Dagger's Point

Chapter Eleven

The white top rail is smooth beneath my fingertips, the chill of the morning shrouding everything in a pink fog. The track is as unfamiliar as the horses who work around it, most of them doing light workouts, their exercise riders small and close to their backs. I am here by myself, waiting to see one of Green River's horses run through, according to Bea this was the track they were going to race at tomorrow. Though I have yet to see any familiar faces. A pair of horses canter by me, a chestnut with his ears pinned and teeth snapping at a small roan whose rider holds tight to the line of leather between them.

The chestnut fights the other horse, rider and his own jockey as best as he can, attempting to twist up into the air. When that doesn't work he angles his body towards the smaller horse shoving into him forcefully. My breath catches in my throat, but there is really no use as before I know what's happening the little roan has the much larger chestnut pushed back out and responding a bit better. The man on the roan seems so at peace and at ease in the saddle, his seat having barely moved an inch, even as the chestnut once again attempts to twist and turn away. I'm impressed, it's something I have never seen before, except on the post parade for the Kentucky Derby.

Then I see a familiar horse break through the fog, I'm not quite sure how I recognize him but I know that it's Thunder Bird. His grey coat making him look like a dark ghost as he breaks past the fog and into clear view. They are barely moving, a gentle rolling gallop though his stride still eats up the ground. His head is low, ears flopping in relaxation, far from the chestnut that went past before him. I realize then that if Thunder Bird is out exercising then Fred should be nearby. I leave my spot on the rail wandering in the direction of the crowd of people and horses by the gate, my eyes trying to spot bright pink hair. I see her not long after, leaning against the rail next to two men, one older with a bald head who is speaking while the other one is younger and shorter, his face a frown as he watches the horses that pass them.

Not wanting to intrude I take up a spot not too far away, searching for any other familiar horses that might be out. I hear the crack of a crop and it's not long before an extremely slow horse comes around the bend. It's Aspen, I can't help but fight the smile as the little mare pins her ears back refusing to go any faster even as the jockey uses the crop again and again.

"I think that's all you're getting out of her today Charlie." The short man next to Fred shouts out, his voice holding an irish tilt to it.

The jockey tips his head in the man's direction and in an instant the mare is down to a slow, plodding walk, her head swinging and feet scuffing the track dirt. It's quite the sight, especially with all the other, much more high-strung horses around. I see a few people whispering their eyes on her, most likely casting her off as an unlikely opponent in the race.

"That black mare is going to whoop all of their asses tomorrow, they'll never see it coming." There is a woman on my left side who speaks, I don't know if it's to me or just to herself. But I can't keep the pride out of my voice when I respond.

"She's really can move once she gets going."

The woman glances over at me, appraising me with sharp eyes, as if she isn't sure whether or not she knows me, which she shouldn't. The best part about hanging out with the racing crowd is it isn't often that someone recognizes me.

"That she can. I haven't seen you around before how do you know?"

"I've exercised her a few times."

"You work for Fred?"

"Yeah."

The conversation dies there, as a particular roan and chestnut horse trot by slowing to walk through the gate. The chestnut is far from relaxed, lathered and foaming at the mouth like a rabid animal. I'm not afraid of him, though I don't think that I would want to spend any quality time around him. The rider on the roan hands the lead off to a jockey, dropping his own reins as he yanks off his helmet, revealing a mop of red hair underneath. I can see the scar now on his cheek and his green eyes. He doesn't see me but I am frozen, I never imagined him riding, let alone with the utmost comfort that he does.