passion

[S u N f r O s T ~]

ACTUALLY STARTED WRITING NOVEMBER 21, 2012
SWEET INFERNO AND HENNA TURATH

I had a feeling I wasn't riding the black filly known as Sweet Inferno enough to help her improve. Her seconditus streak was something I was hoping to break, and she had been laid off for about two months now. The development time had only enriched her musculature and her temperament. Sweetie was overpowering as ever, brutally so due to the lack of races, and she looked more like a colt than a filly now. I watched her through the stall rails and noticed the fluidity of her motion, the bold dominance she displayed through the simple arch of her neck. The infernal beast was ready to be released once more, and I was ready to get back in the saddle of a filly who I hoped would be my ticket to the Triple Crown next year. I had to get to work now and stop ignoring this blue blood. She had so much potential that it hurt me to think about it.

I went straight towards the tack room, grabbed Sweetie's stuff, prepped her and then led her out to the home dirt track. Her hooves sank into the loamy dirt and as she stepped out the aura of the black filly perceptibly calmed. Her formerly wild eyes stopped rolling about and focused on a singular goal somewhere in front of her. She became putty in my hands, an angel ready to be commanded. The juvenile's two months off had rebounded nicely. She had developed new musculature and a new desire and passion for the win. I was only too eager to help Sweetie get there. With a single win to her name and lots of seconds, it was my job to break the streak and I knew that I wanted to with a passion. Such passion was rekindling in the black as we set off at a sprightly trot and then a rolling canter.

Sweetie had placed third in the Green Cup last time out on the Green Horse Fields track. She was now slated for the Springfield Derby, a competitive comeback race but one I felt driven to win. She would likely be the best rested horse in the field and the most desiring of that win. She had placed second too many times, nearly tasted victory only to fail so many times that I felt the unusual rage coiling in her body and reverberating through the reins. Sweetie was usually the horse that was fiery and domineering off the track but calm as ever on it. But now she was showing some juvenile tendencies. She had picked up on my business-like attitude and felt that a race was coming up soon. The conditioning and slight speed workouts of the past were at an end. Now she would be going for full speed and she relished the thought.

The Crooked Fire and Sweet Stalker daughter would be a front runner during her race. Her overpowering temperament demanded no other position but that. Sweetie would play the race furlong by furlong up there, taking it as easy as she could so that there was something left. She was exhilarated by the sensation of leading the pack and I was just as exhilarated when I rode her in those races. There was more here, waiting to be unveiled. I had felt it growing as the months swept by. She was developing quickly, and had petered off for a bit but would improve again. That was my pact to her and I would stick to it. We both loved the game of racing and got along with each other. The bond and our passion would be cemented in the coming months, starting with this race.

I dropped the reins suddenly and released the inferno. The black thoroughbred accelerated as a sprinter would. When she had been in gate training, she had been the first to master the concept of rocketing out of the gate, and that had been the first display of her aptitude for front running. She had been bred for distance races, of course, and vastly preferred having more running room. Now she was rocketing into that high cruising speed she boded and without the pressure of horses behind had settled within a quick furlong to some decent fractions. She knew that today's workout was about speed and she was excited. Speed was in her blood and it was also apart of mine.

The flames of our joy roared higher as I shifted gears and so did she. We worked into a faster pace, and then a faster one. The furlongs flew and we were flying with them, on clouds of light and dreams. I felt our passion crackling through the reins and then slowed her, laughing, as the workout ended. What an exhilarating run and passionate horse Sweetie was.