blood red

[Cruisey]

RED HERRING && SAMMIE PICKETT

He was back on the track for the first and final time in Year Fifteen. Red Herring stepped proudly onto the deep sand for the last time before the Dubai World Championship, a race not only prestigious but one that is equal for all runners no matter their surface preference. Red tossed his fiery red mane and puffs of steam escaped his nostrils in the chilly January air. Sammie sat on the stallion’s back, admiring the scene before her and reminiscing on their previous season. Normally with Red, you couldn’t afford to stop paying attention to him for just a second or else you would be on your ass, but with Sammie it was different. She spent so much time with the chestnut stallion that he really seemed to tone down his behaviour around her.

“You ready, Sammie?” Carter spoke from the ground, grip still on Red’s halter. The petit girl nodded and gathered her reins. As soon as Carter’s grip was released from the bridle, Red squealed and shook his head and broke into a canter. Sammie was not the least bit surprised and quickly calmed the stallion and brought him back to a trot. He was trotting on the bit, his head tucked neatly into his chest, toes flicking with every step he took. Red didn’t seem to mind the sand, in fact Sammie thought he preferred it just as much as the dirt. Despite the chilly morning, he was already sweating through his saddle blanket, typical Red. Without prompt, Red lurched forwards into a canter. He was moving sideways across the track, something he always did when he was excited. He held his head high as he cantered forwards, as if he knew that this would be one of the last times he would be running.

The gates were ahead of them and Sammie brought the stallion back to a walk. Red walked with authority, with a spring in his step as he loaded the gates for the second last time of his career. Time stood still as Sammie prepared for the break. Red shuffled a bit in the stall, but that didn’t last long as the buzzer sounded and he left the gates swiftly. Red set himself at a pace where he would be right on the leader’s tails, pressuring them and eyeing their every move. He stayed soft in Sammie’s hands, something he would have never done if it was someone else aboard. Their workout would be five furlongs gallop with two furlongs handily, so that Red could get one last good feel of the sand before tomorrow.

It was flashes of red and gold as the chestnut stallion streaked past the four furlong pole, his fiery red tail streaming behind him. His strong muscles propelled him across the sand as Sammie felt his pace increasing. Red knew what was going on and he took charge once they passed five furlongs. Legs worked double and he stretched out – almost flat – to the ground. The jockey on top of him crouched lower on his neck, feeding him the reins which he automatically took up with his strides. There was no doubt that Red Herring was strong, and he running on the sand may have been a good indication of how much heart the horse had.

Inch by inch, Red came closer to his goal, and inch by inch Sammie let go of his face. Sammie didn’t always like to use the whip in his workouts, but normally just a wave of the stick drove him harder. With that said, she flashed him the whip on his outside and without warning he found another gear. Something clicked inside of his brain to move faster, and move faster was what he did. Red surged forwards, his legs a whirlwind of motion underneath him. If this was the Championships, he would definitely be ahead at this point. Sammie had never felt him move this fast before, and he was definitely stronger as a five year old. The finish marker was way behind them, but it seemed as if Red wanted to run forever. The small woman struggled to get him under control, but she couldn’t help but wipe the smile off of her face as she brought him back to Carter.

This horse was ready, and he was ready to get his revenge from the Breeder’s Cup.