arsonist

Courtesy of Event of the Year Photos

Ripley Marsh had to say she was quite impressed with herself. She'd broken records to get to Intrepid Racing Stable and hadn't gotten stopped once by a cop. They might have been stunned to see how fast the powerful thoroughbred horse trailer had been going on the freeway. Ripley hadn't minded their frozen activity one bit. She had a filly that needed to be somewhere before she had a melt down of apocalyptic proportions. Witch Creek Stable's owner was used to making her own rules and was certainly not used to obeying a rival stable. In order to run in the Novisio Derby the competitors had to have at least one workout over the course.

Ripley grumbled as she tied Fie to the trailer. The woman liked shipping in the day of the race and then shipping out as soon as everyone had run. She had strong training regimens that could not be messed with for particular individuals because the horses at Witch Creek were tied together like a delicate spider's web. Intrepid's rule to ship in was beyond obnoxious for Ripley, but she would deal with it the way she always dealt with such things. She wanted to run in the Risorgimento Series. The Novisio Derby was the first. Fiery Touch would be running in this race. It was meant for Maidens, Grade Fives and Grade Fours. There was another race, a week later, that also counted grade four, alongside grade threes. However, this race worked better for Fie's schedule.

The blaze faced three year old was not particularly impressed with the traveling arrangements. She was used to shipping in packs to either GHF or TW. Her eyes had brightened the moment the trailer had arrived and gone semi-insane when she realized that she was the only horse going for a ride. Thankfully, the 16.2 hand filly was slightly more subdued than she had been on the way up.

Brooks, Justin, Maggie and Reese gathered around to watch Ripley's handling of Fiery Touch. The tough bay daughter of Touch Up looked absolutely glorious in this lighting. Her body gleamed, her eyes were lit with a fire that extended to her outer shell. Her rump was decked out in beautiful dapples. If Fie had ever been in the best shape of her career, this was certainly a good to be in it. She had been a surprisingly strong figure in the three year old filly ranks, placing in two legs of the Triple Tiara. She was ready and on a roll of sorts. Her last three starts had resulted in two victories and a second place finish.

Ripley quickly tacked the filly up and leaped into the saddle. Fie spun on her heels, ears pricked up and eyes uncertain for a moment. She could sense the track, feel it burning in her heart. She needed to be there, to feel the dirt beneath her hooves, kicking it back behind her. Fiery Touch was extremely adjustable to any situation. And this race at Intrepid was a situation.

Ripley ignored her staff, completely surrounded by the confident filly beneath her. The competition was extremely strong. A blue blooded two year old colt, a rolling grade four two year old filly, and a very consistent three year old filly. This was a strong field and would help to place exactly where Fie stood at this moment in time. She was developing, changing. She had a secret tactic that had been formulating every workout since the Triple Tiara. Fie was no longer a stone cold closer.

It happened often in a horse's career. They changed to fit the circumstances, situations and sometimes equipment changes helped as well. But the most important factor was their attitude. And Fiery Touch's attitude had changed for the better. She used to be mild mannered, easy going and willing to please in her workouts. Now she was demanding and only willing to please herself with some side guidance of course.

Even now the bay filly with the odd shaped blaze boldly made her way between the barns and out onto the dirt track. She stopped and stared about, round eyes wide as saucers, nostrils flared. Horses galloped around the track. It was relatively quiet compared to The Wire and Green Horse Fields. More private and definitely more like what Fie was used to at Witch Creek. It would not be so bad after all. Fie bowed her neck, snorting as cameras snapped her way. She was a very beautiful filly to look at.

Ripley signaled for Fie to break into a jog and Fie was already moving. Her strong limbs propelled her over the surface, her mouth moved around the bit. She was excited and ready. A force to be reckoned with. She turned her head to acknowledge her public and then focused on what was ahead of her. That was the biggest change of all. Fiery Touch had more focus, more drive, more intensity. She was becoming the big gal in the house, competing for leadership once again with Dame and Mimi.

Ripley patted the filly's sleek neck. Definitely an improvement on the original model. Fie twitched her ears, accepting the affection she was used to. Their bond was growing with every wide. Ripley looked forward to their rides and didn't want to pass her off on someone else. The more intense Fie became, the more Ripley wanted to keep her all to herself.

The grade four filly marched around the oval, stride lengthening and stretching out. She was enjoying the surface immensely and a few times she ripped a few joyous bucks much to the delight of the people along the rail. Witch Creek always brought some drama to the gate. Ripley glanced over her shoulder, noting the emptiness along the rail. Perfect for Fie to flash her goal for the Novisio Derby.

Fie picked up a dramatic gallop, hooves skimming over the sand and dirt mixture. Her eyes were searching for competition. She was going to get a good workout today. Something to make everyone remember her by. Ripley wanted a mile gallop and four furlong blitz. Nothing Fie couldn't handle. Ripley leaned into the filly's gliding gallop. Fiery Touch was so perfect in her movement, perfect in conformation. She was glorious. Her mane and tail flickered behind her form, a shifting liner to the glorious brown package.

She bowed her neck, mouthing the bit, lather drifting from it. Ripley smirked. Yes, let them see what Fiery Touch had turned into over her break. She was on the muscle. Ripley crooned to the filly, steadying her when she took the turn with growing strength. A tug on the right rein had the Touch Up filly slowing a little, but not much. She wanted to run. Ripley kept a light hand on the reins, forcing herself to relax. It wasn't about speed, at least this portion anyway. Fie just needed to get comfortable and by all accounts she truly was. Fie carried her track wherever she went.

Ripley laughed as the filly bounded forward, muscles bunching and releasing. She began to snort as they raced up the track, not quite at sprinting speed. Her stride was already long, but it increased with every moment. Fie tossed her head, fighting for more control. Ripley eased a little rein through her fingers as they slipped into the final turn. An unidentifiable horse was running up the early homestretch, Fie's ears were locked on him. Ripley gritted her teeth. This was not exactly what Fie needed at this point in time. She didn't need to close. That wasn't what they had perfected. Ripley guided her to the outer lanes and ran her down the center of the homestretch, enjoying the breeze of Fie's creation.

Fiery Touch flicked her ears when the horse got too far ahead. She was listening to Ripley for a second. The first time really in the entire workout thus far. The public was interested in what Fie would do. Ripley ran a hand down the filly's black mane as they neared the clubhouse turn again. Their moment was here. Ripley cranked the right rein, angled her body and then let Fie go.

Touch Up's third daughter whipped into high gear as if she had just broken from the actual starting gate. Her hooves pushed eagerly through the track, gripping in eagerness. She'd found a very welcoming track. Fiery Touch blew into a swift sprint, cornering a path wide in the turn. Ripley leaned close and kept her hands off the reins for a second. She was enjoying this whirlwind of action. Fie barreled through the turn, knees lifting and pumping. She stretched out like a greyhound over the track, drawing in close to the rail.

Ripley knew if she'd been keeping track of time with Fie she would have had a mess on her hands. This particular filly did not clock well. She just ran too fast to measure based on her stride. Her stride was literally so long her mental times came out slower than they actually were. Ripley just rode with the flow, her cat green eyes covered by goggles. Fie charged into the backstretch and after her opponent whose workout was drawing to a close. He drifted to the outside and Fie darted toward the rail and his inside.

Ripley allowed this domineering trait flicker through Fie. It simply improved her race running by miles. Fie tore the track up and spat it out. All the worry about her not handling it hadn't bothered Ripley as much as it did the press. And now she really wasn't worry. Ripley shut Fie down a stride after mid-backstretch. She bowed her head, tugging for more and continued, fore legs flinging across the dirt surface. She squealed and pulled up with a saucy buck.

Tactics were changing. Fie was not going to be doing what everyone else would be doing. GS Super Charged and Nightshade were closers. Mizadori was a mid-pack runner who was expected to go to the lead. But Witch Creek did the unexpected and Fie was really going to be apart of the unexpected on this race day. Ripley stroked the filly's pulsing neck as they jogged by the clockers and press. They were buzzing with excitement. No doubt because of Fie's little show. Ripley had warned them that her filly was going to be real good by the end of Year Twelve.

Witch Creek's finest dirt filly was going for the lead in the Novizio Derby. And if that didn't work because of some unseen race malfunction. Well Fie would be there at the end of the race. Ripley's eyes flashed and she bent over, hugging Fie's neck. They were going to see how far they could get without stopping. Fie snorted, eyes mellowing into a warm determination. She was ready.