Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2012 4:21:24 GMT -5
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The vicious and furious black filly was visibly huge and as black as the midnight sky. Her name, Midnight Sun. Standing at the lingering height of seventeen hands and one inch, the filly was definitely one to watch. She was a ferocious runner and she wasn’t going to let anyone take her down, not even Ashes To Ashes, the current entrant in this race. Ashes To Ashes had more experience as a maiden that Night. Placing a second and a third in the previous two races, he was the favourite to win. He was also a three year old. The bay colt was born in Year 9, whereas the filly was a Year 10 foal. It would be a tremendous battle for the lead between colt and filly as both were front runners. It was practically obvious who the winner of the race would be due to the experience that they have, but the outcome of the race wasn’t certain until the race was actually ran.
Night is a very aggressive filly, she uses her aggression with passion. Visibly huge and aggressive, it is not recommended you try and tell Night how to behave when you are on the ground as she will not take it well. She hates just about everything and anyone, but the person that is on her. That is the only person she will listen to. Despite not being very friendly and sociable, she is fiery, forward going, and a very powerful young filly. She is a very dominant filly and feels she should be respected, even though she dislikes everyone around her. Night doesn’t like taking no for an answer at all.
On the track, Night will lash out and do just about anything to get them away from her. In her races, she likes to draw clear and take the lead, charging along the track. Night has a very dominant vibe of being a front runner. If anyone tries to overtake, she will lash out and do just about anything to be back in front. She hardly gets tired doing this, and focuses 100% when she isn’t trying to get back to the front.
Gating the filly is no problem, and neither is starting. Night breaks so fast you’d need superglue to even survive her starts. She never misses the break. Night focuses on getting that lead, and draws clear, making the margins quick, turning a mile into a sprint. She rarely gets tired. If anyone tries to come along side of her, she will lash out and do anything to get that horse back behind her. She doesn’t like taking no for an answer, but she will always listen to his jockey, and make her move when told. Pawing impatiently at the straw in her stall, Night scraped her hoof along the concrete, the metallic light aluminium shoe scraping along making an ear bleeding sound. I laughed and took hold of her white rein before leading her out of the stall. As always, I picked up my hat and my crop. My crop was slid into my belt, and I put my hat on and fastened it before vaulting on to the large seventeen one hand high filly.
She was big, I know, but she was also very muscular, and has the heart to run in the lead straight through her races. As I walked her on to the track, the sun shone down. It was warm for a spring day, but a perfect day for a good old gallop. I squeezed her into an energetic trot. She really picked her feet up. Pricking her ears, she tossed her head around and threw in a playful but yet childish buck. I giggled and the filly chomped the bit. I squeezed her forward into a canter. We cantered slowly up the backside. I stood tall in the stirrups, arching my back with my hands by the bottom of her mane. We approached the five furlong pole, and I began to let her loose. Throwing her head up, she pulled and began to run. I watched out the corner of my eye as Meghan stood at the side of the track on her stallion, Viz. I began to urge Night, and she stretched out and began to run on, faster than I ever expected. As we rounded the far turn, Night pricked her ears and began to run even more. We came to the top of the homestretch and I began to urge as much as I could. This time, Night stretched out and sprinted, just like she was drawing away from an invisible field of horses there. She moved to the centre of the track, like she would do in a race and sprinted down the centre. She kicked the dirt up behind her, and as we flew under the wire, I stood in my stirrups and pulled her up. I patted her warm dark neck, and she perked his ears, before trotting back over to Meg. She looked at me and smiled. Fifty nine and four fifths. I looked at her in complete awe. WHAT? I said, patting the filly again. Let’s go kick some butt, Nighty, I said, walking her into the stable block.
