Bold in Brass

[Ripley]

BOLD IN BRASS
featuring:
Indian Night and Reese Balling Jones
Vagabond and Maggiletti Reynolds
Firestorm and Laura DeComte

The sun slanted through the heavy clouds and lit up the smooth rolling hills that made up the turf track. Ripley yearned for a camera in the moment, her finger itching to press a button and capture the dramatic display of dark and light. She could picture her horses, barebacked and wild, running over those hills, flaunting their high energy and eagerness to be free of all humans. If she could ever turn her horses loose from the constraints of paddocks and bridles, saddles and halters, she would. If that were her chosen profession, she certainly would. But it wasn't.

Instead, Ripley Marsh headed one of the largest racing conglomerates in the United States. Her thirty-three horse roster was among the most powerful from top to bottom. She'd rather watch her trim and fit thoroughbreds pound the sand on a dirt track or truck up and down over the turf than gallop freely around her fields. There was plenty of time for them to do that upon the closure of their careers. Personally, she thought all of her horses loved the training and the racing. They got amped up and learned race day routine. They would grow heavy on the bit when they sensed it was truly time to run and more than a few, trumpeted challenges in a horsey language that Ripley wished she could understand.

As was the case every season, racing was put under the media knife and every year, Ripley was forced to defend her lifestyle, her people and her horses. She wanted to invite the critics out to Battle Brook, to dare them to find one unhappy horse on her string. If there was an unhappy horse, Ripley would spot it before the media. Hadn't she retired Nirvana upon finding the three year old filly just didn't want to dance anymore races? She'd retired a perfectly good champion and drawn the consternation of the racing world, but screw it. Now Nirvana was giving her babies. Her first being a filly by Flashpoint with a booking to Mighty News for her second.

She'd returned Nirvana back to the fields she loved, but today Ripley would be bringing back a colt to the turf track to which he belonged. She lifted her hand to hide her eyes from the suddenly bright light and found the trio of horses that would be working out over the turf. The colt in question stood out brilliantly under the fresh lighting. He glowed like a white flame, each round dapple highlighted on his body. The colt had a delicate head and big chocolate brown eyes. His tiny ears flickered alertly on his head, scanning the nearby area thoughtfully.

Vagabond and Firestorm circled around the lithe colt, their thick necks bowed as they fought the restraint. The sons of Winged Heir and Kyoujin simply could not understand why they were dawdling around before the workout. Each muscle on Firestorm's body was taunt and ready for a run. The three year old colt had matured immensely over the last month. Although, he only had two wins so far on the season, he'd run a lot more and still seemed ready for more. Durability was an essential trait in any horse that Ripley campaigned. This one had a special destination in the Canadian Triple Crown. Rigorous campaigning would be necessary if they were going to make it all the way to the twelve furlong Breeders' Stakes.

Maggie patted Vagabond's neck when the stallion finally settled down and stood still. While Firestorm thrummed with energy, Vagabond was the picture of quiet confidence. He yawned hugely, tilting his head to the side before swinging his head around to nudge her boot. She smiled down at his face, pleased by his easy going attitude. When moving, the bay stallion was truly rough on the hands, but he was easy to calm down.

Ripley stepped forward, shaking her watch in her hand. Indian Night blew through his nostrils and backed up several steps as if realizing that here was the monster he'd been waiting for all night. The son of Indian Delight was a bit hotter than either Firestorm and Vagabond. She needed to keep that in proper perspective. "How'd he feel riding over here?" Ripley asked Reese.

The South American woman smiled and comforted Nye with a pat on his nearly white neck. "Perfect. He was definitely looking around less today than the last week. He's been hard to settle down, but he's coming around. He was a cool customer even when Storm started misbehaving."

Laura grunted and circled her fiery colt. Ever since Storms's grade three victory on the turf, he'd been hard to handle and ready to roll. Ripley was not surprised to hear that he was behaving like a delinquent. "He looks better now," Ripley remarked. She walked to each colt, examined their legs and accepting Bond's searching nudges. "Good. I expect we'll see something fast in the flat. I only want them to canter a alf-mile. We've put a lot of stamina builders into them this week. Time to give them a lung opener."

She stepped back from the horses and waved her arm outward to gesture them forward. Nye mouthed the bit nervously, but when Reese asked him to step forward, the slick colt was more than happy to oblige. He moved smoothly from walk to trot and then to a canter before Vagabond so much as moved. Reese stood tall in the stirrups, her hands sliding down the reins to take a good grip on the colt. Nye tossed his head vehemently at first, but settled down with a huff.

Firestorm moved up to the gray's hip, his brown ears flicking around. His eyes flashed when Nye bolted sideways nearly taking out Firestorm's stride. The bay straightened up, emboldened by the rough housing and pulled up alongside Nye. Laura held the Kyoujin son still, gritting her teeth when he fought for a few strides. "Easy, Storm."

Maggie watched the two younger colts play bumper cars three lengths back aboard Bond. The older horse was just playing over the grass, his big strides covering impressive amounts of ground with hardly any effort at all. He snorted and bowed his neck, stretching for the flat. They'd switched up his running style in his last race, putting him more in the game sooner than ever before. As luck would have it, calling a style audible had been the best decision ever. Bond had great cruising speed and when left with less work to do, he proved to be much more competitive. His grade one victory added him to an already formidable older handicap division at Battle Brook.

Reese didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that Vagabond was galloping confidently behind her. Since his victory, Bond had been on his game. Nye's best advantage was his tactical speed. Unlike Pride, who had been fiercely independent and fast at two and three and was only now just becoming a rateable horse, Nye was there. The dappled gray colt got over the ground with swift strides, but he no longer fought. His left ear was trained on Firestorm as they shot up the final hillside before the flat. When Firestorm launched up the hill, Nye put on a burst of speed. He was a competitive bugger.

The trio loped down the hillside, nearly pulling even with one another on the way down to the flat. Nye stuttered at the base, unsure when to jump, but he committed when Reese flashed him the whip and Firestorm bolted. The bay three year old soared to the lead, taking advantage of Nye's lack of confidence, and didn't look back. He pinned his ears backward, opened his stride and thundered over the manicured grass. An uncontrolled laugh bubbled out of Laura's mouth when he kept on pouring it on.

Maggie was shocked by Firestorm's turn of foot and truly surprised to find Indian Night and Vagabond side by side. As one, the women set their equally stunned colts down for the drive. Nye's nearly white legs blurred beneath his body as he responded quicker than Vagabond. Set with an end goal, Nye was in his element. Reese tangled her hands in his mane when his easy strides turned to big bursting ones. He soared over the grass, lengthening his head and neck and quickly made up the ground on Firestorm. With a furlong to go, Nye was at Firestorm's hip then his barrel. Reese glanced under her shoulder and found Vagabond pulling Maggie to Nye's right.

Firestorm and Bond pressed in toward the middle, but Nye didn't back out. The challenge to his bravery only made him angrier. With a surge, Nye broke into the lead, upending the blatant intimidation attempt. Firestorm and Bond responded, pushing onward and upward, not letting the upstart get away with an easy victory.

Ripley snapped the stopper of her watch when the trio hit the wire, separated only by bobbing noses. A wide grin spread across her face when the colts bounded up the hill and out of sight. She'd aimed for a speed burning run and she'd got it. Things could only go up from here and that was enough to have Ripley celebrating.