the wire beckons

[Ripley]

Witch Creek Stable Presents:
Ripley Marsh
Sweeto Cheeto and Fiery Touch

Ripley rubbed her eyes, blinking them multiple times to get the shaving particles out of her eyes. She'd been up since four in the morning and it was now noon. Her existing racing string had all been worked with and galloped. She'd cleaned stalls and tack and then had gotten to work on clearing out some new stalls. She'd had to argue with another trainer about moving his horses out of her stalls. The stalls she'd paid for as soon as she'd gotten word that two new horses were coming to Witch Creek. Or well for the moment coming to The Wire.

Clint and Brooks had left her to go watch the watches being run at Green Horse Fields today. So it was back to doing things how they had been doing originally: with her own bare hands. Ripley had to admit she liked the newer way better. Her racing string was larger than it had even been when she'd been Battle Brook Stable. Maybe only by one or two horses, but it still made a vast difference. Her back was going to hurt terribly later on, but it would be worth it.

The Wire was quiet today. A flock of pigeons walked around outside her barn row, pecking hungrily among the rocks and eyeing Ripley every time she went to the box that held her food for the day. It was weird being watched by birds. Ripley warily eyed the closest pigeon as it lurched her way. It leaped in the air and took flight, just missing her by a foot. Ripley shrugged irritably. It was warm today, warmer than it had been so far this spring. She pulled her t-shirt off and sighed when the dampness was dried off her browning skin. She tanned quicker than most people did.

The cat-eyed woman looked down her quiet row. Frozen Motion's head hung over his stall, lips sagging in sleep. Her own lips twitched in amusement. Mastermind and Indian Darling were ever so alert, keeping an eye on the very energetic birds. Darla's eyes rolled more than once in alarm. Lulu and Hourglass weren't at their stall doors. Ripley walked down to get a look at them, stroking the other trio on her way by. Mastermind per his usual, flattened his ears and snaked his head after her. Ripley snorted at him.

Lulu's white form was in the shadowy part of her stall. Her head was low and her long forelock covered her chocolate brown eyes. She swatted her tail halfheartedly at a few flies and snored. Ripley took a long look at the MHS lined filly. She had really come around in the last few weeks. Her muscles had grown and where her rear end had looked slightly atrophied before, it was now filled out and bulging. A couple more weeks and she would be in prime racing shape. She rode very well and had to admit that Brooks had been dead on when he'd stated that the mare would be a willing partner in a race.

Ripley moved on, leaving the two year old to her peaceful slumber. In the next stall, Hourglass' near black form was all coiled up in the bedding. She had shavings in her mane, tail and forelock. Her back was coated in the particles. She looked like she'd gotten snowed on. The filly's forelegs were swathed in standing wraps, a fact that annoyed Ripley. She'd been planning on starting her under saddle this week and taking her for a brief ride over The Wire track. However, it wasn't meant to be. The filly had come up with heat in her legs the day they'd arrived at The Wire. Their vet had said she had splints and that she would need until the fall to completely recover from them.

Hourglass would willingly allow Ripley to put her legs on ice every single day. Never causing a fuss. The first day she hadn't been sure of the icy water, but ever since then she waited for the routine and for Ripley's attentions. Ripley honestly loved this young filly and just hoped her sweetness would pan out into a very good race horse when her time and health came around.

A truck grumbled as it pulled near the barn. The stones rattled around the barn and the now massive crowd of pigeons lifted violently into the air as a green truck and silver trailer pulled up. Hourglass shot to her hooves, wide awake now but looking slightly unkempt. Ripley patted her neck as the truck came to a stop. Darla and Freeze neighed and were rewarded with a duet from inside the trailer. Immediately their ears went right forward to listen. Ripley walked to the thin man who bounced out of the truck, clip board in hand.

"I have a delivery for Ms. Marsh from Stride of Perfection Stables and Akita Rose Stables." Ripley nodded and looked eagerly at the trailer. "Well I'm right here. How'd the trip go?" The man grinned at the woman's barely subdued enthusiasm. "Oh just dandy. I've got a nifty camera in the trailer so I saw them. The filly's a firecracker. Has been bossing that stallion around the entire time they were in the trailer together." He held out his clipboard and a folder that he pulled from inside the truck containing all of the records belonging to the new arrivals. "I'll help you unload."

They moved together to the back of the trailer. There was a thudding of hooves on the inside. The man opened the rear door and was faced immediately by a gate. The trailer was big enough to form two separate stall-like structures. The horses were tied, but loosely and had the ability to move about. The first horse was one Ripley had been dying to meet for a while. She looked nothing like her half-sister, The Devil's Touch, or her sire, Touch Up. She was a beautifully built horse however. Her eyes searched Ripley's face briefly before she turned away.

Ripley had seen the filly run countless times for Stride of Perfection Stables at Green Horse Fields and at The Wire quite recently. In fact the three year old filly, named Fiery Touch, had faced Mastermind in his last race in the Indiana Stakes. She'd finished third that day and up until now that was as close as Ripley Marsh had gotten to Touch Up's Year Nine daughter.

The driver pulled the gate back and eased his form inside to join the filly. She was a tall one. Thin in a way, her ribs showed a little, but boy was she a racy looking filly. She noticed everything, was especially interested in Ripley. Her legs were lean and long. She had a powerful chest and a very muscled hind end. Ripley was extremely satisfied with her. She was every inch the talented looking racehorse Ripley wanted to turn into a champion. The driver led her towards Ripley who stood at the edge of the down ramp. Fiery Touch stopped, turned her oddly marked face in Ripley's direction and stood there, waiting. Ripley stroked the filly's face, delighting in the fact that she dropped her head right down to be pet. The bay nuzzled Ripley's pockets and then Ripley raised an eyebrow.

The driver looked on in amusement as Ripley pulled a peppermint out of her pocket. "And I thought you were being so sweet to me. My mistake." She opened the noisy wrapper, the filly's nostrils flared and her ears pricked right up. The candy was offered and gratefully taken. Then Fiery Touch turned to the driver and plodded on her way, switching her tail over her hind end as if to brush Ripley off. Ripley smirked. Just like a mare.

A horse neighed longingly behind her. Ripley turned and met the anxious eye of a black colt, well really he was a stallion. At four years old, Sweeto Cheeto looked a lot like his sire. Ripley opened the gate to get a better look at the colt.

His face marking was in the shape of a shooting star going up his face. He was tall, the same size as Fiery Touch, which made them the tallest horses in her string at the moment. His chest muscles, neck and hind end were really quite large. He was extremely developed for four years of age. Usually they didn't hit this kind of bulk until their five year old or six year old seasons. Ripley was impressed. The colt had looked so fine when he was running, like his sire, but when standing before her like this, Ripely could really notice his overall strength.

"You want to join your boss there cutie?" Ripley held out her hand and grinned when the stallion stuck out his tongue to take a big lick. "Or do you want a peppermint too?" Ripley reached again into her pocket and drew out another peppermint. The horse nickered softly and gently accepted the treat, looking quite pleased. She saw a tinge of saliva at the corner of mouth and found herself completely endeared to the new recruits. She stroked his delicate nose and pulled gently on the lead rope, untying it from the trailer. The horse happily walked beside her, reaching over to nudge her. Ripley patted his gleaming neck and walked him to his new stall beside Frozen Motion.

The dappled gray colt watched the new guy with interested eyes, his lips twitching. Down the row, Mastermind was staring hatefully in Cheeto's direction. The stallion clearly took no notice, immediately checking out his new digs. Ripley took the rope halter off and watched the horse. He sniffed through the shavings and came up empty. He looked at Ripley with baleful eyes.

"No more there greedy guts." Ripely shut the stall door and turned to look at the driver. "I appreciate you transporting these guys for me. I know the stables were a little distance away from one another."

"I'm just doing my job ma'am." He smiled and handed the bill to Ripley. Ripley looked down at it, sighed with annoyance. She dug into her pockets pulled out the money she'd set aside for the trucking. Dug into her other pocket, placed a mint on top of the money. "There's enough to go around." The truck driver smiled at her in appreciation and took the money and the mint.

[Ripley]

Witch Creek Stable Presents:
Ripley Marsh and Sweeto Cheeto

Easily the worst three nights ever, Ripley thought as she drove her truck through the gates at The Wire. Her eyes were blood shot and huge bags were present beneath her usually beautiful eyes. She'd been sick with an early spring cold the first night, then Finale Slew had gone into labor and Clint had practically dragged her off her couch and away from her bowl of cheap Ramen noodles. Clint sure was being bossy these days. Ripley sniffed back the mucus in her throat and pushed her hands against her slightly warm face. She leaned the driver's seat back and just laid there for a second.

Finale Slew's foal had been breached in the womb which had forced Ripley to don the shoulder length gloves and fix the poor thing. The dam hadn't been such a big fan of the whole process, but it had smoothed everything. The rest of the birth had gone as planned. The foal had ended up being a lean colt that looked a lot similar to DW Flamekissed. Finale Slew had taken to the little thing quickly and showed her motherly experience by promptly chasing Ripley and Clint out of the stall. Ripley had fallen asleep in the barn in Clint's arms.

She hadn't even had time to become embarrassed about it because at 4:30 in the morning The Devil had gone in to labor. If there had been any tiredness in Ripley's body, it had been quickly wiped away when The Devil's water broke. She'd attacked her first foal and had promptly rejected Hourglass at first. Ripley and Clint were on their guard with the cantankerous mare this time around. But still it wasn't enough. An hour passed and there still hadn't been any foal. The Devil had grown very testy and was pacing the stall in almost near panic-like style. Ripley dozed off again while Clint went to fetch coffee from the log cabin and then it happened.

A scream woke Ripley up. She'd woken up to find the dark bay mare to be pawing at the crumpled body of her foal. In horror, Ripley had watched as the full grown mare bent down, mouth agape and picked the foal up by the neck. Ripley had flashed into action. She hadn't expected this utter violence. The Devil wasn't suited to be a dam. Ripley had grabbed something hard and smack the mare until she dropped the limp foal. Ripley chased her to the back of the stall and had looked over the foal, a colt. He'd been hardly breathing. With Clint's help they moved the son of Night Stalker to El Sol del Mar's stall. Sunny took the foal in easily, used to having a pair of mouths nursing rather than just one.

The last two nights had been extremely watchful on Ripley and Clint's part to make sure that the rejected foal was getting enough milk and nutrients. Ripley ran a hand over her head and sighed. She'd have a pounding headache by the end of the day no doubt about it.

She pushed the truck door open and looked out at her stable row. The horses were all looking out their stall doors, ears pricked at her truck. They knew it was past breakfast time. Ripley was late. The horses neighed at her eagerly. Cheeto and Fie had been with Witch Creek for the last three days. They already were in the routine. She crooned to them quietly and moved to the spare stall that housed all of the feed.

A quick shuffle of grain into buckets and aggressive cries, and feeding time was over in a flash. Ripley couldn't wait for this week's races to be over with. She just wanted to get her stock home and work them there. It would be easier at least for now anyway. Then she would only have to transport Fie and Darla over for the first week of the new month. Which would be a lot easier than trucking seven horses around like a traveling circus.

She went to the first stall beside her poorly renovated office and looked in on Cheeto. The stallion's black head was buried deep in his grain bucket searching for more grain. The horse was big enough as it was. Not really fat, just really large. Sweeto Cheeto, a colt by Like A Cheetah, out of Sweet Stalker, looked especially like his dam at the moment. Sweet Stalker had always been such a proud horse whenever Ripley met her. Cheeto stood tall despite his eager searches into the bucket.

When he lifted his head however, he looked nothing like his proud mother. Grain covered his face, browning the shooting star marking that ended beneath his black forelock. He snorted a few times dispelling the grain all over Ripley's face and shirt. Ripley flinched at the mess and brushed some of it off. The stallion gave a huge yawn and simply looked at Ripley, his large tongue hanging goofily from the side of his mouth.

Ripley sighed. What did you do with such a character? She turned and grabbed the grooming bucket. Brushes clattered together, nearly sending Cheeto through the ceiling of his stall. His eyes rolled white and he backed to the corner. "Oh boy. We need to toughen that skin up of yours there, Cheeto." The small woman moved to the side of his head and stroked his neck. The horse reached around, sleek neck bunching over the muscle and nuzzled her fingers. Furrows over his eyes showed his worry. Ripley soothed him and then got to work cleaning the food off his face and the shavings off his back, mane and tail.

Once she got to work, the stallion seemed to relax greatly. His head lowered level to his shoulders and his eyes fluttered closed. He didn't mind the grooming. He minded if he slept. The horse had always seemed to be sleeping when Ripley was around the barn. The only time he wasn't, was if he was eating or galloping. Ripley appreciated his spartan life style. A horse who took care of himself was always more enjoyable to work with.

Ripley soon had finished the job and managed to snag the tack while the black horse's head was drooping uncontrollably. She smiled at the horse and snapped a picture with her cell phone. The colt's lips hung like an old basset hounds would. Ripley shook her head at him and placed the saddle pad and light racing saddle on his shiny back. He woke up, ears twitching backward to take note of the new actions. His dark eye turned to look at her suspiciously. "What's the matter Cheeto Rito? Have an aversion to work?"

The colt snorted at her and turned away whipping his head back and forth. Ripley laughed at him and fitted him with his gleaming new bridle. The black let her lead him out of the stall. He sure looked nice under tack. Really well muscled. Ripley found herself impressed by him again. How, as a three year old he'd been so skinny, had he filled out so impressively in a matter of months? Ripley wanted to rub her hands together like one of those criminals with the evil plans. She could feel the potential beating beneath this horse's hide.

Ripley hurriedly pulled on her helmet and chaps. She wanted to get on now. Her cold was forgotten in the midst of all her excitement. Cheeto watched her with wary eyes as she climbed the mounting block. His skin twitched in irritation all over. Ripley was practically beaming as she slid onto the small racing saddle. She had plans for this guy.

Ripley urged him forward and he walked off in a deliberate step. His head high and turning constantly to look about his surroundings. He'd raced here already this year, finishing second in the Quick Break Stakes. He eventually gave up trying to be a hot blooded thoroughbred and marched along. His ears flopped nonsensically to the sides of his head. Ripley just shook her head. What a couch potato!

Ripley still felt like her veins were singing with her excitement. She enjoyed getting on new horses. Loved to be able to tell how best to get the most out of the horse beneath her. The auburn-haired woman and the black stallion with the shooting star marking reached the track in no time. For all his lack of interest, the horse sure perked up at the sight of the track before him. His body braced when he caught sight of horses running along the rail, horses trotting down the center of the turf track and horses coming off the track, their bodies soaking wet with sweat.

A pair of riders acknowledged her as they rode off the track. Their horses were a pair of bays. The female rider analyzed the stallion she was riding. "Good looking horse you got there Marsh. Look at those muscles on him! What do you feed him?"

The body nudged her with his elbow and snorted. "Just what she feeds all her horses. But I don't think the magic Ripley has can fix this one. That's Sweeto Cheeto. He hasn't one a race since his two year old season."

The female turned back to the now frowning Ripley and re-analyzed her mount. Cheeto was focused on the track, his ears standing straight as soldiers. Ripley stroked his black neck. "Akita Rose Stables owned him, didn't they Marsh?"

Ripley sensed a rude comment on the way and raised her eyebrows at the woman. "They did right by him. Kirsten Jade knows the horse and his sire and dam like the back of her hand. She's too busy beating your trainer's stock out on the track. Any bad words about her and I swear I'll have your trainer's stock evicted from the track so fast, you won't have time to get run off your feet by ARS in a race!" Cheeto snorted and stomped as if exemplifying Ripley's words. Ripley glared at the pair until they walked off, casting nervous glances over their shoulder at the woman.

She urged Cheeto forward into a trot. They touched down onto the dirt track swiftly. The black colt strode effortlessly on the loamy dirt. It amazed Ripley how far he had come with two weeks of being off from his first start of the year in January Week 2. He felt immensely powerful beneath her, not in a dominating way like Mastermind. But in a quiet way that promised her speed when she wanted it, ferocity when it was necessary. If Akita Rose Stables had just hung on to the 16.2 hand stallion until now, maybe they would have kept him.

The colt kept his head turned inward, to watch the other horses go by as Ripley directed him out to the center of the track. He seemed to float on a cloud as he moved. He wasn't a jerky horse at the moment. Calm and confident and well in her hand was what he was. Ripley looked away from the track briefly to take note of the people on the rail. They were watching her horse carefully. The clockers with shrewd eyes took note of the new horse and vowed to inquire about him if he worked out spectacularly.

Ripley was only going to do a three furlong blow out after a mile and a half gallop on the dirt. His next start, second start of the year, would come in the Intipidio Finish Derby. It was still two weeks off so she had time to prepare him with long strenuous gallops and long sprinting workouts. She liked long workouts unless the horse was a proven sprinter.

Cheeto really seemed to be enjoying his time away from the barn. He mouthed the bit once in a while, but was content with just jogging down the center of the track two times. Ripley really liked the pace he set. It wasn't slow, but purposeful. Everything about this horse, every action he took, seemed to have a purpose at maintaining his overall health and appearance. He really felt like an athlete.

When the time came to asking for the horse's canter, Ripley tightened her grip on the reins and leaned forward. Cheeto startled and jumped a huge stride to the left. Ripley hung on by the skin of her teeth. "Alright there big guy. No big deal. You've worked countless times already." The horse settled into a long strided gait, cruising by a couple horses pulling up from their workouts. He felt like a nice easy-going riding pony, not like a racehorse. Ripley pursed her lips and jiggled the reins in her hands. The colt's ears turned back to listen, but he didn't pick up the pace.

Ripley reached back and slapped him firmly on the rump with her hand. The black horse bolted forward and nearly took out three horses when he blew the turn. She felt her cheeks bloom with frustration. So maybe he wasn't the perfect horse just quite. Maybe for all his impressive physical growths, he wasn't quite in the right frame of mind for running. But he had to have spirit. Just had to. He was a Like A Cheetah foal for God's sakes! Where was Sweet Stalker's determination in this big-striding horse?

They continued at the easy pace for the distance of the track. Ripley looked over when she heard snickers coming from the clockers' area. She narrowed her eyes in a scowl. How did you work your horse when these galumphing idiots didn't let you do your work? She knew that you did, but you ignored it. They expected speed, speed and more speed from Ripley Marsh's barn. Her horses were weirdly talented and almost unbelievably fast. To them, Cheeto was neither.

Ripley felt so pumped up with anger and ferocity that she didn't realize she was stirring the colt up. His ears were zeroed in on her and his nostrils were flaring up now. Ripley tensed on the reins with her annoyance and Cheeto's head shot up. Ripley let out a barely subdued yell. She never got this irritated with those idiots, the past three nights had taken their toll on her. She was now officially in a bad mood.

Until she realized that Sweeto Cheeto was flying around the track in a huge strided gallop. Ripley's eyes flew wide in shock as black mane came whipping back at her. His front legs were pumping and he was really pushing from his hind end. His ears were still held back to listen. Ripley couldn't believe the response she was getting. She opened her mouth to speak and Cheeto put on more speed as they now clicked off strong fractions into the backstretch. She let out a stunned laugh. Her attitude had practically picked the colt up and thrown him into a bolting run.

The black's muscles rippled as the noon sun shined down on them. He was the picture of the perfect race horse in the moment. Big and strong. Fast and long strided. Beautiful and wild, but so easily tame. Ripley rode him in this strong gallop back into the far turn, where the centrifugal force carried him out into the three path. He was hardly trying, just running. His eyes were bright and focused as they came bounding into the homestretch. Ripely looked over to take her goggles down and caught sight of the now grave faces of the clockers. They didn't say anything, no snicker or rude chortle now.

Ripley refocused and pulled Cheeto in a notch. He slowed his steps, but not by much. He picked up the pace into the turn again at his own free will. Ripley didn't have to be on the rail to know that the horse was moving brilliantly at the track. He felt brilliant. They were coming to the end of the mile and a half gallop and adrenaline was now pumping thickly through Ripley's veins. The colt was pulling at the bit, but he let off briefly enough for Ripley to get control of herself.

She leaned forward now, really close to his neck so that she could feel his heat. Her hands tightened on the reins. She shouted in his ear, an indecipherable word, and he launched forward. His muscles really strained at that first leap out, suggesting that when breaking from a gate he would give it his all, but would still get out broke by some other horse.

He had a surprisingly high cruising speed for a such a big horse. He never showed a tendency to go down on the rail, he always sort of leaped to the outside. The black horse was moving powerfully, Ripley was just a shadow on his back. He needed no encouragement as he plunged into the far turn. He had run enough to know that this was where he made his move.

He stunned Ripley by suddenly picking up a racing stride so fast, that the wind deafened her. He exploded like a black firecracker from beneath her and really barreled into the stretch. She was stunned that he hadn't won more, but then realized why he never won. He was all over the place in this final sprint and as fast as he moved he never would make up ground if he'd jump lanes. It was dangerous as well to other riders. Ripley wondered at the colt's behavior. Surely Akita Rose would have figured out the key to his success. Ripley wondered about it briefly.

She pushed the thought back because it was time to pull up the fast moving colt. He slowed right down for her into a long striding gallop out. She was blown away. He needed focus in his runs. That was it. Ripley slapped his thick neck and pushed her urge for more adrenaline away. The stallion eased himself down gradually, sweating a lot, but not breathing hard.

Heads up, Ripely and Cheeto stalked right on by the clockers and their two now stunned critics from earlier and marched back to the barn.

[Ripley]

Witch Creek Stable Presents:
Ripley Marsh and Fiery Touch

Sweeto Cheeto danced at the end of the lead line barely controlled as Ripley attempted to douse him with water from the hose. Sweat slid off his body in the areas that he allowed Ripley to spray. The horse sure was being difficult after such a tremendous exercise. He shook his small black head in annoyance and backed up. His rear end shifted from side to side and he was neighing every two minutes as if looking for support from the horse's in the stalls.

Mastermind and Lulu watched the big stud with critical eyes. Neither of them had been too fond of the horse since he'd arrived at The Wire three days ago. It was some improvement on Mastermind's part though because usually he was giving Cheeto long death stares. Darla and Freeze were not paying so much attention to the frisky black horse as they were too busy reaching for each other, a look of play in both sets of eyes. The new filly, Fiery Touch watched the horse she'd trailered to The Wire with through suspicious dark eyes. Hourglass merely slept with her head hanging over the stall door. Cheeto's pleas for help were barely noticed.

Ripley forced him to hold his head down and dragged the spout across his forehead, finally managing to soak away the salt. Cheeto's ears fell to the sides of his head and he almost looked pathetic. Like a dog who'd been yelled at one too many times. Ripley shut the hose off and pulled the big horse's head into her chest. He let out a sigh of relief and Ripley's face lit with a smile. "I know handsome man. Such a hard day of bathing today." Cheeto snorted through his nose and Ripley gave a sharp slap on the neck. She led him back to his stall and took off the rope halter. The horse immediately went to his grain bucket. No dice.

Witch Creek Stable's owner patted Freeze's gentle nose as he reached out to greet her. "One more race for you this month and then you get a little bit of a break. You did so good this month." She kissed his gray forehead and moved on. Stopping to pet Darla's semi-wild face and Mastermind's snaky annoyed one. Lulu just backed into her stall. Fie stood at her door and turned her dark eye on Ripley. She was a regal looking filly. Her body was willowy and she held herself tall even while standing in her stall.

Her eyes were gentle and while she was calm most of the time, Ripley had seen her attitude in their morning gallops. The filly liked things her own way. She wasn't much for taking orders. In a way that fact made her very much like her older half-sister The Devil's Touch. Ripley ran a gentle hand down the filly's white curvy facial marking. The mare pricked her ears up and then relaxed under the hand. Her eyelids lowered and she faked relaxation.

Fiery Touch was never relaxed. Hadn't relaxed at the race track since Cheeto and she had arrived three days ago. She was always tense as if something was about to get her that needed preparation for. Even now her back legs were squarely planted in the shavings and her right ear twitched every time a new sound occurred. Ripley eyed the filly in interest. She had such a balanced demeanor. More balanced than any of the other horses present.

Ripely retrieved a grooming bucket and escorted herself into the filly's domain. Today was the first day that Ripley would work the mare out. She'd given her routine gallops the last three days, but was looking to see exactly what she was working with. She knew that Stride of Perfection Stable had just about given up with the daughter of Touch Up. Who could blame them? The filly didn't display the usual precocious brilliance that SOPS horses usually possessed. Their champions were champions from the get go. Fiery Touch was a horse of a different color.

Fie did not have sparkling breeding lines. She had lines that Ripley coveted, but not many other people coveted the lines. The Devil's Touch was by the same sire. Thanks for the Memories had been The Devil's dam. Flash at Dawn was a show horse of calm attitude. Fie was calm and sweet. Though she was a boss. Even now as Ripley groomed, the filly turned around constantly, ears flat to her head, tail whipping at Ripley's skin. The sting was great, but Ripely ignored it. The filly just had thin skin no doubt.

Boy was she a built horse though. Her muscles were extremely evident in her broad chest and her rump was large. Her gaskins were large and she had a real nice shoulder. She was extremely well conformed. Better actually than The Devil had been. The Devil made up for her lack of perfection with ferocious speed and immense talent. Ripley still wondered if Fie's talent had yet to be tapped into.

The filly looked like a runner. She had two half sisters who were proven runners. She had been good enough to finish second in Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies, albeit against only two other horse, but still a second in a Breeders Cup race was nothing to sneeze at. Winning Touch, the other filly in last years Breeders Cup had finished second in the Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf. Ripley picked the filly's hooves as she lifted them gently into her palm. Fie was quite eager for this part. Her head was up, her small ears pricked outside.

She knew the routine already. When Ripley groomed her, she was going to get to run. Little did she know that she actually would get to run today. Ripley bet that Fie had just faded into the background with all of those other promising horse that SOPS's was known for. She couldn't blame them. A high number of horses was always hard to work with. She had the time, the space and the ability to tweak a horse until their talent was fully exposed.

Since Fiery Touch had arrived, she'd barely just cracked the surface. Fie liked things her own way. Ripley never commanded her to run. In a race Ripley could see where that would be a predicament. The filly was a confirmed closer, very explosive in nature, but she needed to be able to move when the rider wanted her to move. Fie turned stubborn when someone asked her to go and it wasn't in her agreement that was the right decision.

Ripley tacked the filly up and continued to think things over. Fiery Touch lowered her head and tilted it strongly to the side, munching on the bit. Her eyes took on a peaceful look as she did so. Ripley wrapped the filly's black legs in polo wraps. When she'd been galloping, Ripley had noticed that if Fie picked up any speed she usually managed to chip her ankles and cause cuts to appear. It was healthier for the horse to run with wraps and would allow Ripley a piece of mind.

She led the horse out of her stall and made her stand while she pulled on her equipment for the last time this morning. Her nose was running again and she still had to ship and workout Mastermind at Green Horse Fields for the Unicorn Horn Juvenile Dirt Sprint. Brooks would be along later to workout Bella Luna for her maiden race. There was so much to do these days. Ripley slapped her cheeks with her gloved hands and caused Fiery Touch to back up rather quickly away. She let out a concerned noise and eyed Ripley nervously.

Ripley went up to her and stroked the filly's gleaming brown neck. "Alright silly lady. It's your turn." Ripley mounted her from the mounting block and snapped her now clean goggles down over her eyes. The filly's head bobbed out in front of her and she walked strongly away from the barn, ignoring the cries of her companions. Very quickly, all of Ripley's horses had taken to Fie. She was often saluted by them on her returns from the track. Ripley loved the filly already.

Fiery Touch lifted her head to take in the track, breathing in one large breath as if to scent everything. She moved lightly on her hooves after stopping for a brief second. Ripley let her do her thing. Usually the 16.2 hand filly liked to amble along at first. As if it didn't matter what race track she was at. As long as she went for a sight seeing walk, everything was right with the world. Ripley paid no attention to the people coming off the track or the clockers today. They had irritated her enough for one morning.

Fie stopped often around the track. She watched the horses who were running with competitive eyes, but made no move to bolt after them. Ripley felt as if she were on a biker chick who been through all the rodeos and obstacles and could care less what was going on these days. Fiery Touch just had an attitude that said 'back off and we'll be cool, piss me off and see what happens.' Ripely would always stick to the back off part.

The amble took about twenty minutes of their time, but Ripley was in no rush to hurry the filly along. They were again at the gap when the trainer asked the filly to pick up a quick job. The bay could really move at the trot. She just reached out so far it almost as if she wanted to be a Standardbred racehorse rather than a Thoroughbred. It was quite a flashy gait for a filly that really was not so flashy.

Ripley rode it halfway around the track and asked her for an easy gallop. She never leaned forward or smacked Fie. She always made her at ease. Fiery Touch did have some spirit after all and it did not seem like it would be the easily broken type. Ripley settled into the swift gallop, content to just be.

Her gallop was rather quick around the track. She wasn't blowing or seeming to be tired just yet. She had plenty of stamina in that racy form of hers. She did turn quite a few heads as she blew into the backstretch. She reached rather far with her forelegs and was constantly snorting and playing with the bit. Ripley let her have her way not asking her for anything more or anything less. However, going into the first turn again Ripley did pull the left rein so that the filly would head down in towards the rail. She pricked her ears, went a little faster for a second, but then settled down again.

With the nice cruising speed that she had going for her, you would think Fie would be up closer to the pack during a race. However, she just wasn't like that. Fie clearly had a passion for that nice closing kick that she demonstrated in her last two races, however, the kick had gotten her to the winner's circle just yet. Ripley bet it was her attitude. She was just stubborn. It was like she'd been held back and taught not to run too soon.

As they neared the middle of the backstretch, Ripley tensed on her back. She knew a way that might get the filly to go fast toward the end of a race. With a horse reluctant to run immediately, it was often easy to inch them out for a long sweeping move, rather than an in your face rocket ship kick. Ripley prepared herself to test the plan.

She leaned close and a let a notch of the reins out. Fie tilted her head back and then stretch her neck, her ears pricked up when she found slack in the rein. She took off for a few strides and slowed when the slack had become tight again. She was controlling herself. Ripley fished more rein out to the filly inch by inch. Her pace increased at every loose piece of rein. She was still controlled, but she wasn't just boldly laying her life on the line.

Rome was built brick by brick, not by a snap of the fingers. Ripley was pleased with how the work was going. As they wheeled it into the far turn, she really let the reins slide through her hands, until she held them neatly with one finger. Fiery Touch leaped forward, body spread over the ground like a falcon diving for prey. She charged, carried a little wide into the stretch. Ripley tested her ability to rein direction by softly pulling inward with a flick of the wrist. Fie went there. Wrist flick to the left and suddenly, Fie was three paths out with just barely any rein.

Ripley stopped her testing and let the filly finish up her three remaining furlongs down the homestretch. She was absolutely pouring more speed on down the stretch, so focused on going faster and faster. She was magical in her speed and her spirit. She just wanted this gut wrenching run. But it wasn't gut wrenching to her. It was natural.

As Ripley pulled the tall bay daughter of Touch Up together, she let out a wolf whistle. Fie relaxed into the reins and settled down to her even gallop once more. Ripley stood in the short stirrups, proud of the move that she had orchestrated. Her move was explosive, but it was to be asked for at the 3/5ths pole or just past the middle of the back stretch, depending on the size of field and the level of competition.

Ripley felt indestructible on the filly. Invincible on a filly who'd only won a single race in her 11 race career. It was unbelievable the confidence she felt in her mount coming off the track.