Post by S u N f r O s T ~ on Jan 16, 2010 9:00:15 GMT -5
The newly turned two year old gazed out at the dirt track. It was empty, and the sun lit it with a fiery brown brilliance. I felt Falsehood shift, his eyes narrowing against the glare, and then open again as a cloud drifted across the sun, extinguishing the flames. I held the gray firmly. As a two year old, he was prone to unpredictable behaviors. Keeping a firm hand on Falsehood would assure me of my control. If I lost control, I would be in for it. Falsehood was a steam engine that could not be stopped. The magnificent son of Definite Glory had the makings of a champion in his broad chest, sleek build, and passionate attitude. He had the arrogance, the need for dominance - but speed? Stamina? Falsehood packed those in great supply.
I lightly cued the colt for a walk. Falsehood responded instantly; he had learned well. He strode out onto the track, used to this dirt. He had trained here, galloped here. But breezed here? No, that he had not, and today would be the day of his first breeze. He was entered in a maiden race already against seven others, and would need all his class for race day. I grinned as Falsehood upped the pace to a trot when I squeezed slightly. He was like a dressage horse - the smallest, lightest cues possible was all he needed to get going. His powerful trot covered ground quickly, and soon we were rounding the turn and entering the backstretch.
Just as we came off of that turn, I asked for a canter. Falsehood obliged me, his pace increasing. The wind began to call our name, and Falsehood responded as he only could. He strove against my now very tight hold, wanting to race the wind. I had expected this behavior of the wispy gray colt, as he had exhibited it in all his track training. It made me smile, made me wonder just what kind of colt I had here. It had been tough to get this one - about ten others had asked to take him in from TDI - but in the end he was mine, and I was his. Our bond had grown deep through our extensive training - well, deep for a new two year old anyway, there was a still a lot of strengthening of if to be done. But I hoped our bond would give us a huge advantage at the mile race on dirt in a week.
Falsehood begged for that blissful gallop as soon as he saw the empty ground ahead of him. He widened his stride and dug into the dirt in his eagerness, searching for a way to circumvent my tight hold so he could go. His sudden passion surprised me, but racing was in Falsehood's blood, and the colt loved to run. I shrugged to myself and let the colt out, holding on tight as the wispy gray exploded onto the dirt track. His legs reached forward as his body flew through the air, powered by his hind legs. He entered the gallop and immediately relaxed, upping the pace to a swift one at his leisure. I knew the colt would be a kick butt front runner on the track for sure, but he knew enough not to tire himself out too quickly. That much intelligence he had, at least. I wasn't sure of just how smart this colt was yet.
I moved with the rhythm in the relaxed way of the experienced jockey, my hands like irons on the reins, holding back the cannon that wanted to explode. Falsehood had begun tugging for more rein as the furlongs whipped by. We were nearly at the last turn, and he was asking for the pace of a breeze. Was he ready? I paused to consider that for only a second. Heck yes he was ready! I opened up those reins and whooped like a cowgirl as Falsehood's pace flared. We were gliding along with ease, like a bird on an air current. It was smooth and beautiful, like Falsehood was an angel with real wings who really was gliding on an air current. I checked for wings and found none, shrugged, and went back to my silent wonderment of this magnificent thoroughbred.
He was quick, but on the turn he faltered slightly. He cornered clumsily but quickly regained himself in the stretch for an all out run to the wire. I frowned, but then smirked. We would have to work on that, yes, but for now - wow!
Falsehood's breaths came in short, measured bursts as we crossed the wire. The mile hadn't taken too much out of him, and within a few days he would be ready to be unleashed once more. Lucky for us, the race was a week away - otherwise, he wouldn't be in top condition. I smiled to myself as I gently slowed the unwilling Falsehood down. Falsehood took deeper breaths as we slowed, his pace becoming steadily more controlled until we were finally walking. I patted his sweaty neck and planned our strategy. Break like a maniac, sprint into that lead, keep that lead unless sorely challenged, and win! Yes, a good plan for one such as Falsehood, the amazing wispy gray son of Definite Glory was was definitely geared for glory.