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Description
I always get so caught up writing about Snake's workouts. Bet you're all a little bored of them, huh? Never fear, Hrimfaxi takes the spotlight next. *ahem* Well...not really.

*sigh*

I feel like I'm neglecting Clocks too. I have to many horses, dammit. As much as I don't like to do it, some are going to have to go on hold.

XD My titles never make sense.

---

With the fillies churning up turf across the country, it fell to the colts to defend their gender’s position in the Red&Sky string. With Beretta still recovering from his injury, and never to set foot on the track again, Damascius became our oldest colt. He was followed closely by Snake and Hrimfaxi, then Clocks.

Damn may have been old, but he was not wise. He still suited the title of ‘supremely stupid’, a nickname given to him by his groom which stuck fast. He frequently displayed such talents as bashing head first into doors, freaking out at the wind, and a mind-boggling inability to recognize other horses he’d met before. In a curious, bouncy manner he’d wander up to Hrimfaxi and say hello, or perplexedly retreat from an ill fated meeting with Quetzalcoatl.

The painted colt was no stunner on the racetrack, either. In fact, he was an utter dud, despite his royal pedigree and chiselled physique. In his first start of the year he walked out on to the Newmarket track without a care in the world, but quickly took offence to the gate, throwing his painted head up and dancing on his toes. After being unceremoniously shoved in by the track staff he acted like an awestruck foal, jogging up and down in the confined space.

They broke in a ragged line, with Damn going straight to the back and cantering happily from there on, completely ignoring the world.

The Red&Sky team collectively sighed. Even Graham’s Stetson seemed to droop a little more than usual as he scribbled something into a notebook before striding off to collect his colt. He would give him one more chance, that was all.

---

At the other end of the spectrum were Snake and Hrimfaxi. The two colts were giants, rippling with muscle and shining with athletic vigour. Hrim stood taller than everyone else, and Snake was broader than all. They were our steam trains, unstoppable, commanding attention.

The media gave them what they deserved. That summer it was all about those two: articles, columns, stories and pictures were full of their names and images, experts mused on Snake’s chances at the Derby, (for it would soon be upon them) and others discussed Hrimfaxi and whether he would fill the hole created by Beretta’s absence. He was certainly talented enough to go against Group 1 horses on the Epsom track, his massive wave of power and muscle propelling him with endless rhythmic strides.

But it all depended on what Graham thought best. Horses weren't to be treated as stand-ins.

---

Snake revelled in Eliza and Saranyu’s company. The Marwari mare drew him along, she the lure, he the willing fish. They’d canter for a while; exchange feelings through the flick of an ear or a meaningful snort. Then Snake would be forced onwards, faster and faster, whilst she slowed and watched. For onlookers it almost seemed like he was trying to impress her. His flagging tail would wave in the air as he accelerated away, striding out and filling his frame with a stallion’s might.

She ignored him, because it was far more fun to gallop around the outside of the track. Eliza would nudge her to the far side and just let her loose. Hair streaming out from under her helmet, molded to the moving clay of the horse beneath her, they would gallop until they reached Graham. She’d never ridden one of her racers, but she would swear that Saran was at least as fast as one.

These attempts at wooing Saran would never work, but it served a purpose in another way – in his times. Every workout showed improvement, to the point where we wondered how he was going to beat his latest one. It was as if every rejection spurred him on with far greater power than the squeeze of his rider’s legs or the smack of a whip. He was tremendous; the vacuum of awe created by his passing sucked in spectators, they could not help but listen to his furious symphony: look at me, I'm the best, look. Watch. Learn. Fear my strength; he seemed to say, in the snap of his legs, with every commanding snort.

It was no surprise, then, that he was the early favourite. Eliza wasted no time in informing everyone when she heard, and with the heavy thud of realisation Sam realised for the hundredth time that he would, once again, be riding in a Classic race. On the favourite, the mean tempered chestnut beast who had decimated the Guineas field and yet still had enough gas in the tank to prance about like a colt afterwards.

He worked him the week preceding the race. Eliza watched her boyfriend with a new appreciation as the horse thrashed beside Saranyu. They exchanged conversation about the colt, how he’d been doing, his crush on Saranyu, that sort of thing. None of them mentioned the Derby, both of their hearts shook with the mere thought of it, and their nerves coursed with electricity every time someone spoke about it. Maybe in time they’d get used to it, but Snake was the first Red&Sky horse to get to this level, to be in with a chance at beating not only the best Britain could offer, but the best the whole world had to throw at him.

The conversation gradually stopped. With silent consent Eliza released her grip on the colt and he sped away. Sam felt the bunch and release of his muscles as if they were his own, heard the relentless suck and flow of Snake’s breath and the pounding of his hooves on the turf. Snake was the horse he both hated and loved to ride. He was the horse who gave him high level victory, but he was wild and crazy. Sam never got the feeling that he rode Snake. He just hung on.

And you know what? The thrill of it was just unbelievable. There was nothing like riding Snake, with the wind half deafening you and the sense that at any moment he could take off. The chestnut charger tugged at the reins and Sam gave him more feeling the rush of new acceleration burst from underneath him. Faces lined the rail, cameras flashed and people cheered. Red&Sky had opened its gates to the public before Derby day, so they could watch Snake being trained and get to know the nicer members of the string, and here they were.

Snake’s ears pricked up, attentive to the sounds that whipped by. He seemed to have inherited Beretta’s love of the crowd since his retirement, because now it injected fuel into his hindquarters and he struck off even more vigorously, jerking Sam out of his position for a brief moment and jolting him out of his thoughts. Then they melded back together seamlessly, and Sam knew just how lucky he was. This horse, this colt, this stallion...he was a once in a lifetime ride.

They thundered past Graham’s stopwatch and the seven furlong marker. The screen displayed a cool 1:27. Graham let out one of his infamous whistles and stomped off to meet the steaming beast and his Irish passenger. The colt didn’t even bother to flatten his ears at his arrival; Eliza followed at his heels, leading Snake’s girlfriend.

‘Did you see that? Did you see that?’ She flailed behind Sam, leaving Saran unattended -the horse wouldn’t wander. Eliza regarded the colt as the equine equivalent of her baby, and she acted like a mother does when her child shines in the spotlight, fussing and kissing and congratulating them. With beaming pride she patted Snake’s rump before encircling her arms around Sam’s waist, already so comfortable.

‘Got a bit carried away, didn’t y’lad?’ Graham frowned down at his redheaded jockey as he undid Snake’s girth, fingers finding the buckles of their own accord. Sam squirmed beneath his gaze.

‘That’s what he wanted, sir. I couldn’t have stopped him even if I wanted to – he’s just too strong, he’s just too determined,’ Sam said, patting his mount’s neck. ‘And he loved the crowd; didn’t you see his ears prick up as we passed them?’

It was true, even Graham had to admit it. Now that the horse had a crowd to play to, his tune was faster; perfect, but devilishly fast. He couldn’t help but marvel at the colt, there was something different about him this season. As soon as Saranyu had come into the picture, in fact. Maybe having a love interest had focussed him. He laughed. Poor colt, he’ll never get the girl.

The horse was still showing off to the crowd, with tail high and ears pricked as he stamped each foreleg in a dancing motion. Sweat shone on his coat and his breathing was loud but the painted thoroughbred seemed to have almost endless reserves of aggressive energy.

All that the old trainer knew was that with a horse like this, the rest of the season was going to be fun.

---

Shown: Hrimfaxi (foreground) and Snake

Art & Characters (C) me

Description
I always get so caught up writing about Snake's workouts. Bet you're all a little bored of them, huh? Never fear, Hrimfaxi takes the spotlight next. *ahem* Well...not really.

*sigh*

I feel like I'm neglecting Clocks too. I have to many horses, dammit. As much as I don't like to do it, some are going to have to go on hold.

XD My titles never make sense.

---

With the fillies churning up turf across the country, it fell to the colts to defend their gender’s position in the Red&Sky string. With Beretta still recovering from his injury, and never to set foot on the track again, Damascius became our oldest colt. He was followed closely by Snake and Hrimfaxi, then Clocks.

Damn may have been old, but he was not wise. He still suited the title of ‘supremely stupid’, a nickname given to him by his groom which stuck fast. He frequently displayed such talents as bashing head first into doors, freaking out at the wind, and a mind-boggling inability to recognize other horses he’d met before. In a curious, bouncy manner he’d wander up to Hrimfaxi and say hello, or perplexedly retreat from an ill fated meeting with Quetzalcoatl.

The painted colt was no stunner on the racetrack, either. In fact, he was an utter dud, despite his royal pedigree and chiselled physique. In his first start of the year he walked out on to the Newmarket track without a care in the world, but quickly took offence to the gate, throwing his painted head up and dancing on his toes. After being unceremoniously shoved in by the track staff he acted like an awestruck foal, jogging up and down in the confined space.

They broke in a ragged line, with Damn going straight to the back and cantering happily from there on, completely ignoring the world.

The Red&Sky team collectively sighed. Even Graham’s Stetson seemed to droop a little more than usual as he scribbled something into a notebook before striding off to collect his colt. He would give him one more chance, that was all.

---

At the other end of the spectrum were Snake and Hrimfaxi. The two colts were giants, rippling with muscle and shining with athletic vigour. Hrim stood taller than everyone else, and Snake was broader than all. They were our steam trains, unstoppable, commanding attention.

The media gave them what they deserved. That summer it was all about those two: articles, columns, stories and pictures were full of their names and images, experts mused on Snake’s chances at the Derby, (for it would soon be upon them) and others discussed Hrimfaxi and whether he would fill the hole created by Beretta’s absence. He was certainly talented enough to go against Group 1 horses on the Epsom track, his massive wave of power and muscle propelling him with endless rhythmic strides.

But it all depended on what Graham thought best. Horses weren't to be treated as stand-ins.

---

Snake revelled in Eliza and Saranyu’s company. The Marwari mare drew him along, she the lure, he the willing fish. They’d canter for a while; exchange feelings through the flick of an ear or a meaningful snort. Then Snake would be forced onwards, faster and faster, whilst she slowed and watched. For onlookers it almost seemed like he was trying to impress her. His flagging tail would wave in the air as he accelerated away, striding out and filling his frame with a stallion’s might.

She ignored him, because it was far more fun to gallop around the outside of the track. Eliza would nudge her to the far side and just let her loose. Hair streaming out from under her helmet, molded to the moving clay of the horse beneath her, they would gallop until they reached Graham. She’d never ridden one of her racers, but she would swear that Saran was at least as fast as one.

These attempts at wooing Saran would never work, but it served a purpose in another way – in his times. Every workout showed improvement, to the point where we wondered how he was going to beat his latest one. It was as if every rejection spurred him on with far greater power than the squeeze of his rider’s legs or the smack of a whip. He was tremendous; the vacuum of awe created by his passing sucked in spectators, they could not help but listen to his furious symphony: look at me, I'm the best, look. Watch. Learn. Fear my strength; he seemed to say, in the snap of his legs, with every commanding snort.

It was no surprise, then, that he was the early favourite. Eliza wasted no time in informing everyone when she heard, and with the heavy thud of realisation Sam realised for the hundredth time that he would, once again, be riding in a Classic race. On the favourite, the mean tempered chestnut beast who had decimated the Guineas field and yet still had enough gas in the tank to prance about like a colt afterwards.

He worked him the week preceding the race. Eliza watched her boyfriend with a new appreciation as the horse thrashed beside Saranyu. They exchanged conversation about the colt, how he’d been doing, his crush on Saranyu, that sort of thing. None of them mentioned the Derby, both of their hearts shook with the mere thought of it, and their nerves coursed with electricity every time someone spoke about it. Maybe in time they’d get used to it, but Snake was the first Red&Sky horse to get to this level, to be in with a chance at beating not only the best Britain could offer, but the best the whole world had to throw at him.

The conversation gradually stopped. With silent consent Eliza released her grip on the colt and he sped away. Sam felt the bunch and release of his muscles as if they were his own, heard the relentless suck and flow of Snake’s breath and the pounding of his hooves on the turf. Snake was the horse he both hated and loved to ride. He was the horse who gave him high level victory, but he was wild and crazy. Sam never got the feeling that he rode Snake. He just hung on.

And you know what? The thrill of it was just unbelievable. There was nothing like riding Snake, with the wind half deafening you and the sense that at any moment he could take off. The chestnut charger tugged at the reins and Sam gave him more feeling the rush of new acceleration burst from underneath him. Faces lined the rail, cameras flashed and people cheered. Red&Sky had opened its gates to the public before Derby day, so they could watch Snake being trained and get to know the nicer members of the string, and here they were.

Snake’s ears pricked up, attentive to the sounds that whipped by. He seemed to have inherited Beretta’s love of the crowd since his retirement, because now it injected fuel into his hindquarters and he struck off even more vigorously, jerking Sam out of his position for a brief moment and jolting him out of his thoughts. Then they melded back together seamlessly, and Sam knew just how lucky he was. This horse, this colt, this stallion...he was a once in a lifetime ride.

They thundered past Graham’s stopwatch and the seven furlong marker. The screen displayed a cool 1:27. Graham let out one of his infamous whistles and stomped off to meet the steaming beast and his Irish passenger. The colt didn’t even bother to flatten his ears at his arrival; Eliza followed at his heels, leading Snake’s girlfriend.

‘Did you see that? Did you see that?’ She flailed behind Sam, leaving Saran unattended -the horse wouldn’t wander. Eliza regarded the colt as the equine equivalent of her baby, and she acted like a mother does when her child shines in the spotlight, fussing and kissing and congratulating them. With beaming pride she patted Snake’s rump before encircling her arms around Sam’s waist, already so comfortable.

‘Got a bit carried away, didn’t y’lad?’ Graham frowned down at his redheaded jockey as he undid Snake’s girth, fingers finding the buckles of their own accord. Sam squirmed beneath his gaze.

‘That’s what he wanted, sir. I couldn’t have stopped him even if I wanted to – he’s just too strong, he’s just too determined,’ Sam said, patting his mount’s neck. ‘And he loved the crowd; didn’t you see his ears prick up as we passed them?’

It was true, even Graham had to admit it. Now that the horse had a crowd to play to, his tune was faster; perfect, but devilishly fast. He couldn’t help but marvel at the colt, there was something different about him this season. As soon as Saranyu had come into the picture, in fact. Maybe having a love interest had focussed him. He laughed. Poor colt, he’ll never get the girl.

The horse was still showing off to the crowd, with tail high and ears pricked as he stamped each foreleg in a dancing motion. Sweat shone on his coat and his breathing was loud but the painted thoroughbred seemed to have almost endless reserves of aggressive energy.

All that the old trainer knew was that with a horse like this, the rest of the season was going to be fun.

---

Shown: Hrimfaxi (foreground) and Snake

Art & Characters (C) me