February Week 4

After the senior sprinters made their way off the track, two of the younger ones made their way on. Flashpoint and Allouette Divine were a lot different different from each other in style, but they were both three-year-olds hoping to make an impact on the sprinting series scene. Flashpoint, affectionately called Moose, had a definite lead on that front - he had won the Norfolk and Silver Stride Stakes as a juvenile, and had already won two races in year fourteen. That put him at grade three as a fresh three-year-old, and the staff didn't see him slowing down anytime soon. He was the type of colt that demanded respect, whether or not others wanted to give it. He started off as a horse that everyone underestimated, definitely not one of the 'top' juveniles, but he was already looking to correct that reputation. Divie, on the other hand, came late to the scene as a juvenile, breaking her maiden at the end of the year. However, despite her lack of experience, she had a pretty good resume. She had never finished out of the money, and had placed first once and second twice so far that year. If she could continue on a streak like that, it was possible that she could make an impact during the later legs of the sprinter triple crown. It would all depend on her grit, and a lot of luck, but the staff definitely thought both of these horses had a real chance at something great.

Moose was ridden onto the dirt track first, dark coat practically shining in the morning sunlight. He was not the tallest colt, but he was strongly muscled and it was evident with every move he made. His strides were long even walking, and moved with a coordinated grace that was above and beyond capable of turning heads. He had his neck arched, seemingly more for presence than anything, because he never pulled at the bit. "He looks fantastic," Minske said a little longingly from the rail. Tigris grinned in agreement - he knew his friend had wanted the colt as a mount, but since Minske was getting to ride Sugar Jayde, Tigris had landed their third-best sprinter/miler. He thought he had the better end of the deal, though. While Sugar Jayde would go back to SOPS and Prideful Limits would retire after this year, Tigris would have Moose for at least two full years, and he couldn't be more excited. The colt had potential, and speed, practically oozing from his pores. Divie followed him onto the track, younger blonde Vivien aboard. The half-French boy had settled well both into his role as exercise rider and jockey as well as into handling the horses in the two months he's been on the farm. He wasn't great with the domineering sort of horses, but he had a special touch with some that were troublesome for other reasons and needed a softer touch. Divie seemed to respond well to him, partially because she tended to prefer men. She really was just a good filly overall, though, and they always said that even if she never made it huge as a race mare, she would be wonderful in the breeding shed to help mellow out the foals of some of the more psychotic studs.

The two riders moved the horses into easy jogs, letting them get used to the cold air and unwind their muscles. While the horses in active training didn't get a ton of pasture time, they did get ridden daily and get turned out for at least an hour a day, so they weren't overly energetic when they were brought out for works. It didn't take long for them to settle into the right mindset, and the riders asked them to canter. Both horses were pretty easygoing, so they were comfortable working side-by-side - with some of the horses, you could hardly even let them look at each other. Finally, they were asked to move into a gallop. They took it slow around the first turn and most of the backstretch, then the riders moved them to the rail. They would only be working three furlongs to sharpen them up for their respective Spring Cup races. When the time was right, both riders let the horses loose, and the speed animals took the slack given with gusto. Divie started about a head behind the colt, but did not give any ground as he rocketed into a quick pace. Where she was all amiability before, now she had her ears pressed back in concentration, eyes never leaving her opponent. The big-muscled colt ate the dirt with powerful strides, listening to Tigris' cues like a trained professional. Toward the wire, Vivien really asked Divie for gas, and in the final few strides she pulled ahead of the darker bay. Understandable, really, as Divie had just a little more gas for the short-end races, while Moose was more geared toward longer sprints and miles. He was discontent when they pulled up, flipping his tail in agitation and eyeing the filly with disgust - he didn't understand that the weekend's race was perfectly well in his range. All he knew was they he did not like the filly beating him out, and he would try doubly hard so that it wouldn't happen again. That's what Tigris read off of his look, anyway. They would have to see how it all played out.

It didn't take the jockeys long to get up on their next mounts, despite the bold and something domineering personalities of the three males. It was testosterone-packed, but an overall fitting field to test each other before their respective races that weekend. They all faced impressive fields, and would all have to rise to the occasion.

The first out onto the dirt track was Mourning Passion, moving with long and deliberate strides. Each hoof placement was strong, and his eyes rolled back to the stallions behind him every few moments - he might be the youngest out there, but this grandson of Augusto did not shake with fear. He was ready for them, no matter what they would bring. Mourn was to face the largest field of the three, in the Grade Five Dirt. However, there were a handful of juveniles entered that would struggle with the pace set by the more mature horses, so that would likely cut the competition a little. Not that Mourn would wish for that - he seemed to perform incredibly well against strong opponents. He'd already taken one race against higher competition that year, and was one step away from grade four after winning both of his starts in the first two months... needless to say, the coldly cruel colt was on his way up, if he ran to his potential as he'd run all year. Savita moved Mourn into a trot to start him off, which the others would follow.

The second stallion out was Van Guard, another horse originally owned by Witch Creek. The stallion had had a good three-year-old year, but it was one with some heartbreak as well - he's been kept out of the winner's circle in the few big races he'd competed in. However, he was bigger and stronger than ever as a three-year-old, and he had fully adjusted to his new home in the past six months. Hal sat easy on his back, hands soft and yielding, and yet he never tried to take the bit - just as she had loved him from day one, he had grown to respect her as a rider. After all, Hal was pretty possessive of the mount. She hated anyone else getting up on him, regardless of the circumstances. The bay had done well so far this year, getting second in his first two starts before rallying to a win in his last start. Coming off of that high, he was rolling into a competitive Grade Three Dirt in the Spring Cup, and everyone had high hopes that he'd perform well. None higher than his very own jockey, who knew his potential better than anyone. Van had his eyes ahead, looking at the black colt in front of them, but he didn't rise to the dominant stance the other male was putting off - he had better things to do. He, too, was moved off at a trot, following Mourn's tracks.

The last horse out was the oldest of the three. Lucky Silver had had an on again, off again career, and just couldn't seem to pick up the slack. Minske had been riding him since he arrived from Star Thoroughbreds, all those months ago - he suspected the stallion just hadn't decided he was ready to go out and perform for them yet. Lucky was very much a stallion, and it was ill-advised to force him into anything. And really, you couldn't force a horse to want to win. And so they waited, hoping that he'd soon get the itch to lead. He'd broken through a few times the previous year, winning once at the very beginning of the year and once at the very end - so far this year, he hadn't shown that same spark. He was entered in the Hiolio Derby for grade fours that weekend, and unless he put in a good showing, it would likely be his last start in a big race unless he got his act together later in the year. Despite his father's pessimism, Minske knew Lucky had it in him. He just needed some motivation.

The three males warmed up a few lengths apart, in the same order they would prefer to run in. That way, there weren't gunning to get in front of each other before the work really started, which was a pretty common occurrence depending on the horses. They went through their paces without incident, looking forward to the run enough that they didn't fuss. Eventually they cruised around the corner, and the jockeys asked them to gallop, edging them toward the rail. Lucky tried to gun it, and Minske had to wrestle him back to a slow gallop before they reached their cue. The horses would be going five furlongs, more of a quick maintenance work than anything. They were all in prime physical condition, so they mostly just needed something to sharpen them up. The riders leaned in, and the horses felt the building pressure. Then, as they passed five furlongs out, the riders let the horses out to race speed.

Mourn took the slack given, immediately lengthening his stride and churning the dirt back on his pursuers. He ran hard, but not with abandon - he listened to Savita's hands as she set his pace. He wouldn't start fighting madly until she let him loose, and someone came up beside him. It was a deadly combination that would make him really go. Three furlongs went easily, then the other horses started to make their moves. Lucky moved first, charging up the back end and driving up behind Van. Van, however, felt the impending avalanche, and rolled forward as well, taking the slack that Hal offered him. All that was left was Mourn, who was not responding to Savita giving him his head. "Go!" she said in frustration, but Mourn didn't so much as twitch an ear off his his skull. He was watching them, waiting... as soon as the stallions roared up his outside, the colt accelerated with a speed that shocked Savita. Van and Lucky had gotten their heads in front and were continuing to gain, but Mourn fought like a wildcat now. As they passed under the wire, the black colt had managed to get his nose in front again, with Lucky a head behind Van.

"Why did you wait so long?" Minske asked Savita as they pulled up. She made a disgusted noise. "I didn't wait, he did. He wanted them to come up on him, the idiot. He wanted to play with them, and it almost cost him. I sure as hell hope he doesn't try that in a race." Minske nodded, thinking. Hal rode up on Van, having heard the conversation. She was quite accustomed to Augusto-lined horses, as she rode Amarillo Sky as well. "Take my advice. Don't give him his head that early. Hold him back and he'll want to run faster - once he starts pushing on the bit, let him go. Make him think it's his idea. And if he won't go, you have a whip. He knows what it means, and he's responded fine to it in all of his other races. Don't worry about it too much. He wants to win, you just have to give him every opportunity."