protostar

[S u N f r O s T ~]

PROTOSTAR
Devil’s Flair & Valencia Andrews - Breeders Cup Juvenile Turf
Pandora & Kylie Silverstar - Breeders Cup Juvenile Fillies Turf
dense regions of molecular clouds where stars are forming

Valencia felt like sounding the hunting horn as she cantered her next mount over the turf track. A couple of Breeders Cup workouts later, and preparations were going incredibly well. Every horse was doing exactly what was asked of them, and then some. Form was sharp, attitudes were positive and Amber was happy. Valencia could ask for nothing but the same for the remainder of the workouts. And she was aboard one of the mounts that most called to her inner spirit - being an annoyance to their competition. Devil’s Flair excelled at being an annoying horse. The minute he broke out of the gates, he gave every horse hell, pressing them to the end of their endurance, torturing them for the entirety of the race before blowing them away at the end of the stretch and sapping them of their morale as well as their speed and strength. It made Valencia cackle.

Devil’s Flair felt like a purring motor as he continued to canter down the inside. Valencia knew she had to keep an eye out for their workout partner. They couldn’t begin without her. For now, she soaked in the feeling of the long striding Augusto son staking his claim over the turf. He was roaring after a powerful win just last week, and there were no doubts about his form going into this race. While the race had taken a bit out of him, that was easily remedied with an easy workout today. She wouldn’t push the pace once with this colt today. Pandora would likely work the same way; she was coming off of a race as well just last week, but in her case it had ended with a second place finish.

Kylie Silverstar’s hands trembled as she saddled and swung up on Pandora. The blue blooded filly snorted curiously, sensitive to the mood of her rider, and twisted her head around to fix the young woman in a single ear. She whinnied anxiously, then swung back around as Kylie urged her forward. Her hands steadied as she reached familiar ground - the turf track - and accelerated to a canter. Pandora moved with innate grace and beauty, completely unaware of the gazes that became affixed to her immediately. Her bloodlines had drawn attention at first, and now it was her own performance. She had hit grade three, winning six Horse of the Year races in the process, and all with a very new rider on her back. Kylie blushed at the assessing gazes, the unwritten expectations. Yes, this was her first Breeders Cup. But she wouldn’t let that stop her.

Pandora closed off all expressions as she accelerated a bit more, cantering along the inside and hooking up alongside Devil’s Flair. Immediately the chestnut colt attempted to lean on the filly, using his bulk to attempt to intimidate her. Pan didn’t blink an eye, leaning right back and threatening in her own right. She was very used to Devil’s antics; they often worked together and raced against each other. Devil snorted and backed off, eyes gleaming as he confirmed his old foe and began to scheme up new plans for taking her done. Pan snorted as though saying try try you will, but you won’t succeed. And Devil snorted right back. Try try I will, and I will succeed. Their riders exchanged amused glances, then eased their mounts into the gallop.

And they would go no faster. Races last week meant the two were in peak form, and doing too much would push them over it and bring them down more than help. Both horses were facing incredibly tough fields and would need every bit of rest, every bit of sharpness in their form in order to achieve the victories they were capable of. An even juvenile division made every race difficult, every race one to the wire. Every tactic mattered in these races. Devil would give his competitors the roughest time, as per usual; Pan would pick the style she felt in the beginning stages of her race, and Kylie would adjust as she had learned to.

Stride for stride, clicking off easy fractions, the juveniles mirrored each other. They were in no hurry, no hurry at all. A shade under twenty five, a shade under fifty. Easy does it down the backstretch. Pandora stuck a stubborn nose in front regardless, with Devil shadowing her steps and biding his time. But he would not get the chance to make his move today. They hit six furlongs and were slowed, easing the already easy pace down to a canter. They would canter out the final quarter and then call it a day. Devil snorted and tossed his head, eyes glaring now for all to see his displeasure. Pan merely snorted merrily. She knew her time would come.

The pair glided under the wire, easy as could be, full of energy for the Breeders Cup. They were dead even at the wire, just as dead even as they currently were in talent and form. Their riders exchanged grins, pleasure in their eyes and excitement brewing in their hearts. The turf had not been under the SOPS domain for far too long. It was time to assert their dominance again, and this was the pair to do that and then some.