Post by torres on Feb 8, 2010 19:20:28 GMT -5
Kamikaze airplanes in the sky
Are we going down or will we fly?[/size]
The fog of early morning encompassed the earth's surface in a thick and blinding fog. You could feel it's cold dampness as it clung to your skin, you could feel the closeness of it as you waded through it only hoping you were in the right place. The only sounds were those of the owls, the ever so faint rustling of the trees' branches, and your own footfalls. The sun had yet to rise and it was still dark outside. As the fog began to slowly clear off, revealing the whitewashed fences and barn, the sounds of waking horses began to fill the air. The sun began to rise slowly over the horizon, reflecting off the snow that covered the grass in a bright glow. It was a typical morning in Pinewood West Virginia. All was perfect and pristine... no one could possibly ask for more than this.
Out of the stable the sound of heavy shod hooves clattered on the earth as a horse was lead from his stall. On his back was a racing exercise saddle, and a ring bit was secured between his jaws. Over his face was a white hood with blinkers to keep the horse's focus in front of him and not on what was going on around him. His long legs danced excitedly in a sort of sideways trot as his handler lead him towards the doors of the stable. From there it was a fairly long walk up to the old track, which had recently been "rediscovered" by the only two certified jockeys in Pinewood, Alex and Anthony Lovasz. The track was far less than upscale, and much of the outside rail had deteriorated with the weather and fallen down. Alex and Anthony had done some repairs on the old track, considering their twice daily use of it, but even so, it was definitely far from the high end tracks the black thoroughbred was used to running on.
When the pair reached the track the handler, Tristan Morgan, pulled himself nimbly up onto the tall horse's back, and set him at a walk for about 500 feet before letting him into a very high strung trot. The horse was already fighting the hold on the reins, and was not pleased at all with being forced to remain at this slow pace. Because of his resistance to the hold, he was turned almost all the way sideways so that he was facing the inside rail, occasionally kicking up his heels in an irritated buck, just letting Tristan know how angry he was with the current situation. It was never much of a buck, he wasn't trying to unseat his rider, he was just throwing a temper tantrum in hopes of annoying Tristan into giving in and letting him out. Unfortunately for the horse, Tristan knew better than that. It would be just plain stupid to let a horse out before getting him properly warmed up.
About a quarter of the way around the track, he let him out just a little more into a long canter, sawing the bit back and forth in the horse's mouth to keep the animal in check and prevent him from getting the bit between his teeth and taking off before it was time. The horse was slightly more satisfied, but he was still begging for more rein, and any observer could tell from how tightly Tristan gripped the reins and the effort it was taking to hold him back. Finally, when they reached about 3/4 of the track, Tristan's grip started to relax slightly, and the horse's stride lengthened. Then he let go, and with a sudden surge, the black horse was catapulting down the track, picking up speed with every stride. Tristan kept the reins still held tightly in his hands, maintaining control over the horse's speed, but even so, the horse was getting faster and faster until he had practically become a blur on the track.
He flashed past the would be grandstands with impressive gusto and kept on going, eating up the track with eager strides. His finely shaped head bobbing to the fast stride, his ears pinned back flat on his head. A slight sweat was building on his coat as he continued at this tremendous pace, but he seemed unfazed by it, as if given the chance he would run forever. It was obvious that the horse was born to run. His long legs stretched with every step he took seeming to be attempting to break the record stride length. His finely streamlined body throwing everything into the sport, into his task. He was the picture of the perfect racehorse. Running was all he wanted to do. When he was let loose in the pasture he would run, when he was on the track he would run, when he managed to get loose he would run. Every opportunity he had to run he would take it, and boy would he ever run.
After a lap around the track, Tristan started gathering the horse again, but here was where a problem always arose. This horse didn't like to stop once he got going. He threw his head angrily and resisted the force attempting to stop him. Tristan continued tightening the reins, and the horse kept fighting, and kept running. He was big, and he was strong, and he was going to give Tristan hell before he gave in and slowed down. For about another half of the track the black stallion fought his rider and refused to give in. Tristan was tightening the reins more and more until finally the horse's chin was against his throat, and his mouth was opened as he fought the hold, but with his head in that position he couldn't keep running at such a furious pace, and he slowly started to give in to the command to slow. He was still fighting, but not as strongly now that his breathing was slightly restricted.
Bit by bit the horse slowed, and about the time they had made a second circle of the track Tristan had him down to a high strung walk, but he didn't let up on the tight grip on the reins. He knew if he did the horse would take off again. He was racehorse, and unfortunately his previous trainer had trained him only to run, and not listen to other commands... a definite downfall when it came to racing. It was Tristan's current job to teach him to stop when he was told to... which was a lot harder than it seemed. The animal had been given the non-stop running training for two years, and undoing two years of poor training was a difficult task. When he finally got the horse to stop, the animal's sides were heaving and his coat was soaked in sweat. Tristan was fairly breathless as well, and had his fair share of sweat streaking down his body.
I can see why they call you Kamikaze, He said breathlessly as he jumped off the horse and pulled the hood off of the horse's face so the sweat underneath could evaporate. The horse, full name Kamikaze Airplane, bobbed his head energetically, still full of energy and adrenaline. but even kamikaze airplanes were under control of their driver. He patted the sweaty horse's neck, attempting to catch his breath before leaving the track. He'd been so focused on getting the horse to stop that he really hadn't been paying any attention to what was going on around the track. He didn't really expect anyone else to be there, considering the only way people ever found out about the track was if they decided to follow Alex and Anthony's small but well worn trail that lead off of the wider main trail and happened upon the track. It wasn't a well known place anymore, and there was almost never anyone there to watch.
The sweat on both horse and rider was sending a steam up into the cold winter air. Most people wouldn't run a horse that fast in winter, but Tristan knew Kaze would be fine... that horse could run over loose shale if he wanted to... plus, with all the use the track got, ice never really had the chance to form on the ground, and so remained safe to run a horse on. Besides, how else were they to exercise their race horses if not on the track? These animals needed a lot of hard exercise to be kept happy and in shape... and Tristan needed them to need that so he could expend his own energy on it as well. He was the single most ADD person on the face of the earth, and the only way he could focus on anything was if he physically exhausted himself to the point that he had very nearly no energy left... then, and only then could he focus on anything. He needed to ride these horses as much as they needed him to ride them. They were a team, and couldn't function without one another.[/center][/color][/size]