The Witch's Touch

[Ripley]

The Witch's Touch
featuring: Saintly Touch & Sun King

The sun peaked over the horizon just as Ripley and her first set of of the day moseyed toward the track. Some horses were already out galloping in the darkness, their hoofbeats growing louder or fainter depending on their position on the racetrack. The smell of hay and horse lulled Ripley into a sense of peace. Just one more workout for her in the next couple of days, a couple of gallops up until the Breeders' Cup and then it would be over. Her jockey career would be over and she would be just a trainer. And a mother. A small smile touched her mouth as she reached the rail at the gap, pulled open the gate and gestured for her pair to make their way out.

Saintly Touch's dark body looked shadowy in the dim dawn light, his one eye gleaming as he took in his surroundings. Reese perched at the horse's withers, her dark eyes following the line of jogging horses. A feeling of anticipation buzzed through Reese's veins and she reached down to pet the colt's neck. Night Stalker's colt was a dark horse in the Breeders' Cup Juvenile despite his six victories on the season. Speak Easy and Impressionable looked like the more logical betting favorites with their recent successes, but Saint had a family tradition to follow and Ripley simply liked her colt better. He'd grown quite a bit during his break and he was coming into form off of a second place finish in the Louisiana Legacy. His seal brown body had been covering the track with glorious ease. While Ripley knew that Sun King and Casualty of War had become the focus of the media, she also knew that Saintly Touch was not to be discounted going into next season's Triple Crown trail.

Ripley stepped back to take in the view of the second colt in the set. Sun King, the glorious full-bodied chestnut half to Mastermind, stood tall and proud as he gazed out to the track. The Native Flame colt rippled with muscle and his physique was impressive despite the overall darkness of the morning. Ripley smiled as she took in her towering male titans and aimed thanks to whoever had sent them to her. Sun King and Saintly Touch would be forever locked in a pitched battle to assert their dirt dominance. While Sun King was firing up the racing world with his tour de force two year old campaign, Saint was growing into his skin and becoming the very tough powerhouse that his lineage had promised he would be.

She had a bunch of excellent two year olds and she was dead set on finding out exactly what she'd have come next year. The woman nodded toward the track and grinned. "Just a four furlong breeze. Shade :48 3/5. Just enough to open their lungs for the dance."

Brooks patted King's neck, knew the horse would light up the track no matter how slow Ripley wanted him to go. The Native Flame colt simply was a monster these days, already at the stage many current three year old sprinters were at. He was something else and the world would see something else if he continued to move into the Breeders' Cup like he had been. The bullish colt stepped out into a lope upon command, ears flicking when Saintly Touch kept pace with him. The seal brown Night Stalker colt looked poised to attack, every muscle as tense as a spring. His eye swept over King with intent and promise to fulfill that intent. Brooks shivered inwardly at the look, but King merely glared back in defiance. He was afraid of no one and nothing.

Reese knew King was a blazing comet when given his head. Saintly Touch had more of a workmanlike appeal, but he never stopped coming at you. He had the stamina to last through a brawl which is what was required to beat Sun King. Reese's hands were relaxed in Saint's black mane as the colts marched through the first turn and into the backstretch. Saint had a focused look in his gaze and each stride was one of purpose. With King looming on the outside, the seal brown colt was confident. He could sense the rail to his inside, but King was more of a thread than the rail he couldn't see. His weakness forgotten, Saint tugged on the bit for more.

King wasn't surprised when his pesky stablemate kept up. Saint was always the toughest workmate because he never seemed to lay down and quit. Brooks kept his eyes ahead, ignoring Reese's clever tricks to keep King in the middle of the course. Saint was not going to give his rail spot up for anything and Brooks could bet the animal would cut the corner. King would be forced to chased, something he was used to when there was a front runner. But unlike a tiring front runner, Saint would not give up. He would push on as belligerently as he had started.

The riders kept quiet as the colts became more fervent in the third furlong. Saint had done exactly as Brooks had expected and kept close to the rail. The seal brown colt whipped through the turn, gaining ground on King and blowing it open into the stretch. Reese had yet to move a muscle for she was banking on Sun King's immense turn of foot.

King rallied beneath Brooks, his hooves churning the dirt as he lined out like a greyhound. He charged down the track, each stride becoming longer and more impressive. He was at Saint's throat latch in the final half furlong, gaining on the foe that wouldn't quit. The colts rushed side by side for the line becoming more physical in competitiveness. Saint and King shot beneath the wire, ears shooting up as each assumed victory. The colts continued through the turn, testing one another despite the commands to slow down.

Ripley hummed as the pair galloped out strongly and eased their way out to the outer rail. She was already seeing beyond the Breeders' Cup for these two. She was thinking Derby and she was also thinking that she would not trade places with anyone. The woman smiled as Maggie approached with a twinkle in her gaze. "I think you're set for retirement, Ripley Marsh."

Ripley laughed, "I think so too!"