Post by SigOUrNeY on Jun 5, 2008 15:57:08 GMT -5
Part 2/2 [Click HERE for Part 1]
Dangereux refused to stand still, his iron pillars dancing in place. The young thoroughbred had his neck arched proudly as he pranced beside Chris, shuffling the metal bit inside of his mouth. Foam leaked out over his dark maw, and speckled the front of his legs. Chris stroked a soothing hand along the steal muscle of Blake’s neck, but the bay’s delicate skin only twitched, like he was chasing away a pesky fly. This was no time for comfort; this was a time for racing.
He had seen her.
The ebony black mare that had challenged him four months before, and where his very best had not been good enough. Black Thumb hadn’t changed at all since their last meeting. The slender mare was glowing with good health, and her feminine frame was made sturdy by muscle. Blake’s loss to her was the first time he had felt defeated, even though it wasn’t the first time he’d lost. His nostrils widened as though remembering the pain of his aching muscles, the wind that tore into his face and washed over his entire body, the stinging rasp of his breathing as he tried to pull ahead but fell behind instead. He remembered the burning ache inside of himself from that point on – to race, and to win. Since Blake’s last meeting with Black Thumb, he had only been raced twice, and won both times. He would have been entered in more races, but the young colt had raced so fervently and viciously fast that Mr. Duce was afraid of the possibility that he might break down. The colt had led from wire to wire in both of the races, breaking from the gate like the devil was after him, and pulling away from then on. He had become an entirely different horse; Blake had turned into a racehorse.
Mr. Duce gave Chris a leg up into the lightweight saddle, and held onto the colt’s bridle to keep him from running off. Feeling a rider on his back, Blake knew it was time, and he was aching to go. No words were exchanged between trainer and jockey – nothing needed to be said. They both knew that it was now or never for their colt, and with a nod towards Chris, Mr. Duce let the thoroughbred go.
Blake sprung forward, tearing at the bit and fighting against the strangling hold Chris had on him. His stone daggers tore into the foamy dirt, yearning to leap into a full fledged gallop and feel the howling wind against his strong face. It infuriated him that Chris wouldn’t allow him to run, and he let out a powerful buck that nearly unseated his jockey. The young man managed to stay on however, and somehow maneuvered the burly colt towards Black Thumb and Jake.
”He looks ready to go,” The mare’s rider commented, grinning. ”Think he’s got a chance of beating her today?’
Chris didn’t have any breathe to reply; the muscle packed animal underneath him was bouncing and pulling so much. But the look he gave Jake confirmed what he thought. Blake could beat the wind itself today.
Jake nodded, and jogged Black Thumb in the direction of the gates. The pure black mare loaded perfectly into the gates, gliding in so that the guard could be closed behind her.
Blake was already hot and sweaty, his dark eyes flashing daggers. If he couldn’t spread out in a full gallop soon, he would explode into a million pieces. The young racer reared up in front of the gates. He tried whirling around and bolting away, but Chris wouldn’t let him. Finally, the thoroughbred stood facing the gates, his body shaking with anticipation and excitement. His cupped ears flickered back towards Chris, who was mumbling nonsense to him, and finally the soothing voice took over. Blake walked steadily into the gates, and stood patiently as they were closed behind him. His mind was focused, and every muscle in his body tensed up, waiting for the release. Chris wrapped his hands into the colt’s dark mane, pulling down his goggles to see the perfectly empty track waiting for them.
Everybody knew about the rematch today, and dozens of bystanders with stopwatches in hand waited anxiously for the break. The race would be a mile long, and they wouldn’t be disappointed.
The iron gates swung open with a ‘clang’, and both horses exploded into action. Once they were free of the starting box, Chris felt Blake unwind underneath him, stretching out his muscles into a full gallop. The dark bay colt thrust his head in front of Black Thumb, glorying in the fact that he was in control. However, Chris spoke to him through the tightness in the reins, and Blake understood its meaning. Slow down, not yet. But just because he understood it, didn’t mean he would obey it. The thoroughbred intended to beat the black mare his way, and nothing would interfere.
Black Thumb was on the inside rail, and while she didn’t allow Blake to get any farther than a neck in front, she had patience. Eight legs created thunder as they rounded the first turn, and both horses still feeling fresh. Air was sucked in fiercely by open nostrils, and their steady breathing was echoed by the steady beating of their hooves. Steel muscles rippled underneath glossy coats dampened by a veil of sweat, and heat began to rise from both of their backs. The pair had passed the fourth furlong. They were halfway through the race, and it was time to make a move.
Chris knew that he had no control over his mount, and sawed the bit from side to side to get his colt’s attention. Blake pinned back his ears in annoyance, and shook his head fiercely. This was his race. The giant thoroughbred towered over his competitor, and he felt confident that he could beat her. But he had underestimated the mare last time, and to do it again would soon be proved foolish.
Jake finally called for more speed from his mount, and Black Thumb gladly gave it. The mare glided into another gear, floating over the track and edging up past Blake. The colt snorted, and extended himself to stay in front. His body coiled and extended, power rippling through his frame. His long neck stretched to its fullest extent, lowering itself to the ground. The wind ripped through his mane and whistled past his banner, the dark threads snapping in the wind. Blood pumped through his veins, and strengthened his limbs. How glorious it felt to run!
But his happiness was soon cut short by Black Thumb. She was done playing around. The older mare soon made her bid for the lead, and she would not be denied. Her limbs suddenly upped their intake of ground, and she began eating up the track like she couldn’t get enough of it. The old rival of Just For Kicks was pulling ahead again, and Blake began to burn inside. His muscles were beginning to ache, but he wanted even more speed. He didn’t care about the rider on his back who was asking him to take the rail. The racer had the bit in his teeth, and he wouldn’t let go until he had won. Blake heaved himself forward, plunging into the wind and fighting to regain his lead. His nose reached the other horse’s shoulder, but his progress was taken away from him as they rounded the final turn.
She was going to win…again.
Blake’s legs felt heavy, and his lungs felt raw and stung with every breath he took. The pain of failure caused the horse to deflate, and it seemed as though he would give up. His limp ears swiveled towards his rider. The bit slid free from his teeth. Help me…I need you.
Chris felt the colt calling on him, and his heart swelled. The race wasn’t over. He knew that Blake could do it…he knew it!
”Come on boy,” The jockey spoke so only his horse could hear him, and his hands rubbed up and down the sweat soaked neck. ”I know you’re not going to give up on me. You’ve got more guts than that.” The colt’s ears perked, and his eyes sparked. Chris felt his mount gathering himself, and a smile grew on his face. The strength in the thoroughbred grew, and Chris let it grow until he knew it couldn’t wait any longer
’Come on Blake!” He finally hollered into the wind, ”Give me everything!”
Power burst from the racer’s haunches, and his hooves dug into the dirt, pushing him forward after the mare. His body felt numb, and pain grasped every muscle. But his heart soared and his eyes shone. The excitement of the chase made him excel, and the colt was soon closing in on his rival. Everything inside of him stretched and reached, fighting for the lead. Wind threaded through his legs, and lifted him up until he was flying.
The audience held their breathe as they saw the dark bay colt pull alongside the pure black mare, and watched in awe as he hesitated there for a second, before powering forward again. He was drawing away steadily, the margin between him and Black Thumb growing. Chris whooped and hollered, cheering on his colt until they swept passed the mile marker. Blake had done it! He’d won!
Blake pulled up without much of a fight, his legs quivering from the effort they had just exerted. His sides rose and fell rapidly, and Chris could hear his heart thumping. But the colt was so elated; he was still prancing and tossing up his head merrily. Chris wrapped his arms around the colt’s sweat slimy neck, and laughed.
Jake rode Black Thumb up to them, the exhausted mare soaked in sweat and marked with froth from where the reins had rubbed against her neck.. The other jockey let a smile of admiration appear on his lips. ”You’ve got a special horse,” He spoke favorably ”He’s done his father proud.”
Chris nodded in response, saying, ”If it weren’t for Black Thumb, we probably never would have seen him run like this. We have her to thank.”
Jake smiled his thanks, and leaned over to pat his horse, praising her for a job well done. But for Chris, the celebrating had only just begun.
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Dangereux refused to stand still, his iron pillars dancing in place. The young thoroughbred had his neck arched proudly as he pranced beside Chris, shuffling the metal bit inside of his mouth. Foam leaked out over his dark maw, and speckled the front of his legs. Chris stroked a soothing hand along the steal muscle of Blake’s neck, but the bay’s delicate skin only twitched, like he was chasing away a pesky fly. This was no time for comfort; this was a time for racing.
He had seen her.
The ebony black mare that had challenged him four months before, and where his very best had not been good enough. Black Thumb hadn’t changed at all since their last meeting. The slender mare was glowing with good health, and her feminine frame was made sturdy by muscle. Blake’s loss to her was the first time he had felt defeated, even though it wasn’t the first time he’d lost. His nostrils widened as though remembering the pain of his aching muscles, the wind that tore into his face and washed over his entire body, the stinging rasp of his breathing as he tried to pull ahead but fell behind instead. He remembered the burning ache inside of himself from that point on – to race, and to win. Since Blake’s last meeting with Black Thumb, he had only been raced twice, and won both times. He would have been entered in more races, but the young colt had raced so fervently and viciously fast that Mr. Duce was afraid of the possibility that he might break down. The colt had led from wire to wire in both of the races, breaking from the gate like the devil was after him, and pulling away from then on. He had become an entirely different horse; Blake had turned into a racehorse.
Mr. Duce gave Chris a leg up into the lightweight saddle, and held onto the colt’s bridle to keep him from running off. Feeling a rider on his back, Blake knew it was time, and he was aching to go. No words were exchanged between trainer and jockey – nothing needed to be said. They both knew that it was now or never for their colt, and with a nod towards Chris, Mr. Duce let the thoroughbred go.
Blake sprung forward, tearing at the bit and fighting against the strangling hold Chris had on him. His stone daggers tore into the foamy dirt, yearning to leap into a full fledged gallop and feel the howling wind against his strong face. It infuriated him that Chris wouldn’t allow him to run, and he let out a powerful buck that nearly unseated his jockey. The young man managed to stay on however, and somehow maneuvered the burly colt towards Black Thumb and Jake.
”He looks ready to go,” The mare’s rider commented, grinning. ”Think he’s got a chance of beating her today?’
Chris didn’t have any breathe to reply; the muscle packed animal underneath him was bouncing and pulling so much. But the look he gave Jake confirmed what he thought. Blake could beat the wind itself today.
Jake nodded, and jogged Black Thumb in the direction of the gates. The pure black mare loaded perfectly into the gates, gliding in so that the guard could be closed behind her.
Blake was already hot and sweaty, his dark eyes flashing daggers. If he couldn’t spread out in a full gallop soon, he would explode into a million pieces. The young racer reared up in front of the gates. He tried whirling around and bolting away, but Chris wouldn’t let him. Finally, the thoroughbred stood facing the gates, his body shaking with anticipation and excitement. His cupped ears flickered back towards Chris, who was mumbling nonsense to him, and finally the soothing voice took over. Blake walked steadily into the gates, and stood patiently as they were closed behind him. His mind was focused, and every muscle in his body tensed up, waiting for the release. Chris wrapped his hands into the colt’s dark mane, pulling down his goggles to see the perfectly empty track waiting for them.
Everybody knew about the rematch today, and dozens of bystanders with stopwatches in hand waited anxiously for the break. The race would be a mile long, and they wouldn’t be disappointed.
The iron gates swung open with a ‘clang’, and both horses exploded into action. Once they were free of the starting box, Chris felt Blake unwind underneath him, stretching out his muscles into a full gallop. The dark bay colt thrust his head in front of Black Thumb, glorying in the fact that he was in control. However, Chris spoke to him through the tightness in the reins, and Blake understood its meaning. Slow down, not yet. But just because he understood it, didn’t mean he would obey it. The thoroughbred intended to beat the black mare his way, and nothing would interfere.
Black Thumb was on the inside rail, and while she didn’t allow Blake to get any farther than a neck in front, she had patience. Eight legs created thunder as they rounded the first turn, and both horses still feeling fresh. Air was sucked in fiercely by open nostrils, and their steady breathing was echoed by the steady beating of their hooves. Steel muscles rippled underneath glossy coats dampened by a veil of sweat, and heat began to rise from both of their backs. The pair had passed the fourth furlong. They were halfway through the race, and it was time to make a move.
Chris knew that he had no control over his mount, and sawed the bit from side to side to get his colt’s attention. Blake pinned back his ears in annoyance, and shook his head fiercely. This was his race. The giant thoroughbred towered over his competitor, and he felt confident that he could beat her. But he had underestimated the mare last time, and to do it again would soon be proved foolish.
Jake finally called for more speed from his mount, and Black Thumb gladly gave it. The mare glided into another gear, floating over the track and edging up past Blake. The colt snorted, and extended himself to stay in front. His body coiled and extended, power rippling through his frame. His long neck stretched to its fullest extent, lowering itself to the ground. The wind ripped through his mane and whistled past his banner, the dark threads snapping in the wind. Blood pumped through his veins, and strengthened his limbs. How glorious it felt to run!
But his happiness was soon cut short by Black Thumb. She was done playing around. The older mare soon made her bid for the lead, and she would not be denied. Her limbs suddenly upped their intake of ground, and she began eating up the track like she couldn’t get enough of it. The old rival of Just For Kicks was pulling ahead again, and Blake began to burn inside. His muscles were beginning to ache, but he wanted even more speed. He didn’t care about the rider on his back who was asking him to take the rail. The racer had the bit in his teeth, and he wouldn’t let go until he had won. Blake heaved himself forward, plunging into the wind and fighting to regain his lead. His nose reached the other horse’s shoulder, but his progress was taken away from him as they rounded the final turn.
She was going to win…again.
Blake’s legs felt heavy, and his lungs felt raw and stung with every breath he took. The pain of failure caused the horse to deflate, and it seemed as though he would give up. His limp ears swiveled towards his rider. The bit slid free from his teeth. Help me…I need you.
Chris felt the colt calling on him, and his heart swelled. The race wasn’t over. He knew that Blake could do it…he knew it!
”Come on boy,” The jockey spoke so only his horse could hear him, and his hands rubbed up and down the sweat soaked neck. ”I know you’re not going to give up on me. You’ve got more guts than that.” The colt’s ears perked, and his eyes sparked. Chris felt his mount gathering himself, and a smile grew on his face. The strength in the thoroughbred grew, and Chris let it grow until he knew it couldn’t wait any longer
’Come on Blake!” He finally hollered into the wind, ”Give me everything!”
Power burst from the racer’s haunches, and his hooves dug into the dirt, pushing him forward after the mare. His body felt numb, and pain grasped every muscle. But his heart soared and his eyes shone. The excitement of the chase made him excel, and the colt was soon closing in on his rival. Everything inside of him stretched and reached, fighting for the lead. Wind threaded through his legs, and lifted him up until he was flying.
The audience held their breathe as they saw the dark bay colt pull alongside the pure black mare, and watched in awe as he hesitated there for a second, before powering forward again. He was drawing away steadily, the margin between him and Black Thumb growing. Chris whooped and hollered, cheering on his colt until they swept passed the mile marker. Blake had done it! He’d won!
Blake pulled up without much of a fight, his legs quivering from the effort they had just exerted. His sides rose and fell rapidly, and Chris could hear his heart thumping. But the colt was so elated; he was still prancing and tossing up his head merrily. Chris wrapped his arms around the colt’s sweat slimy neck, and laughed.
Jake rode Black Thumb up to them, the exhausted mare soaked in sweat and marked with froth from where the reins had rubbed against her neck.. The other jockey let a smile of admiration appear on his lips. ”You’ve got a special horse,” He spoke favorably ”He’s done his father proud.”
Chris nodded in response, saying, ”If it weren’t for Black Thumb, we probably never would have seen him run like this. We have her to thank.”
Jake smiled his thanks, and leaned over to pat his horse, praising her for a job well done. But for Chris, the celebrating had only just begun.
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