Post by SigOUrNeY on Nov 11, 2007 18:56:09 GMT -5
continued from link
until i breathe my final breathe i swear my heart is yours
i belong to the wind, to the track, to the sky
i am yours no more
”I swear Kiss, you’re getting fatter,” Lani said to the mare, playfully pulling at the thoroughbred’s large ears. Kiss butted the side of Lani’s cheek in response, leaving a smudged slobber mark. The girl made a face as she rubbed it away with the side of her arm. ”Sorry, baby girl, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Lani teased with a smile, and stroked a loving hand down the powerful horse’s neck. As she looked at the mare’s stomach, however, it was true. Kiss had but on some more bulk in the stomach area, and her appetite had increased. But the most alarming was that her workout times were getting slower. Was Kiss finally losing her edge? Lani brushed away the thought hardly before it had entered her mind. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Instead, the blonde girl leaned her head against Kiss’ muscular shoulder, and watched as Simon mounted War Flag on the other side of the stable yard, and rode him towards the track.
The dominant stallion performed several crow hops before going through the opening in the outer rail to enter the oval. Simon Phillips had his face in a grim line, concentrating on the reins that were currently being ripped out of his hands. The jockey stayed glued to the saddle, perfectly accustomed to War Flag’s post workout tantrums. Mr. Duce, who sat atop Thee Warning, calmly followed Jag onto the dirt track, and let Tee do her job. The chestnut mare assumed her spot next to Jag, and gave him a stern nip on the shoulder that immediately put the thoroughbred in his place. They went through the usual routine, making sure Jag was properly warmed up and settled down. After a full circuit of the track, the stallion seemed relaxed; well toned muscles shivered under his glistening crimson hide. A cherry red mane fell in waves down his thick neck, and Jag’s long tail rippled with every commanding step he took. Simon leaned over to scratch him under the mane. The thrill of riding such a powerful horse never wore off, and Simon felt shivers run up his spine as he remembered their breathtaking win in the BC Dirt Mile.
Photographers lined up along the outside rail, huddled in their thick jackets and gripping their Nikons with gloved hands. Since Jag was now entered in the La Copa Del Diamante race series and the October Dominance Cup, a close media watch was kept on the stallion. Only a brave few had gotten up this early to watch War Flag’s workout, but now that they had, the thought of staying in bed was impossible. The morning sun was rising over the horizon, and the first rays of sunlight burst through the crisp air and sent arrows of light filtering through the chestnut stallion’s mane. The golden light paired with a golden horse was so awe-inspiring, that there was a continuous click of shutters and reloading film. Jag took it all in stride, and arched his neck proudly, feeling the eyes cemented on him.
”He’s full of himself today,” Simon chuckled.
Mr. Duce grunted. ”Jag’s always had a big head.”
As if insulted, Jag ceased his flowing trot to perform an action somewhat like a levade, drawing back from Mr. Duce in disgust. Mr. Duce laughed out loud, which surprised Jag into a buck.
”This horse is just too much. He’s given me every gray hair I have,” Mr. Duce said with mock complaint.
”You wouldn’t be able to go a day without it though, admit it.”
Mr. Duce was suddenly quiet as he looked down at the massive chestnut, until his lips broke out into an admiring smile. ”No, I wouldn’t last a day without it.”
The quiet lasted only a few seconds before Mr. Duce shook himself out of his daze and went on as he did every workout with Jag.
”Take him into the gates and work him a slow mile. We did plenty yesterday, and I don’t want his legs swelling up tonight.”
”Alright boss,” Simon nodded, and jogged Jag in the direction of the gates.
***
The stallion’s fluted ears pricked at the sight of the loading gates, knowing what was to come. He began to speed up, and Simon had to circle him in order to keep control. Jag opened his mouth and gnawed at the bit that was plastered to his tongue. Simon loosened his hold only a little when Jag’s ears went back. He knew this horse like that back of his hand now: what made him tick, what made his day, and all of his tricks. Simon also knew what Jag was capable of on the racetrack, and that sent goose bumps spreading over his arms. The thought of going at such speeds almost frightened him. Almost.
Jag came to a halt in front of the gates, surprising Simon and the assistant starter, who sat as he did every morning waiting to help load the horses. The chestnut had been walking so purposefully towards the gate, but then he had just stopped. The thoroughbred’s dark eyes surveyed the starting gate as though he’d never seen it before, and he backed up a step. A warning light went off in his head, and Jag instincts were telling him to listen to it. But that was before his gaze caught sight of the empty track that was behind the grilled bars. Jag’s nostrils flared, as though he were already running and gasping for the crisp air to fill his lungs. His legs quivered and his skin twitched in anticipation. Before Simon could urge him on, Jag walked willingly into the gate without any encouragement, and ignored the little red light that kept on blinking in his mind. The door was shut behind him with a clang, but Jag hardly acknowledged it. He stood dead still, muscles tensed and ready to explode as soon as the door opened…in one…two…three…it didn’t open. Jag’s ears flickered in question, and Simon shifted uncomfortably on top of him. Why hadn’t the gates opened? The jockey began to feel Jag get restless, and suddenly he remembered what had happened last time the gates weren’t opened. He hadn’t been able to control Jag once they were out, and the ordeal hadn’t ended pleasantly. Simon tried to keep his mind focused but Jag was impatient now, pawing the ground and tossing his head.
Mr. Duce wasn’t far off from the gates, and he frowned from his seat atop Tee. He looked up to see what the starter was waiting for. What he saw almost made his shatter into a million pieces. The starter was talking to somebody. He didn’t even have his eyes on the gate. The damn bitch!
”Open the gate!” Mr. Duce yelled, clapping his heels against Tee’s sides to get closer to the starter. In the starting box, Jag’s fuse had flamed short. The stallion was now banging against the sides of the box, suddenly feeling claustrophobic and attempting to force his way out. He didn’t pay any attention to the calming words that the assistant starter mumbled pleasantly. He came into the gates to run, and he was going to run whether he had to make it happen himself or not. Mr. Duce hollered again, and this time the starter heard him. The man seemed to be surprised on seeing Jag in the gates. He had seen the stallion balk, and knowing the stallion, there would usually be some delay. As soon as he saw the rampage Jag was on, the starter immediately pressed the release button. And then the monster was unleashed.
Chris Miller was always there whenever Jag had a morning workout. He always sat in his usual spot in the grandstands to watch Simon ride, and he could always tell when the horse was having a bad day, or a good one. What he saw in the gates today, however, had him gripping the rail, and as soon as the gates opened, Chris had a sick feeling in his stomach. The angry flash in the stallion’s eye; the determination to get what he wanted: It was all too familiar.
Simon had known her wouldn’t be able to control Jag before the gates even opened. But now that they were, the jockey’s breath was taken away. Jag charged from the gates as though his tail was on fire, and he didn’t stop there. The stallion ran like his life depended on it, driving his legs hard into the fast dirt track. His breath came quickly, and his tail snapped behind him like an amber knife. Jag’s mane would have blinded Simon had the jockey not been wearing goggles. The rider had his mind focused on only one thing: getting Jag under control. The stallion roared when Simon tried to get a grip on the reins, and he kicked out violently, forcing the reins out of Simon hands. Feeling the pressure on his mouth released, and total freedom of his head, Jag tore into the track again, with the reins flapping freely behind him. He was running like he wanted to, and nobody was going to stop him this time. The inner rail whizzed by like the median in a highway, and the wind roared like a crowd of people, cheering the flaming stallion on. The press in the sidelines however, knew well enough that this wasn’t supposed to happen. The grim expressions on their faces gave away what they already knew: this wasn’t going to end well. Chris had already scrambled down from the grandstands, and he joined them on the sidelines, biting his cheek until it bled. Come on Simon…
Jag wasn’t stopping. Not this time. As they rounded the turn, the horse’s legs began to throb, and his heart pounded heavily in his chest. Jag ignored the warning light inside his head that flashed for a second time today. His body wasn’t able to keep this up – it was being pushed beyond its limit. But it was as though Jag didn’t hear it. He was going beyond earthly limits, and only his heart could carry him faster. Jag fought inside himself to get the speed he wanted, and began to lengthen his stride even more so that it looked like it might snap in half. But instead of cracking, Jag carried on at speeds he had never accomplished before. He ran toward a finish line that wasn’t there, he was tired of being held back, not by a jockey, but by himself. Only greater speeds could satisfy the burning hunger inside of him
Yes, yes! Just let me run!
His breath came in thundering gasps.
This is all I’ve wanted all along!
His striped face plunged into the tearing wind.
Let me keep this up forever!
His hooves created a storm of thunder.
I’m flying!
His body couldn’t handle it. It had been pushed beyond its limit too far for too long. And suddenly, it broke down. Jag’s iron legs suddenly gave out under him, and abruptly he came crashing to the ground. Dirt flew and so did his jockey. Simon landed feet away from where the magnificent beast lay, shaking from the effort it had just exerted.
No! This isn’t supposed to happen!
Simon tried to stand up but his whole body throbbed. Mr. Duce had Tee in a full fledged gallop towards the scene. Chris was already on the track and he was followed rapidly by the press. Jag’s legs were still moving because they hurt too much to stay still. The very sight of the agonized stallion was nauseating. Blood flooded from Jag’s nostrils, and his body quivered and shook painfully. Steam rose like a sauna from his back, and his eyes were wide with terror. His breaths came in short, painful gasps, and anybody near to him could hear his heart beating.
”Jag! Stay still!” Chris was next to the stallion in a second, and he slipped off the saddle to release even more heated steam. The stallion’s eyes flashed with anger at Chris being near him. Don’t touch me! Jag tried to tear himself away from Chris, but he couldn’t muster enough strength. The racking pain…
”Someone call the meds!”
”Hold him still!”
”Somebody help Phillips!”
Shouts came from everywhere, and yet Jag heard none of them. The only thing in his mind was the sharp pain that rattled through his body, and Chris being so near to him. Mr. Duce had gone to help Simon up, and the stubborn jockey limped over to where Jag was. Lani was already there, with her hands covering her mouth. ”Dear Lord…”
The paramedics arrived at the scene, but Simon angrily brushed off their help. ”Help the damn horse, not me!” Jag was slowly beginning to fade, his body finally giving away. Only his eyes kept his spirit. And they still flashed anger at Chris.
You did this to me! I know you did! Their message was as clear as though Jag had spoken it aloud. It hit Chris like an eighteen wheeler.
”No Jag…” His whisper could barely be heard.
Nobody had ever seen Chris cry until now. And the single tear was mirrored by Simon Phillips. Mr. Duce’s eyes seemed dry, but inside his heart shattered. The entire congregation around Jag had tears in their eyes, because they all knew what had to happen. The paramedics tried to stabilize Jag, but the stallion tore away from them. He tried desperately to heave himself up, but the effort was futile. Instead, he fell back to the track, and began to lose his fight.
Chris carefully rubbed Jag’s forelock away from his sweat drenched face, and tenderly stroked his whiskery muzzle.
”I still love you Jag. You made me proud,” He murmured as he gently caressed the stallion in his last few breaths. Jag’s eyes began to flutter, but the final look in his eye was unforgettable.
Your forgiven.
The crowd of people around Jag stood in complete silence, and suffered along with the magnificent stallion in his last quivering breaths. The final sigh that they all knew was coming was suddenly upon them, and the people around Jag breathed it with him, their hearts skipping a beat before watching the glorious thoroughbred close his eyes for the final time.
Jag’s strides became easier: now they were as purposeful and commanding as they had just been – but with no fear of earthly limits. Hooves tread in grass that was a green you couldn’t get on earth, and it cushioned his footfalls as he began to move faster…faster…Jag was galloping, and now he truly was flying.
until i breathe my final breathe i swear my heart is yours
i belong to the wind, to the track, to the sky
i am yours no more
”I swear Kiss, you’re getting fatter,” Lani said to the mare, playfully pulling at the thoroughbred’s large ears. Kiss butted the side of Lani’s cheek in response, leaving a smudged slobber mark. The girl made a face as she rubbed it away with the side of her arm. ”Sorry, baby girl, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Lani teased with a smile, and stroked a loving hand down the powerful horse’s neck. As she looked at the mare’s stomach, however, it was true. Kiss had but on some more bulk in the stomach area, and her appetite had increased. But the most alarming was that her workout times were getting slower. Was Kiss finally losing her edge? Lani brushed away the thought hardly before it had entered her mind. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Instead, the blonde girl leaned her head against Kiss’ muscular shoulder, and watched as Simon mounted War Flag on the other side of the stable yard, and rode him towards the track.
The dominant stallion performed several crow hops before going through the opening in the outer rail to enter the oval. Simon Phillips had his face in a grim line, concentrating on the reins that were currently being ripped out of his hands. The jockey stayed glued to the saddle, perfectly accustomed to War Flag’s post workout tantrums. Mr. Duce, who sat atop Thee Warning, calmly followed Jag onto the dirt track, and let Tee do her job. The chestnut mare assumed her spot next to Jag, and gave him a stern nip on the shoulder that immediately put the thoroughbred in his place. They went through the usual routine, making sure Jag was properly warmed up and settled down. After a full circuit of the track, the stallion seemed relaxed; well toned muscles shivered under his glistening crimson hide. A cherry red mane fell in waves down his thick neck, and Jag’s long tail rippled with every commanding step he took. Simon leaned over to scratch him under the mane. The thrill of riding such a powerful horse never wore off, and Simon felt shivers run up his spine as he remembered their breathtaking win in the BC Dirt Mile.
Photographers lined up along the outside rail, huddled in their thick jackets and gripping their Nikons with gloved hands. Since Jag was now entered in the La Copa Del Diamante race series and the October Dominance Cup, a close media watch was kept on the stallion. Only a brave few had gotten up this early to watch War Flag’s workout, but now that they had, the thought of staying in bed was impossible. The morning sun was rising over the horizon, and the first rays of sunlight burst through the crisp air and sent arrows of light filtering through the chestnut stallion’s mane. The golden light paired with a golden horse was so awe-inspiring, that there was a continuous click of shutters and reloading film. Jag took it all in stride, and arched his neck proudly, feeling the eyes cemented on him.
”He’s full of himself today,” Simon chuckled.
Mr. Duce grunted. ”Jag’s always had a big head.”
As if insulted, Jag ceased his flowing trot to perform an action somewhat like a levade, drawing back from Mr. Duce in disgust. Mr. Duce laughed out loud, which surprised Jag into a buck.
”This horse is just too much. He’s given me every gray hair I have,” Mr. Duce said with mock complaint.
”You wouldn’t be able to go a day without it though, admit it.”
Mr. Duce was suddenly quiet as he looked down at the massive chestnut, until his lips broke out into an admiring smile. ”No, I wouldn’t last a day without it.”
The quiet lasted only a few seconds before Mr. Duce shook himself out of his daze and went on as he did every workout with Jag.
”Take him into the gates and work him a slow mile. We did plenty yesterday, and I don’t want his legs swelling up tonight.”
”Alright boss,” Simon nodded, and jogged Jag in the direction of the gates.
***
The stallion’s fluted ears pricked at the sight of the loading gates, knowing what was to come. He began to speed up, and Simon had to circle him in order to keep control. Jag opened his mouth and gnawed at the bit that was plastered to his tongue. Simon loosened his hold only a little when Jag’s ears went back. He knew this horse like that back of his hand now: what made him tick, what made his day, and all of his tricks. Simon also knew what Jag was capable of on the racetrack, and that sent goose bumps spreading over his arms. The thought of going at such speeds almost frightened him. Almost.
Jag came to a halt in front of the gates, surprising Simon and the assistant starter, who sat as he did every morning waiting to help load the horses. The chestnut had been walking so purposefully towards the gate, but then he had just stopped. The thoroughbred’s dark eyes surveyed the starting gate as though he’d never seen it before, and he backed up a step. A warning light went off in his head, and Jag instincts were telling him to listen to it. But that was before his gaze caught sight of the empty track that was behind the grilled bars. Jag’s nostrils flared, as though he were already running and gasping for the crisp air to fill his lungs. His legs quivered and his skin twitched in anticipation. Before Simon could urge him on, Jag walked willingly into the gate without any encouragement, and ignored the little red light that kept on blinking in his mind. The door was shut behind him with a clang, but Jag hardly acknowledged it. He stood dead still, muscles tensed and ready to explode as soon as the door opened…in one…two…three…it didn’t open. Jag’s ears flickered in question, and Simon shifted uncomfortably on top of him. Why hadn’t the gates opened? The jockey began to feel Jag get restless, and suddenly he remembered what had happened last time the gates weren’t opened. He hadn’t been able to control Jag once they were out, and the ordeal hadn’t ended pleasantly. Simon tried to keep his mind focused but Jag was impatient now, pawing the ground and tossing his head.
Mr. Duce wasn’t far off from the gates, and he frowned from his seat atop Tee. He looked up to see what the starter was waiting for. What he saw almost made his shatter into a million pieces. The starter was talking to somebody. He didn’t even have his eyes on the gate. The damn bitch!
”Open the gate!” Mr. Duce yelled, clapping his heels against Tee’s sides to get closer to the starter. In the starting box, Jag’s fuse had flamed short. The stallion was now banging against the sides of the box, suddenly feeling claustrophobic and attempting to force his way out. He didn’t pay any attention to the calming words that the assistant starter mumbled pleasantly. He came into the gates to run, and he was going to run whether he had to make it happen himself or not. Mr. Duce hollered again, and this time the starter heard him. The man seemed to be surprised on seeing Jag in the gates. He had seen the stallion balk, and knowing the stallion, there would usually be some delay. As soon as he saw the rampage Jag was on, the starter immediately pressed the release button. And then the monster was unleashed.
Chris Miller was always there whenever Jag had a morning workout. He always sat in his usual spot in the grandstands to watch Simon ride, and he could always tell when the horse was having a bad day, or a good one. What he saw in the gates today, however, had him gripping the rail, and as soon as the gates opened, Chris had a sick feeling in his stomach. The angry flash in the stallion’s eye; the determination to get what he wanted: It was all too familiar.
Simon had known her wouldn’t be able to control Jag before the gates even opened. But now that they were, the jockey’s breath was taken away. Jag charged from the gates as though his tail was on fire, and he didn’t stop there. The stallion ran like his life depended on it, driving his legs hard into the fast dirt track. His breath came quickly, and his tail snapped behind him like an amber knife. Jag’s mane would have blinded Simon had the jockey not been wearing goggles. The rider had his mind focused on only one thing: getting Jag under control. The stallion roared when Simon tried to get a grip on the reins, and he kicked out violently, forcing the reins out of Simon hands. Feeling the pressure on his mouth released, and total freedom of his head, Jag tore into the track again, with the reins flapping freely behind him. He was running like he wanted to, and nobody was going to stop him this time. The inner rail whizzed by like the median in a highway, and the wind roared like a crowd of people, cheering the flaming stallion on. The press in the sidelines however, knew well enough that this wasn’t supposed to happen. The grim expressions on their faces gave away what they already knew: this wasn’t going to end well. Chris had already scrambled down from the grandstands, and he joined them on the sidelines, biting his cheek until it bled. Come on Simon…
Jag wasn’t stopping. Not this time. As they rounded the turn, the horse’s legs began to throb, and his heart pounded heavily in his chest. Jag ignored the warning light inside his head that flashed for a second time today. His body wasn’t able to keep this up – it was being pushed beyond its limit. But it was as though Jag didn’t hear it. He was going beyond earthly limits, and only his heart could carry him faster. Jag fought inside himself to get the speed he wanted, and began to lengthen his stride even more so that it looked like it might snap in half. But instead of cracking, Jag carried on at speeds he had never accomplished before. He ran toward a finish line that wasn’t there, he was tired of being held back, not by a jockey, but by himself. Only greater speeds could satisfy the burning hunger inside of him
Yes, yes! Just let me run!
His breath came in thundering gasps.
This is all I’ve wanted all along!
His striped face plunged into the tearing wind.
Let me keep this up forever!
His hooves created a storm of thunder.
I’m flying!
His body couldn’t handle it. It had been pushed beyond its limit too far for too long. And suddenly, it broke down. Jag’s iron legs suddenly gave out under him, and abruptly he came crashing to the ground. Dirt flew and so did his jockey. Simon landed feet away from where the magnificent beast lay, shaking from the effort it had just exerted.
No! This isn’t supposed to happen!
Simon tried to stand up but his whole body throbbed. Mr. Duce had Tee in a full fledged gallop towards the scene. Chris was already on the track and he was followed rapidly by the press. Jag’s legs were still moving because they hurt too much to stay still. The very sight of the agonized stallion was nauseating. Blood flooded from Jag’s nostrils, and his body quivered and shook painfully. Steam rose like a sauna from his back, and his eyes were wide with terror. His breaths came in short, painful gasps, and anybody near to him could hear his heart beating.
”Jag! Stay still!” Chris was next to the stallion in a second, and he slipped off the saddle to release even more heated steam. The stallion’s eyes flashed with anger at Chris being near him. Don’t touch me! Jag tried to tear himself away from Chris, but he couldn’t muster enough strength. The racking pain…
”Someone call the meds!”
”Hold him still!”
”Somebody help Phillips!”
Shouts came from everywhere, and yet Jag heard none of them. The only thing in his mind was the sharp pain that rattled through his body, and Chris being so near to him. Mr. Duce had gone to help Simon up, and the stubborn jockey limped over to where Jag was. Lani was already there, with her hands covering her mouth. ”Dear Lord…”
The paramedics arrived at the scene, but Simon angrily brushed off their help. ”Help the damn horse, not me!” Jag was slowly beginning to fade, his body finally giving away. Only his eyes kept his spirit. And they still flashed anger at Chris.
You did this to me! I know you did! Their message was as clear as though Jag had spoken it aloud. It hit Chris like an eighteen wheeler.
”No Jag…” His whisper could barely be heard.
Nobody had ever seen Chris cry until now. And the single tear was mirrored by Simon Phillips. Mr. Duce’s eyes seemed dry, but inside his heart shattered. The entire congregation around Jag had tears in their eyes, because they all knew what had to happen. The paramedics tried to stabilize Jag, but the stallion tore away from them. He tried desperately to heave himself up, but the effort was futile. Instead, he fell back to the track, and began to lose his fight.
Chris carefully rubbed Jag’s forelock away from his sweat drenched face, and tenderly stroked his whiskery muzzle.
”I still love you Jag. You made me proud,” He murmured as he gently caressed the stallion in his last few breaths. Jag’s eyes began to flutter, but the final look in his eye was unforgettable.
Your forgiven.
The crowd of people around Jag stood in complete silence, and suffered along with the magnificent stallion in his last quivering breaths. The final sigh that they all knew was coming was suddenly upon them, and the people around Jag breathed it with him, their hearts skipping a beat before watching the glorious thoroughbred close his eyes for the final time.
Jag’s strides became easier: now they were as purposeful and commanding as they had just been – but with no fear of earthly limits. Hooves tread in grass that was a green you couldn’t get on earth, and it cushioned his footfalls as he began to move faster…faster…Jag was galloping, and now he truly was flying.
tell them my story, let me be remembered
because i will always remember you
[/font]because i will always remember you