. Minske could understand now why there was already interest in breeding to the colt despite his grade four status - quite frankly, his lines were incredibly unique and miles deep, which would make him potentially a more important breeding horse than he ever was a racer. Which was well and good for Larsa, but Minske was determined for him to make a mark on the racing scene before he retired regardless of whether that mark would be as strong. The bay was in a good place as of now, still holding to his consistency after his first debacles in January. He was maturing slowly but surely, and had finally nabbed his grade four win in his last out. Looking at him, Minske could see why he was so slow to mature - he was becoming ever bigger, filling out slowly but strongly as the months went by. Even if he couldn't get him to his best form this year, Minske was well sure he was going to do something big as a four-year-old. At least he wasn't one of the monsters to work with in the meantime - he had a fantastic disposition, and he couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't love just spending time with the sweet-natured animal.
Santana's Legend, by contrast, didn't have the golden lines. However, they were rare, and would continue to be given that her sire had died before siring any other foals. It was a shame, really, considering Ana was already doing very well for herself in the HOTY fields. She had finished in the top two in six HOTY races so far this year, and while she was somewhat inconsistent, she had a lot going for her. Her personality wasn't the least of it, either, given she was just as sweet as Jericho was. The two were a pretty picture, trotting side-by-side down the turf as amicable as could be. Vivien matched the bay filly ridiculously well, his own personality as easygoing and calm as hers. He smiled over at Tigris as he talked, obviously enjoying the company of the older rider. Tigris was more relaxed than usual, especially since he wasn't worried about his mount suddenly freaking out for no reason. The horses could feel the mood even further, and from Minske's vantage point it looked like they weren't about to have a bullet work. He couldn't complain, though - he'd rather the animals be enjoying themselves than burning themselves out if possible. He watched as they moved them into a canter, then eventually a gallop. Jericho was slower to get started, sitting about two lengths back from the filly. He was in no hurry, simply listening to Tigris' cues, and Ana was doing the same in the front. Vivien got her up to a decent speed, and the filly ran with ears pressed forward and an alert energy to her step.
For about a furlong Tigris let Jer cruise behind. Then he began urging him on, having him creep up on Ana the way he tended to do. Vivien urged Ana on as well, and she responded, but she wasn't taking it seriously enough to put up a real fight against the older horse - inch by inch Jericho caught up to her before he was moving by like an unstoppable train. When he passed Ana she showed a little bit more fight, but Jericho wasn't truly challenged going past the wire. Vivien smiled, patting the filly's neck - lucky for him, she always showed up to a race with her game face.
Santana's Legend, by contrast, didn't have the golden lines. However, they were rare, and would continue to be given that her sire had died before siring any other foals. It was a shame, really, considering Ana was already doing very well for herself in the HOTY fields. She had finished in the top two in six HOTY races so far this year, and while she was somewhat inconsistent, she had a lot going for her. Her personality wasn't the least of it, either, given she was just as sweet as Jericho was. The two were a pretty picture, trotting side-by-side down the turf as amicable as could be. Vivien matched the bay filly ridiculously well, his own personality as easygoing and calm as hers. He smiled over at Tigris as he talked, obviously enjoying the company of the older rider. Tigris was more relaxed than usual, especially since he wasn't worried about his mount suddenly freaking out for no reason. The horses could feel the mood even further, and from Minske's vantage point it looked like they weren't about to have a bullet work. He couldn't complain, though - he'd rather the animals be enjoying themselves than burning themselves out if possible. He watched as they moved them into a canter, then eventually a gallop. Jericho was slower to get started, sitting about two lengths back from the filly. He was in no hurry, simply listening to Tigris' cues, and Ana was doing the same in the front. Vivien got her up to a decent speed, and the filly ran with ears pressed forward and an alert energy to her step.
For about a furlong Tigris let Jer cruise behind. Then he began urging him on, having him creep up on Ana the way he tended to do. Vivien urged Ana on as well, and she responded, but she wasn't taking it seriously enough to put up a real fight against the older horse - inch by inch Jericho caught up to her before he was moving by like an unstoppable train. When he passed Ana she showed a little bit more fight, but Jericho wasn't truly challenged going past the wire. Vivien smiled, patting the filly's neck - lucky for him, she always showed up to a race with her game face.
Frozen Fly
Phantasm Frost & Clarimonde Tusaint
Spitterfly & Vivien Charron
Spitterfly & Vivien Charron
Minske was putting Panther to real use for the first time as he walked the big grey beside the trotting, eager Phantasm Frost. Minske held the leather strap, attached to Frost's bit, in his right hand while guiding his steadfast horse with his left. Frost was a high-strung colt on the track, but he seemed a little more subdued when matched with the rock-like solidity of Panther, and Minske was glad for it. Frost had had a somewhat rocky year to date while preparing for the turf sprinter crown, but he had finally nabbed himself a prep win in the Boy's Festival. The staff sincerely hoped that was a sign of him maturing, not just a fluke. And they had real reason for that hope - firstly, the colt was already much more consistent this year than he had been the year before. Second, he was getting more used to HOTY competition again after running undercards for the early part of the year and he seemed to be back to his juvenile form. He would likely always be the sort of horse to sneak a win in when no one is looking, but hopefully he was growing to be more consistent in doing so.
Spitterfly, for her part, was beginning to regain some of her early racing form, when she'd been primely with the leaders of her division. She still had yet to finish worse than second since March, and had finally snagged another win in June. With six seconds to two wins on the year, Vivien was incredibly excited for the moment she pushed over that ledge and started really showing herself. After all, she had Frozen Motion and Sweet Inferno as recently-dominating siblings, so she had everything she needed to break that glass ceiling. Minske had half a mind to run the filly in the later legs of the turf sprinter tiara, and that was why he'd paired her with Frost for the work - he wanted to see how she'd handle herself. Vivien brought the leggy filly alongside the burly colt, who eyed her sidelong despite having his nose held near Minske's leg. Clarimonde said nothing, but did glance over at Vivien when the filly settled beside them. "This should be fine," Minske said after they had a short canter, and Clarimonde nodded. Minske threaded his leather strap away and Clari straightened the colt out immediately as he picked up speed away from his pony, grey filly steadfastly in company. Both of the horses liked to have someone to follow, but Minske wanted them to get used to being out there on their own, so they were kept together as they moved onto the rail and into a gallop. Frost was clearly harder to keep reined in, bowing his neck against the restraining bit, but Clari kept him on pace with firm hands. Spitter went easily, sensitive as always to Vivien's cues. They were moderately paced for a furlong, then Clari let Frost out for the real two furlong work. The bay shot off like a dog from its cage, leaping away from Spitterfly with incredible turn of foot. Vivien shook Spitterfly up in response and the grey gave chase, long legs churning against the grass. She chased at Frost's rump, never further than a length off, but now that the sprinter had his way there was no way he was letting the filly get back up with him. Vivien didn't push her - he was happy with the pace they were going - but he also knew that if he had decided to really urge her on she would be able to catch him. The filly was so willing and so eager to please that she'd try to jump the moon if he really wanted her to. So let Frost have his day - Spitterfly would have hers very soon.
Spitterfly, for her part, was beginning to regain some of her early racing form, when she'd been primely with the leaders of her division. She still had yet to finish worse than second since March, and had finally snagged another win in June. With six seconds to two wins on the year, Vivien was incredibly excited for the moment she pushed over that ledge and started really showing herself. After all, she had Frozen Motion and Sweet Inferno as recently-dominating siblings, so she had everything she needed to break that glass ceiling. Minske had half a mind to run the filly in the later legs of the turf sprinter tiara, and that was why he'd paired her with Frost for the work - he wanted to see how she'd handle herself. Vivien brought the leggy filly alongside the burly colt, who eyed her sidelong despite having his nose held near Minske's leg. Clarimonde said nothing, but did glance over at Vivien when the filly settled beside them. "This should be fine," Minske said after they had a short canter, and Clarimonde nodded. Minske threaded his leather strap away and Clari straightened the colt out immediately as he picked up speed away from his pony, grey filly steadfastly in company. Both of the horses liked to have someone to follow, but Minske wanted them to get used to being out there on their own, so they were kept together as they moved onto the rail and into a gallop. Frost was clearly harder to keep reined in, bowing his neck against the restraining bit, but Clari kept him on pace with firm hands. Spitter went easily, sensitive as always to Vivien's cues. They were moderately paced for a furlong, then Clari let Frost out for the real two furlong work. The bay shot off like a dog from its cage, leaping away from Spitterfly with incredible turn of foot. Vivien shook Spitterfly up in response and the grey gave chase, long legs churning against the grass. She chased at Frost's rump, never further than a length off, but now that the sprinter had his way there was no way he was letting the filly get back up with him. Vivien didn't push her - he was happy with the pace they were going - but he also knew that if he had decided to really urge her on she would be able to catch him. The filly was so willing and so eager to please that she'd try to jump the moon if he really wanted her to. So let Frost have his day - Spitterfly would have hers very soon.
Dedication
Passionate God & Halexia Suhail
Alucard & Savita Tusaint
Wyvern & Minske Mavecci
Alucard & Savita Tusaint
Wyvern & Minske Mavecci
Cole wasn't necessarily a 'change of pace' sort of guy, but there was one specific thing that had been brought to his attention: he had a couple of horses that were nuts in the gate and it was time to try and address the issue. The horses were very fit at this time of year and he didn't mind taking a bit of time to re-lay some groundwork for the three feisty colts. "I can't believe the juvenile's the best of them," the head trainer mumbled, and his son aboard the horse in question laughed. "He's just a brat, that's why. The other two are just assholes about it." Cole had the horse on a lead while a couple of assistants stood ready. One had a lunge whip, ready to remind the horses what they'd been taught a long time ago - not going into the gate was noise, uncomfortable, and annoying, while going into the gate meant quick freedom on the other side. At least, it would be that simple with Wyvern.
The colt had done well during the summer, finishing no worse than second and nabbing a win in May. He was a slowly maturing juvenile, but he was definitely maturing well. There was really nothing for Cole to complain about, aside from wanting to turn some of those reds into blues. Cole led the colt forward to the gate, swatting the bay's nose whenever he tried to go in for a nip. He hesitated when they got to the closed gate, throwing his head up and skittering a little sideways, but a single snap of the whip to the dirt behind him had him startling forward. Perhaps it was because he'd most recently had gate training, he gave only one more toss of his head before allowing Cole to lead him into the metal contraption. Their gates only had four stalls, and they'd pulled Wyvern into the third. The colt shuffled around, as he tended to do, and father and son waited with endless patience until the colt finally stilled, leaning a little backward as he tended to do. As soon as he made that shift to relaxation, Cole gave a quick signal and the gate was triggered. Without the bells to get him going, Wyvern leapt only to a canter and Minske had to urge him the rest of the way. Cole watched as the juvenile went off at an easy gallop, rewarded for his good behavior.
Now came the real challenges. Cole jumped back down off of the gate, leaving the stalls open in the front. Alucard was the next horse out, and he was probably the worst of the three. He hated going up to, going in, and waiting in the gate. He hated everything about the thing, as far as anyone could tell. Per Cole's instructions, the colt was tacked up but Savita was walking alongside, not riding him. The Finale Slew son had become nearly dangerous before a race, and at least some of that needed dealt with. Already the big bay's eyes were rolling and his mouth was frothing at the bit. Cole took up the stallion's lead from the groom, allowing the horse to prance, neck bowed, as they got closer to the gate. After all, he'd very much earned a bit of attitude of late. Alucard had won three races straight, the latest being Phoenix Gold Cup. It was his first HOTY race of the year and his first HOTY win since the previous May, so Cole couldn't have been happier with his phenomenal form. The stallion began jerking his head up as they got closer, and Cole called for the assistants to begin pressuring the horse from behind. Just voices, clapping, and physical presence, but it was enough for Alucard to react. He seemed a little more willing to go toward the gate when it was open, and after one kick at the empty air behind him, he allowed Cole to walk him straight through the open chute. While he didn't seem to get the purpose of the exercise, the stallion allowed Cole to walk him through three more times with increasingly less pressure. Then Cole called for Savita, and the girl mounted up. They repeated the same exercise and Luca basically acted like his rider wasn't there at all. Pleased, Cole had the gates closed.
There was an almost immediate change when Luca approached the gate this time, skittering sideways and tossing his head up despite Savita's soothing hands. However, with the whip by his heels and pressure forcing him in, he acquiesced. The earlier walkthroughs had at least calmed him so he wasn't rearing before going in. The gate didn't open right away - instead, like with Wyvern, they waited until the stallion relaxed a little. He'd never be as calm as the juvenile, as he was a very quick horse from the gate, but after a bit of side-to-side bumping he stood centered. Again the gates popped open, and this time the horse leapt from it with nearly the same gusto that a race would bring. Cole was pretty happy with the result, and plus, it was always fun to watch the massively talented sprinter run.
Last, but not least, was Passionate God. The colt was a minor miracle, going from a horse that couldn't win a thing on turf to a horse with a four-win-streak this year on dirt. While no streak lasted forever, the turnaround was massive enough that Cole was just happy to watch it while it lasted. After all, the colt had every making for greatness. And the half-brother to Mourning Passion was proving just how much he could do the family name proud. Except, of course, when it came to manners. "I think you're to blame for this, Hal. You bring out the worst habits in them." Which, of course, was a lie. Hal was great with her mounts, and she knew it, so she just laughed as Cole clipped a lead onto the colt. He eyed the gate with supreme suspicion, even though they were open as they had been for Luca. They went through a similar process to before, all with Hal aboard and a bit more cursing, noisiness, and half-rearing. Really, Cole got the feeling that he could walk this colt through those gates a hundred times and it wouldn't make a bit of difference. He just didn't like the approach. When Cole finally did have the gates shut and the colt loaded, Nate stood attentive and calm as if he hadn't just been throwing up a huge fuss. He didn't seem bothered by the confines in the least. "He's such a headcase, isn't he?" Hal said fondly, stroking the colt's mane. Cole rolled his eyes. "Only you would use that as a term of endearment." He signaled for the gates to spring again, and they did, Nate jumping out and gradually gaining speed as he went.
Cole sighed, leaving the gate in time to see Minske bringing Wyvern in from his work. "I trust he wasn't any trouble?" the man asked, and Minske shook his head. "Never. Well, sometimes, but he's fine. They're all fine. As long as they can get in the gate - which they always eventually do - they're going to continue to knock some socks off."
The colt had done well during the summer, finishing no worse than second and nabbing a win in May. He was a slowly maturing juvenile, but he was definitely maturing well. There was really nothing for Cole to complain about, aside from wanting to turn some of those reds into blues. Cole led the colt forward to the gate, swatting the bay's nose whenever he tried to go in for a nip. He hesitated when they got to the closed gate, throwing his head up and skittering a little sideways, but a single snap of the whip to the dirt behind him had him startling forward. Perhaps it was because he'd most recently had gate training, he gave only one more toss of his head before allowing Cole to lead him into the metal contraption. Their gates only had four stalls, and they'd pulled Wyvern into the third. The colt shuffled around, as he tended to do, and father and son waited with endless patience until the colt finally stilled, leaning a little backward as he tended to do. As soon as he made that shift to relaxation, Cole gave a quick signal and the gate was triggered. Without the bells to get him going, Wyvern leapt only to a canter and Minske had to urge him the rest of the way. Cole watched as the juvenile went off at an easy gallop, rewarded for his good behavior.
Now came the real challenges. Cole jumped back down off of the gate, leaving the stalls open in the front. Alucard was the next horse out, and he was probably the worst of the three. He hated going up to, going in, and waiting in the gate. He hated everything about the thing, as far as anyone could tell. Per Cole's instructions, the colt was tacked up but Savita was walking alongside, not riding him. The Finale Slew son had become nearly dangerous before a race, and at least some of that needed dealt with. Already the big bay's eyes were rolling and his mouth was frothing at the bit. Cole took up the stallion's lead from the groom, allowing the horse to prance, neck bowed, as they got closer to the gate. After all, he'd very much earned a bit of attitude of late. Alucard had won three races straight, the latest being Phoenix Gold Cup. It was his first HOTY race of the year and his first HOTY win since the previous May, so Cole couldn't have been happier with his phenomenal form. The stallion began jerking his head up as they got closer, and Cole called for the assistants to begin pressuring the horse from behind. Just voices, clapping, and physical presence, but it was enough for Alucard to react. He seemed a little more willing to go toward the gate when it was open, and after one kick at the empty air behind him, he allowed Cole to walk him straight through the open chute. While he didn't seem to get the purpose of the exercise, the stallion allowed Cole to walk him through three more times with increasingly less pressure. Then Cole called for Savita, and the girl mounted up. They repeated the same exercise and Luca basically acted like his rider wasn't there at all. Pleased, Cole had the gates closed.
There was an almost immediate change when Luca approached the gate this time, skittering sideways and tossing his head up despite Savita's soothing hands. However, with the whip by his heels and pressure forcing him in, he acquiesced. The earlier walkthroughs had at least calmed him so he wasn't rearing before going in. The gate didn't open right away - instead, like with Wyvern, they waited until the stallion relaxed a little. He'd never be as calm as the juvenile, as he was a very quick horse from the gate, but after a bit of side-to-side bumping he stood centered. Again the gates popped open, and this time the horse leapt from it with nearly the same gusto that a race would bring. Cole was pretty happy with the result, and plus, it was always fun to watch the massively talented sprinter run.
Last, but not least, was Passionate God. The colt was a minor miracle, going from a horse that couldn't win a thing on turf to a horse with a four-win-streak this year on dirt. While no streak lasted forever, the turnaround was massive enough that Cole was just happy to watch it while it lasted. After all, the colt had every making for greatness. And the half-brother to Mourning Passion was proving just how much he could do the family name proud. Except, of course, when it came to manners. "I think you're to blame for this, Hal. You bring out the worst habits in them." Which, of course, was a lie. Hal was great with her mounts, and she knew it, so she just laughed as Cole clipped a lead onto the colt. He eyed the gate with supreme suspicion, even though they were open as they had been for Luca. They went through a similar process to before, all with Hal aboard and a bit more cursing, noisiness, and half-rearing. Really, Cole got the feeling that he could walk this colt through those gates a hundred times and it wouldn't make a bit of difference. He just didn't like the approach. When Cole finally did have the gates shut and the colt loaded, Nate stood attentive and calm as if he hadn't just been throwing up a huge fuss. He didn't seem bothered by the confines in the least. "He's such a headcase, isn't he?" Hal said fondly, stroking the colt's mane. Cole rolled his eyes. "Only you would use that as a term of endearment." He signaled for the gates to spring again, and they did, Nate jumping out and gradually gaining speed as he went.
Cole sighed, leaving the gate in time to see Minske bringing Wyvern in from his work. "I trust he wasn't any trouble?" the man asked, and Minske shook his head. "Never. Well, sometimes, but he's fine. They're all fine. As long as they can get in the gate - which they always eventually do - they're going to continue to knock some socks off."
Elastic
Baciami & Halexia Suhail
Shenanigans & Tigris Greenfire
Shenanigans & Tigris Greenfire
"You know, while the gate's out..." Cole trailed off, turning his head to where Hal and Tigris were riding a couple of three-year-olds to the track. The two seemed oddly suited, both big and muscular and eager on the bit as they walked onto the dirt. He put his fingers to his mouth and gave a sharp whistle, causing both horses to to swing their heads around in his direction, ears curiously pricked. He gave a beckoning wave, and in a few moments the horses were standing in front of him, though they were obviously antsy. "What's up?" Hal asked, though by the way she glanced at the gates she had some idea. "Might as well warm 'em up and give them a mock race. Go the nine furlongs, but don't push them too hard. Just enough to keep an edge on," Cole said. Hal grinned, predatory when she looked over at Tigris. The woman was always up for a fight. Cole waved them off and the two horses made an about-face, trotting off in the opposite direction.
Baciami and Shenanigans were the two current three-year-old series contenders for Valkyrie: Shenanigans in the Canadian Triple Crown and Baciami in the Red Mile. After doing no better than second in the Kentucky Derby during the Triple Crown, his connections were hoping they'd found his solid ground in the Red Mile. The big colt had finished second to a highly formidable Sun King in the Dr. Fager, and Cole was excited for the next legs of the series. Firstly, he truly believed Baciami was capable of beating the son of El Sol Del Mar on his own merits. However, he also knew that the colt was going to be aimed at the later legs of the sprinter triple crown, so he would likely be a non-issue soon in the miler series. That would hopefully open up room for Baciami to finally get his day.
Shenanigans had come in second in the first leg of the Canadian Triple Crown, but Cole was confident in the filly's training and ability for the rest of the series. She'd been prepped and prepared for this moment, and he had to have faith in her training. Cole turned his attention away as the horses warmed up, closing the front of the gates and grabbing leads from the assistants still hanging around. A minute later, the horses reached the gate, lightly sweating in the warm morning air. Cole clipped Shanna's bit, handling her himself since she was so volatile. He led her to the second stall, and the filly only paused once with a curious expression before stepping in after the trainer. Tigris adjusted himself in the saddle while an assistant brought Baciami in to their outside. The colt threw up his head, and both horses were practically on their toes when the gates sprung open. They went out slower than they would have in a real race, without the bells, but the riders urged them up into a brisk yet practical gallop. Baciami immediately put himself in the lead, Shanna settling herself two length behind as they went around. As per instructions they weren't going as fast as they would in a race, but the riders could still feel the effort put forth by their mounts. When they rounded two furlongs to go, they shook the animals up but did no more. Baciami took the cue more readily than Shanna, being the hot-headed sort just looking to be unleashed. Shanna chased, but didn't seem completely interested without Tigris continuing to encourage her. She drew close, within a length, but Baciami was dominant when they crossed the wire. Such a top form in the horses was incredibly heartening looking forward.
Baciami and Shenanigans were the two current three-year-old series contenders for Valkyrie: Shenanigans in the Canadian Triple Crown and Baciami in the Red Mile. After doing no better than second in the Kentucky Derby during the Triple Crown, his connections were hoping they'd found his solid ground in the Red Mile. The big colt had finished second to a highly formidable Sun King in the Dr. Fager, and Cole was excited for the next legs of the series. Firstly, he truly believed Baciami was capable of beating the son of El Sol Del Mar on his own merits. However, he also knew that the colt was going to be aimed at the later legs of the sprinter triple crown, so he would likely be a non-issue soon in the miler series. That would hopefully open up room for Baciami to finally get his day.
Shenanigans had come in second in the first leg of the Canadian Triple Crown, but Cole was confident in the filly's training and ability for the rest of the series. She'd been prepped and prepared for this moment, and he had to have faith in her training. Cole turned his attention away as the horses warmed up, closing the front of the gates and grabbing leads from the assistants still hanging around. A minute later, the horses reached the gate, lightly sweating in the warm morning air. Cole clipped Shanna's bit, handling her himself since she was so volatile. He led her to the second stall, and the filly only paused once with a curious expression before stepping in after the trainer. Tigris adjusted himself in the saddle while an assistant brought Baciami in to their outside. The colt threw up his head, and both horses were practically on their toes when the gates sprung open. They went out slower than they would have in a real race, without the bells, but the riders urged them up into a brisk yet practical gallop. Baciami immediately put himself in the lead, Shanna settling herself two length behind as they went around. As per instructions they weren't going as fast as they would in a race, but the riders could still feel the effort put forth by their mounts. When they rounded two furlongs to go, they shook the animals up but did no more. Baciami took the cue more readily than Shanna, being the hot-headed sort just looking to be unleashed. Shanna chased, but didn't seem completely interested without Tigris continuing to encourage her. She drew close, within a length, but Baciami was dominant when they crossed the wire. Such a top form in the horses was incredibly heartening looking forward.
Sweet Illusions
Optical Illusion & Savita Tusaint
Luminous Wave & Desmond Drake
Sweet Mimosa & Tigris Greenfire
Luminous Wave & Desmond Drake
Sweet Mimosa & Tigris Greenfire
"Oh, the babies are so grown up now," Hal crooned from the rail beside Minske, smiling as she looked out at the juveniles tossing their heads and dancing over the turf. No longer were they the leggy, budding-muscled juveniles - now they were looking more like true athletes. Minske could only hum agreement. He'd put so many long hours, sweat, and tears into these horses to get them to this point, the point when it was more in the jockey's hands than his, and it was somewhat bittersweet. However, he couldn't be happier with this group.
Optical Illusion had bloomed over the summer months. He'd nabbed three HOTY races since April, and placed in another. He was, perhaps, beginning to show his breeding, and Minske was looking forward to see if he'd continue to be a dominant force in the turf sprinter division. He was ridden by Savita - the siblings seemed to have a good touch with sprinters, and she'd been doing wonders on Alucard this season. The second horse in the work was the farm's only sprinting juvenile filly, and she'd only recently returned from her brief ownership by Serenity Racing. Truth be told, Cole had been uneasy about the sale since before he'd done it - not because of the new owners, but because the filly looked like she could do very well for them in the future. Now that she was back, they were diving in once again to get her into the same great form that had given her a HOTY win. The fields in her division had been pretty light for awhile, so they thought she'd get plenty of exposure soon. She never raced under the Serenity Racing colors, so she was basically picking up where she'd left off with them. The last horse working was Sweet Mimosa, the golden filly that was taking a somewhat unconventional path to the top. Though she was riding undercards, she hadn't finished worse than second more than once in her lifetime. In reality, she was actually doing better than her grade one dam had done early in her lifetime, and most definitely better than her sire. She was a genetic masterpiece that was going to outshine everything that had been put into her, and all of the staff knew she was something incredibly special. More than Aphrodite's Chant, more than Santana's Legend, Sweet Mimosa had dreams riding on her.
The pair watched the three warm up with decidedly more excitement than the older horses did, skittering around a little and vocalizing to each other until they were brought into a canter. Once moving a bit faster they got more serious. Opti and Lumi were immediately more eager than Osa, Opti cantering nearly sideways in his excitement. The two sprinters were frontrunners so they innately had more energy than the more casual Osa, who was more of a router and a preceder to boot. When they moved into a gallop for the three furlong breeze, Opti and Lumi immediately sprinted off together. The riders managed to keep them from truly dueling and taking the pace to ridiculous speeds, but it was clear that they were both only barely tolerating the presence of the other. Osa was about four lengths back, chasing but not being overly urged given that she couldn't quite keep their pace. The work flew by on the front, the bay and the grey putting up impressive fractions despite being held back from going all-out. Osa rolled in behind doggedly, ears pinned unhappily and muscles working hard. While she wasn't as flashy, nobody was worried about her in the least. Give her her distance and she would rock them to the ground.
Optical Illusion had bloomed over the summer months. He'd nabbed three HOTY races since April, and placed in another. He was, perhaps, beginning to show his breeding, and Minske was looking forward to see if he'd continue to be a dominant force in the turf sprinter division. He was ridden by Savita - the siblings seemed to have a good touch with sprinters, and she'd been doing wonders on Alucard this season. The second horse in the work was the farm's only sprinting juvenile filly, and she'd only recently returned from her brief ownership by Serenity Racing. Truth be told, Cole had been uneasy about the sale since before he'd done it - not because of the new owners, but because the filly looked like she could do very well for them in the future. Now that she was back, they were diving in once again to get her into the same great form that had given her a HOTY win. The fields in her division had been pretty light for awhile, so they thought she'd get plenty of exposure soon. She never raced under the Serenity Racing colors, so she was basically picking up where she'd left off with them. The last horse working was Sweet Mimosa, the golden filly that was taking a somewhat unconventional path to the top. Though she was riding undercards, she hadn't finished worse than second more than once in her lifetime. In reality, she was actually doing better than her grade one dam had done early in her lifetime, and most definitely better than her sire. She was a genetic masterpiece that was going to outshine everything that had been put into her, and all of the staff knew she was something incredibly special. More than Aphrodite's Chant, more than Santana's Legend, Sweet Mimosa had dreams riding on her.
The pair watched the three warm up with decidedly more excitement than the older horses did, skittering around a little and vocalizing to each other until they were brought into a canter. Once moving a bit faster they got more serious. Opti and Lumi were immediately more eager than Osa, Opti cantering nearly sideways in his excitement. The two sprinters were frontrunners so they innately had more energy than the more casual Osa, who was more of a router and a preceder to boot. When they moved into a gallop for the three furlong breeze, Opti and Lumi immediately sprinted off together. The riders managed to keep them from truly dueling and taking the pace to ridiculous speeds, but it was clear that they were both only barely tolerating the presence of the other. Osa was about four lengths back, chasing but not being overly urged given that she couldn't quite keep their pace. The work flew by on the front, the bay and the grey putting up impressive fractions despite being held back from going all-out. Osa rolled in behind doggedly, ears pinned unhappily and muscles working hard. While she wasn't as flashy, nobody was worried about her in the least. Give her her distance and she would rock them to the ground.
Able-Bodied
Wild Determination & Savita Tusaint
Grey's Wisdom & Halexia Suhail
Grey's Wisdom & Halexia Suhail
The two greys painted a very nice picture, cantering down the turf side-by-side. Grey's Wisdom, the up-and-comer who would be a likely shocker when he took over for the current turf routers for Valkyrie next year. Wild Determination, the late-comer who was doing rather well despite starting racing at the late age of four. Both of them were the quiet sort of individuals, though for different reasons. Wes was a little timid, while Destiny had a very imperialistic nature. She struck out confidently, practically as if Wes wasn't there at all - even if he'd been the sort to cause a fuss, she'd have been ignoring him completely because it was so immature. Her personality clashed at first glance with her rider, who was a true hothead, but they seemed to compliment well in practice. When Destiny needed the extra push of fire, Savita brought it out of her. When Savita needed to cool down, Destiny was able to keep her grounded with her stoic mind.
In reality, Wes and Hal were much the same. Hal was bold and had more confidence than another five people put together, and she had steadily brought confidence to a horse that had practically been scared of his own shadow. Grey's Wisdom had found a whole new stride this year, bringing back some of the same form and quality they'd had from him his three-year-old season. It was Hal who'd proposed running him Y16, and it was likely going to happen. He could be something special, if given the chance.
The two horses were spurred into motion together, easing into a gallop along the rail. The two frontrunners went together pretty easily without hotheadedness egging them on - between the horses, that was. There was always tension between Hal and Savita, though things had moved from blown-out hatred to undertones as of late. However, as anyone who knew them knew it would, the pace was rather hot as each drove their horse just a little bit more to one-up the other. By the time the horses entered the stretch, they'd picked up on the eagerness of their jockeys - they'd entered their own competitive mode, and were absolutely roaring toward the wire neck-and-neck. In the end, it was a bit of class that brought the real magic. Wes gave a pick push before the wire, driving onward on a lovely turn of foot to turn the mare back by half a length at the wire. Neither horse was truly winded when they were pulled up - quite frankly, Destiny looked regally bored. It was all a front though, because she got something of a sour look when Wes went by. She might be regal, but she hated to lose.
In reality, Wes and Hal were much the same. Hal was bold and had more confidence than another five people put together, and she had steadily brought confidence to a horse that had practically been scared of his own shadow. Grey's Wisdom had found a whole new stride this year, bringing back some of the same form and quality they'd had from him his three-year-old season. It was Hal who'd proposed running him Y16, and it was likely going to happen. He could be something special, if given the chance.
The two horses were spurred into motion together, easing into a gallop along the rail. The two frontrunners went together pretty easily without hotheadedness egging them on - between the horses, that was. There was always tension between Hal and Savita, though things had moved from blown-out hatred to undertones as of late. However, as anyone who knew them knew it would, the pace was rather hot as each drove their horse just a little bit more to one-up the other. By the time the horses entered the stretch, they'd picked up on the eagerness of their jockeys - they'd entered their own competitive mode, and were absolutely roaring toward the wire neck-and-neck. In the end, it was a bit of class that brought the real magic. Wes gave a pick push before the wire, driving onward on a lovely turn of foot to turn the mare back by half a length at the wire. Neither horse was truly winded when they were pulled up - quite frankly, Destiny looked regally bored. It was all a front though, because she got something of a sour look when Wes went by. She might be regal, but she hated to lose.
Uncontainable
Chiquato & Desmond Drake
When Minske had bought the track pony Panther, he'd done it because of the horse's attitude, size, and solidarity. Speed had honestly been a secondary thought, and somewhat surprising coming from a horse of such noble size. However, the horse was given a chance to prove himself during a solo work by the one and only Chiquato.
Chicken had, frankly, surprised everyone so far this year. The absolutely unmanageable stallion had proven the only thing he hated more than people was losing - he'd won over half of his races on the year, and had won four of his last five. It was perhaps a little early to make predictions, but it was easily admitted that it was a special sort of horse that pulled off such a feat. If it continued... well, the sky was a limit. The horse had his game down - the problem sometimes was keeping up. And keeping a rider on him to get it done. It wasn't often that Chiquato was able to unhorse his jockey Desmond, but every animal got lucky sometimes. Chicken was a bully, and he took advantage of any lapse in attention. He'd gone through his work beautifully, though he was headstrong the whole way. All normal, all expected. When he was asked to pull up, he did something rather original - an athletic, unexpected buck, dropping his head at his quick canter and tossing his rider over his shoulder while keeping his own feet. Luckily, the fall wasn't too bad. Everyone watching could see Desmond roll clear of the stallion's malicious hooves, popping back to his feet almost immediately.
From there, the chase was on. Chiquato looked absolutely delighted as he went on, and nobody tried to stand in his way - the bay was the sort of horse that would prefer to run a human down to slowing. Therefore, it was up to the big grey track pony to do his job before Chicken did something exceptionally stupid. He'd been at a loose gallop for two furlongs when Panther began his chase, Minske standing in the western saddle and hardly even having to give him encouragement. Panther had been a cattle horse before Minske had picked him up, and he saw this chase the same as any after a steer. It was at a faster speed, of course, but the Quarter Horse was fit and eager and had muscle to spare, so it only took him another furlong to draw alongside the belligerent horse. Chiquato immediately pinned his ears at the grey, threatening a bit, but Panther reacted almost immediately, snaking his head out for a warning nip at the air. Chicken's slight recoil was all the opening Minske needed - leaning over, he snatched the flapping reins. It only took a shift of his weight back to start Panther's slowing, and in another few moments they were trotting the bay back to the gap. Desmond looked absolutely irate, and didn't even speak before getting a leg back into the saddle. Chiquato didn't act up for the time being - as if he could sense the change in his rider's mood. The stallion was quickly checked for heat before Desmond took him back out, cooling him down as well as simply riding through further bucks the stallion attempted to throw. It was a small ordeal, though luckily not a fatal one. A day later Desmond simply had some bruises and Chiquato showed no sign of heat or injury from his escapade.
The stallion had guts, no one could dispute that. He would always take the win, no matter the cost.
Chicken had, frankly, surprised everyone so far this year. The absolutely unmanageable stallion had proven the only thing he hated more than people was losing - he'd won over half of his races on the year, and had won four of his last five. It was perhaps a little early to make predictions, but it was easily admitted that it was a special sort of horse that pulled off such a feat. If it continued... well, the sky was a limit. The horse had his game down - the problem sometimes was keeping up. And keeping a rider on him to get it done. It wasn't often that Chiquato was able to unhorse his jockey Desmond, but every animal got lucky sometimes. Chicken was a bully, and he took advantage of any lapse in attention. He'd gone through his work beautifully, though he was headstrong the whole way. All normal, all expected. When he was asked to pull up, he did something rather original - an athletic, unexpected buck, dropping his head at his quick canter and tossing his rider over his shoulder while keeping his own feet. Luckily, the fall wasn't too bad. Everyone watching could see Desmond roll clear of the stallion's malicious hooves, popping back to his feet almost immediately.
From there, the chase was on. Chiquato looked absolutely delighted as he went on, and nobody tried to stand in his way - the bay was the sort of horse that would prefer to run a human down to slowing. Therefore, it was up to the big grey track pony to do his job before Chicken did something exceptionally stupid. He'd been at a loose gallop for two furlongs when Panther began his chase, Minske standing in the western saddle and hardly even having to give him encouragement. Panther had been a cattle horse before Minske had picked him up, and he saw this chase the same as any after a steer. It was at a faster speed, of course, but the Quarter Horse was fit and eager and had muscle to spare, so it only took him another furlong to draw alongside the belligerent horse. Chiquato immediately pinned his ears at the grey, threatening a bit, but Panther reacted almost immediately, snaking his head out for a warning nip at the air. Chicken's slight recoil was all the opening Minske needed - leaning over, he snatched the flapping reins. It only took a shift of his weight back to start Panther's slowing, and in another few moments they were trotting the bay back to the gap. Desmond looked absolutely irate, and didn't even speak before getting a leg back into the saddle. Chiquato didn't act up for the time being - as if he could sense the change in his rider's mood. The stallion was quickly checked for heat before Desmond took him back out, cooling him down as well as simply riding through further bucks the stallion attempted to throw. It was a small ordeal, though luckily not a fatal one. A day later Desmond simply had some bruises and Chiquato showed no sign of heat or injury from his escapade.
The stallion had guts, no one could dispute that. He would always take the win, no matter the cost.