Post by Kenren on Jun 21, 2015 16:00:51 GMT -5
Mourning Passion & Savita Tusaint for the Fall Dawn Treader Cup
Shenanigans & Tigris Greenfire for the Prince of Wales Stakes
Shenanigans & Tigris Greenfire for the Prince of Wales Stakes
The time was now. Never before had a Valkyrie horse been entered in such a small Triple field - only two horses were to run in the second leg of the Canadian Triple Crown, the Prince of Wales Stakes. It was one less thing to worry about, and not a luxury to be overlooked. However, there was one small problem. The other contender was the winner of the first leg of the series, the colt that had held off the black filly by a length at the end. Casualty of War was not so different from Shenanigans, not in record nor preparation, but all of that was thrown out the window in these moments. Preparation, record - nothing mattered in a race other than training and the heart of the animal beneath you. Who was willing to give more, and who was ready to take it. Tigris knew that Casualty of War would probably take the lead, as he had in the Queen's Plate, and Shenanigans would fall no further back than his tail. He would keep him within striking distance at all cost, and he knew his fiery filly would need no urging. While Tigris had ridden in before, and won, Triple races, this series in this year meant so much more to him than the one on National Treasure had. That had been a good horse he'd been placed upon. This one, though - this one he had helped train. He had cultivated her. He was quite confidently the only jockey, even including Minske, that could take Shenanigans and turn her into a champion. And this was all he'd been waiting for. His chance to prove the Bucephalus filly's worth.
Tigris kneaded the reins in his hands, feeling the thoughtful chew of the filly's mouth on the bit in response. He sometimes wondered if she felt the pressure. He didn't think she did - she knew when a big race was upon her, it was hard not to, but he didn't think she knew anything else but the thrill of a fight and the joy of victory. And, of course, the bitterness of loss. "Perhaps this time," he murmured to her, sliding his hand along the crest of her neck, scratching just beside the roots of her mane the way she liked. She stretched her neck, just a little, and he warmed at the trust in her every movement with him. He had the fleeting thought that, really, he'd already won everything he wanted. He'd worked for so long to simply understand Shanna enough to make her a decent racehorse, and he'd already done much more than that. Oddly emotional and rebelling against it, Tigris clucked to the filly and she stepped out haughtily, proudly, onto the dirt. Her strides were long, and her energy high enough that it was only a moment before she was dancing. He kept his reins loose, only checking her with gentle pressure every now and again, but even then he wouldn't be able to keep her this slow for long. Especially not when he felt her attention turn sharply to the other horse on the track.
Tigris was always struck by the sight of raw power that Mourning Passion made when he was... well, doing anything, really. For the moment he was trotting, massive musculature rippling in the morning sun, and Tigris didn't have another moment to ponder it before his horse was into action on her own, trotting briskly and threatening more in order to catch up to the stallion. He let her go, standing in the stirrups and guiding her alongside the other horse. Tigris caught sight of Cole out of the corner of his eye, then turned his attention back to Mourn's rider, Savita. The stallion and the girl were shorter than the adjacent pair, so Tigris had to look down at the other rider - something that inherently irritated the girl, but she smiled back at him nonetheless. Mourning Passion had had a season so far that was much comparable to Shanna's - a little troubled but continuing to be hard-trying. Mourn was beginning to get a chip on his shoulder, and it was obvious to anyone that saw him run. For a stallion like that, with the type of success he'd achieved last season, to be beaten again and again... well, he didn't take it well. He was agitated, which was a tell in and of itself for such a calm and collected horse. And Tigris knew that their upcoming challenge was probably even harder than their own. Ventura was Mourn's opponent, and the mare had done little wrong this season. However, if any of the jockeys at Valkyrie knew how to take the mare down, it was Savita. One of the mare's only defeats this year had come recently, when Alucard had beat her out with Savita aboard. Different horse and different circumstances, but at least the girl knew that Ventura could be beaten. And they were going to do their damnedest to get it done.
Something odd caught Tigris' eye as they moved into a canter, and he asked, "Forget your whip?" Tigris didn't even bother carrying one on Shanna, on the off chance that he'd have a mental collapse and use it on her. Savita laughed, then shot him a look that was all challenge. "You're not using one, so I won't either. If I beat your ass it's going to be fair and square." Yeah, that sounded about right. With a bark of a laugh, Tigris just shook his head and let Shanna leap into a gallop. Savita was putting herself at a disadvantage, though she probably didn't realize it. Shanna didn't need a handicap. She wasn't hindered without the encouragement of a whip. She was one of the best horses Tigris had ever ridden, and she was about to kick Mourn's butt.
Of course, Mourn himself had other ideas. He leapt immediately after the filly, closing the gap between them in a few strides. They went in company around the turn, and Tigris shook Shanna up two furlongs from the wire. The filly didn't need to be asked twice, and Tigris' shift over her shoulders had her absolutely tearing up the dirt. Mourn followed right alongside, shorter legs moving a little faster but not bothering him in the least. Nostrils flared and ears pinned, there was nothing but a head bob between them as they thundered down the stretch. Neither of them pushed the horses out of of the duel, so there was no true winner crossing the wire - but they didn't need there to be. The horses were absolutely flying, determined and raging for their moments in the spotlight. Tigris felt a strange sense of detached elation.
Soon.
Tigris kneaded the reins in his hands, feeling the thoughtful chew of the filly's mouth on the bit in response. He sometimes wondered if she felt the pressure. He didn't think she did - she knew when a big race was upon her, it was hard not to, but he didn't think she knew anything else but the thrill of a fight and the joy of victory. And, of course, the bitterness of loss. "Perhaps this time," he murmured to her, sliding his hand along the crest of her neck, scratching just beside the roots of her mane the way she liked. She stretched her neck, just a little, and he warmed at the trust in her every movement with him. He had the fleeting thought that, really, he'd already won everything he wanted. He'd worked for so long to simply understand Shanna enough to make her a decent racehorse, and he'd already done much more than that. Oddly emotional and rebelling against it, Tigris clucked to the filly and she stepped out haughtily, proudly, onto the dirt. Her strides were long, and her energy high enough that it was only a moment before she was dancing. He kept his reins loose, only checking her with gentle pressure every now and again, but even then he wouldn't be able to keep her this slow for long. Especially not when he felt her attention turn sharply to the other horse on the track.
Tigris was always struck by the sight of raw power that Mourning Passion made when he was... well, doing anything, really. For the moment he was trotting, massive musculature rippling in the morning sun, and Tigris didn't have another moment to ponder it before his horse was into action on her own, trotting briskly and threatening more in order to catch up to the stallion. He let her go, standing in the stirrups and guiding her alongside the other horse. Tigris caught sight of Cole out of the corner of his eye, then turned his attention back to Mourn's rider, Savita. The stallion and the girl were shorter than the adjacent pair, so Tigris had to look down at the other rider - something that inherently irritated the girl, but she smiled back at him nonetheless. Mourning Passion had had a season so far that was much comparable to Shanna's - a little troubled but continuing to be hard-trying. Mourn was beginning to get a chip on his shoulder, and it was obvious to anyone that saw him run. For a stallion like that, with the type of success he'd achieved last season, to be beaten again and again... well, he didn't take it well. He was agitated, which was a tell in and of itself for such a calm and collected horse. And Tigris knew that their upcoming challenge was probably even harder than their own. Ventura was Mourn's opponent, and the mare had done little wrong this season. However, if any of the jockeys at Valkyrie knew how to take the mare down, it was Savita. One of the mare's only defeats this year had come recently, when Alucard had beat her out with Savita aboard. Different horse and different circumstances, but at least the girl knew that Ventura could be beaten. And they were going to do their damnedest to get it done.
Something odd caught Tigris' eye as they moved into a canter, and he asked, "Forget your whip?" Tigris didn't even bother carrying one on Shanna, on the off chance that he'd have a mental collapse and use it on her. Savita laughed, then shot him a look that was all challenge. "You're not using one, so I won't either. If I beat your ass it's going to be fair and square." Yeah, that sounded about right. With a bark of a laugh, Tigris just shook his head and let Shanna leap into a gallop. Savita was putting herself at a disadvantage, though she probably didn't realize it. Shanna didn't need a handicap. She wasn't hindered without the encouragement of a whip. She was one of the best horses Tigris had ever ridden, and she was about to kick Mourn's butt.
Of course, Mourn himself had other ideas. He leapt immediately after the filly, closing the gap between them in a few strides. They went in company around the turn, and Tigris shook Shanna up two furlongs from the wire. The filly didn't need to be asked twice, and Tigris' shift over her shoulders had her absolutely tearing up the dirt. Mourn followed right alongside, shorter legs moving a little faster but not bothering him in the least. Nostrils flared and ears pinned, there was nothing but a head bob between them as they thundered down the stretch. Neither of them pushed the horses out of of the duel, so there was no true winner crossing the wire - but they didn't need there to be. The horses were absolutely flying, determined and raging for their moments in the spotlight. Tigris felt a strange sense of detached elation.
Soon.
