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Description
To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
--Bill Bixby

These things just keep getting longer.

AUGUST

In the blurred shock of activity which defines the start of the Saratoga season, Geist was all but forgotten. He was mostly stuck in his stall, let out for an hour or so in the afternoon to graze and occasionally walked under tack in the morning; there were no more outbursts, the likes of which had landed Tom on his aging behind, but for the moment, it seemed, Geist had sealed his fate of stall rest.

Ellie, on the other hand, was in constant motion. Though still relegated to a majority of lower-level, long-odds runners, her new agent (a portly man by the name of Bob Jones) landed a few single-digit horses for her, and with these, her luck increased tenfold. The wild energy that coursed through her as she rode meant that Ellie was much better suited in those early days to sprinters, but gradually she learned to ration her enthusiasm, and became a better jockey for it.

And all the while, constant shadows to her progress were the two jocks who'd inspired her to think of the career in the first place. Laurence and Frankie still eagerly took to their roles as mentors, talking her through the subtleties of the sport, showing her exercise regimes that would more efficiently burn fat and hone muscle. A favourite game of Ellie's was to watch one or the other in a race (one in which she wasn't riding), and to guess where he would go before he went. It was doubly an exercise in tactics and style.

It was in such a rhythm that the Fields' three jockeys passed August by. Naturally, though, the rhythm was occasionally broken by the wild events which inevitably surrounded the running of one of the stable stars.

The first such break came very early in the month, when Nokomis, rippling with health, pranced into the Saratoga paddock. Her brilliant orange coat had exploded with dapples, her eyes shone like stars, and her ears never stopped moving; along with the exquisite conformation she had always possessed, these things gave Koko the look of a goddess, the ultimate icon of perfection in her species. Though she rode a three-race losing streak dating to February, the public so adored the look of Pipinoukhe's rather less famous daughter that she was bet down to third choice at 6-1 for the GII Fourstardave Handicap. All this despite the fact that Tom had daringly entered her against open company.

From her position on the rail, Nokomis launched her campaign right at the start, hurtling into fourth early and confidently securing her position. Frankie felt her strength running through the reins and into his hands, and couldn't suppress a grin; they were halfway down the backstretch when the red filly began to make up ground on her own, and had pulled into third by the time the field spun into the far turn.

Frankie couldn't believe how good Koko felt. She had always had a big heart, always tried her hardest but for whatever reason was not always able to get to the front and stay there, even against her own division. But today? Today, the daughter of Pipinoukhe and Silmarillion was invincible. Today, he dared anyone to stay with her.

No one could. She roared into the stretch, pounced on the leaders and took off, leaving them coughing on her dust. She won by better than two lengths, in 1:40 2/5 for the mile and a sixteenth.

----

And then it was Laurence's day for drama, as Saratoga buzzed for the rubber match between Blizzard and Baptism in the GI Alfred G. Vanderbilt Handicap. A strong field of eight was entered, including some top older sprinters from the West coast, but it was the three-year-olds who commanded the spotlight, their rapidly burgeoning rivalry the talk of the track that day. Visually, the pair were too good to be true: one near-black, a fire-breathing dragon trapped in a horse's body; the other a pure white angel, his ears flopping as he accepted tribute of scratches and apple cubes.

The sight of them inspired memories of a greater rivalry, years previous. Every sign foretold a fierce battle.

A fierce battle was exactly what materialized. It was difficult on this day, sixty-four days after his last start, for Laurence to ration Blitz's speed as he'd done in the Woody Stephens, and so the white colt rocketed through openers of :21 4/5, :44 1/5, while Baptism lay in wait at the rear of the field.

And then, he pounced, and the Earth tilted on its axis with the force of his assault. Blitz barely had time to brace for it before he was there, right there, snorting and blowing and pushing with all his might; the pair of them strained, digging deep within themselves and finding some lost vein of strength neither had expected to find. They matched strides, their noses bobbing in perfect time as they left the field, the world behind and it all sharpened and focused until it was only them, they were all that existed, and then there was a flash of light.

Both jockeys stood in the irons, dazed. They looked at each other, but neither could tell who had won. Nor could anyone in the public, which milled about for several minutes, watching a tote board which stubbornly refused to light up.

Nor could the camera.

It took long seconds before the flashing DH finally began to sink in, but when it did, there was a ripple across the crowd which suddenly welled and transformed into thunderous applause. The jockeys aboard the warrior colts laughed, leaned over and shook hands. Discourse between the owners and trainers of the pair was short, and it was almost immediately decided that they should forego separate pictures and just take one photo with both horses. After all, they'd both won the race, and a dead heat in a GI is one hell of a memory to have.

----

Poltergeist would only stand being ignored for so long. As the season went on, only Ellie paid much attention to him for any length of time, and he was growing bored and frustrated, a potent mix in a colt who'd taken out someone's eye as a youngster. Ellie tried to convince Tom to let her take the horse out for a few little gallops, that was all, but the trainer was firm in the negative. He would never admit it, but he was horribly afraid.

And so Ellie became frustrated, too, and it came through in her riding. She and Manit suffered their first defeat together in the GII Saratoga Special, when Ellie failed to negotiate traffic and the pair closed quickly to nab third but fell two and a half lengths short.

----

Six days thereafter, Anna ran away with the GI Alabama Stakes, eased in the stretch to win by almost five lengths in 2:01 4/5. She was clearly too good for filly company, it was decided. A page would be taken out of Rachel Alexandra's book for her next start: Anayehi was headed for the Woodward.

SEPTEMBER

September blasted into existence with all the force of an atomic bomb, as its first Saturday was to feature two races which had the racing crowds in a fit of delight. The featured race, of course, would see tiny little Anayehi take on elder males in the Woodward Stakes, but just as exciting was the GI Forego Stakes earlier on the card. The Forego, it should be noted, was to feature Blizzard and Baptism, together for the fourth time, but that wasn't all. Oh, no. They were to be joined in the starting gate by none other than Aiaru, the filly who had reduced the East coast's sprint division to ashes.

There was a general tremble of delight when the three of them appeared in the paddock together. The two dark forms, huge and foreboding, contrasted brilliantly to the compact white of the third, and when they loaded into the gate, the roar of the crowd was torrential.

And then, all Hell broke loose. The gates ripped open, and the two Brazen Fields competitors leapt at each other's throats. This had been a concern, of course. Particularly among the handicappers who boasted that this would surely be Baptism's day now that the Fields team had sent their two most notorious speedsters head and head.

What they did not account for, of course, was said team's own curiosity. Tom, Chloe, Frankie, Laurence, even Ellie thirsted to know which, if either speed demon would survive the assault of the other, and when Frankie and Laurence had learned that their sprinters would be pitted against each other, they had thrilled in the knowledge.

But that thrill was nothing compared to what they felt now. The blue-eyed wonders thundered along, Blitz on the rail, Roo just to his outside, leaving the field--and Baptism--far enough behind them to merit a new area code. They scorched the track so thoroughly that Baptism was forced to make a premature run to even have a chance at catching up in time, and by the time he rolled up to their outside, he was just as exhausted as they were.

And still, they ran. The three of them together, side by side, searching and finding the courage to go on despite the acid fire in their aching lungs and limbs. And then, with a sixteenth of a mile remaining, they separated. Blitz faltered, barely. Baptism gave the barest hint of hesitation. Aiaru pinned her ears against her pain and hurtled forward one last time.

The filly hit the line three quarters of a length in front. Baptism had managed to subdue Blizzard by another head. They had gone seven furlongs in 1:20 4/5, a new stakes record. The crowd went wild.

In fact, the crowd went so wild that you'd have thought they didn't anticipate as much screaming as they were sure to do during the featured race. It was a bit irresponsible of them, actually, considering that they'd all likely have laryngitis in the morning.

But no matter, because on the day, they were all having the time of their lives. Three sprinters had just defied logic in the running of the Forego, and their favourite tiny little filly was about to take on the best of the handicap division.

Any one of them should have been enough to scare her off. There was Express, a son of Silver Train who'd won the Santa Anita Handicap before crossing the country and taking the Stephen Foster, just for fun. There was Donn Handicap winner Chuk Kam, a son of Touch Gold. There was Jötunn, a son of world record holder Red Giant, who had made a name for himself winning graded stakes on any surface.

And there was Lion's Way. The only one Tom feared.

He was a son of the Kingmambo stallion Thewayyouare out of Arlette, a daughter of King of Kings. A magnificent red chestnut, he towered above the rest of the field in stature and in apparent talent: a very late bloomer, his breakout performance had been an eight-length victory in the Met Mile, after which he had reeled off victories in the Suburban and Whitney Handicaps. The manner of his triumphs had been so casual, so easy, had spoken of such untapped talent that today, he was favoured over Anayehi.

Chuk Kam broke fastest, going straight to the lead as he'd done in all of his best races. Anna skipped out of the gate, avoided another horse and glued herself to the leader's dark flank. Just to her outside, the grey Jötunn moved into a stalking position. In behind them was Lion's Way, then a pair of longshots and the stretch-running Express.

It didn't take long for drama to unfold. Jötunn rapidly became impatient with a slow-developing pace and launched himself at Chuk Kam, who immediately accepted the challenge and the pair spun away from the field as the whole complexion of the race changed. Frankie guided Anna to the rail as Lion's Way moved up beside her, and the two eyeballed each other for the first time. And in a blink, they were locked in combat, in their own race.

Around the far turn, Chuk Kam faltered and fell back. Anna slipped to his inside while Lion's Way took the overland route, first passing the falling pacesetter before taking aim at Jötunn. Anayehi, on the shorter path, got there first, using her lack of bulk to her advantage and slipping through on his inside. Jötunn's jockey pleaded for more, but to no avail: the filly and the red colt were at each other's throats again, leaving him behind.

It was a desperate struggle. Anayehi had never lost a race while a rider stayed firmly on her back, and Lion's Way was riding the sort of win streak that went to a horse's head. Each was secure in his or her own invincibility, and each was absolutely firm in that such invincibility was not to be shaken today. And with such security, such determination as this coursing through them, they were not even aware of the agony of fatigue which inevitably clutched hold of them. They were ignorant of it in the face of their unshakeable will. Legs whirled, faster and faster, staging an impossible acceleration in the final seconds of a race which, predictably, triggered several cases of laryngitis. Filly and colt screamed to the finish, their heads bobbing out of time. And then the finish slid past.

Once again, neither jockey could be sure of the victor, but this time, the camera could tell.

Fourteen days after beating her own division in a ten-furlong test, Anna had beaten the top older horse in the country by a nose.

----

In the aftermath of the day's euphoria, Manit's run in the Hopeful Stakes was overshadowed; his case was not helped by a relatively lacklustre run into second which boggled his connections. He scoped out clean: Manny had simply not put in his best effort on the day.

Ellie blamed herself. Her vibrant energy had dimmed as she faced Geist every day, watched him fall back into depression. She began to harp on Tom at every opportunity. What harm could there possibly be, she argued, in letting him gallop?

Finally, he gave in, and one unseasonably cool August morning saw Ellie, shaking, climbing aboard Poltergeist for the first time.

One journalist, one single man just happened to be passing by when Ellie's telltale platinum ponytail was seen aboard the black colt with the white face. It didn't take long before a hoard of them flooded to the rail, cameras at the ready.

All they did was gallop. But for Ellie, and for the press, it was a momentous occasion, though for slightly different reasons.

The Blood-Horse ran an article, headlined "POLTERGEIST TO RUN AGAIN?", which featured side by side photographs. One was a most recent shot of Ellie galloping Poltergeist. The other was from years previous, when a seemingly much younger Ellie had led a strangely calm Poltergeist into the paddock for a race. "ELIZABETH CAMPBELL ALL GROWN UP, PERFECT MATCH FOR SON OF EL DIABLO," boasted the subheader.

Ellie, however, had no care for press or articles or conjecture. When she slid into Poltergeist's saddle for the first time, it was like coming home. She struggled not to cry as the emotions washed over her, as Geist arched his neck and kindly, gently gave her anything she asked, as she felt the suppressed power rippling through him when he broke into his favourite gait. He was nowhere near as strong as he had been, as he could be, but there was still that old magic coursing through his veins, driving him to push himself even now.

Tom looked on from the rail, and knew there was no turning back.

----

The remainder of September passed largely without incident. A few times a week, Ellie cheerfully swung into Poltergeist's saddle and steered him around the main track, much to the supreme pleasure of early bird fans who took out their cameras and flashed away at the old star. By the second week, Geist was pulling eagerly at Ellie's hands for two whole circuits, and Ellie was developing a hot streak in the afternoons.

It all started when a particularly gutsy trainer decided that Ellie's hot seat was exactly what was needed to get his talented, but lazy juvenile filly motoring. The filly, a daughter of Quality Road called Redeemed, had finished second in her first three starts, each time the victim of her own slowness to get going. Ellie jolted some serious life into Redeemed right at the break, steered her into contention halfway around the turn and bounced away by five at the finish. From that day on, sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Campbell was regarded as the most exciting up-and-comer in her vocation.

To close out the month, Nokomis tried the GI Garden City at Belmont, but the magic into which she'd so explosively tapped had all but vanished. She navigated a huge field, but flattened slightly in the stretch, conceding first and second to other fillies and settling for third. The following day, Ephialtes made his first start and also tallied a third for his record, only really rolling at the finish and galloping out in front.

And all the while, Poltergeist grew stronger.

HAVE I MENTIONED GOOD MADAMS THAT I AM ON FIRE?

Fun fact: Manit's physical references have all been Mr. Greeley foals, because though I'm not usually a Mr. Greeley fan, his babies tend to have the elegant bulk I imagine Manny to have. For this, I referenced Kensei.

Shown:
Name: Nokomis (Literally Mother Earth in Native legend, and the mother of all the other Earth Mothers)
Barn name: Koko, Granny
Gender: Filly
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 4
Height: Projected 16hh
Color: Chestnut sabino
Genotype: ee AA nSb
Markings: Sabino markings
Temperament: A supremely confident if laid-back youngster, Koko is content to let trouble find her, and then to smash it to itty bitty pieces when it inevitably does. At first she was seen as easy pickings to the other youngstock, but you can bet they don't anymore.
Discipline: Racing
Preferred distance: Unknown
Running style: Unknown
Bloodlines: Pipinoukhe x Silmarillion
Offspring: N/A
For stud/lease: Unavailable - too young

Name: Manit (Native American dream god)
Barn name: Manny, The Man, Sleepyhead
Gender: Colt
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 2
Height: Projected 16hh
Color: Bay
Genotype: Ee Aa
Markings: Four stockings; blaze with spot
Temperament: Manny is the sleepiest bucket of horse-shaped goo that ever graced the Fields. He loves sleep, food, and cuddles, preferably in that order. That isn't to say there isn't speed in there somewhere; he runs around like any other colt of his breed, but when he isn't running, he isn't even standing up.
Discipline: Racing prospect
Bloodlines: Pipinoukhe x Intuned
Offspring: N/A
For stud/lease: Unavailable - too young

Description
To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
--Bill Bixby

These things just keep getting longer.

AUGUST

In the blurred shock of activity which defines the start of the Saratoga season, Geist was all but forgotten. He was mostly stuck in his stall, let out for an hour or so in the afternoon to graze and occasionally walked under tack in the morning; there were no more outbursts, the likes of which had landed Tom on his aging behind, but for the moment, it seemed, Geist had sealed his fate of stall rest.

Ellie, on the other hand, was in constant motion. Though still relegated to a majority of lower-level, long-odds runners, her new agent (a portly man by the name of Bob Jones) landed a few single-digit horses for her, and with these, her luck increased tenfold. The wild energy that coursed through her as she rode meant that Ellie was much better suited in those early days to sprinters, but gradually she learned to ration her enthusiasm, and became a better jockey for it.

And all the while, constant shadows to her progress were the two jocks who'd inspired her to think of the career in the first place. Laurence and Frankie still eagerly took to their roles as mentors, talking her through the subtleties of the sport, showing her exercise regimes that would more efficiently burn fat and hone muscle. A favourite game of Ellie's was to watch one or the other in a race (one in which she wasn't riding), and to guess where he would go before he went. It was doubly an exercise in tactics and style.

It was in such a rhythm that the Fields' three jockeys passed August by. Naturally, though, the rhythm was occasionally broken by the wild events which inevitably surrounded the running of one of the stable stars.

The first such break came very early in the month, when Nokomis, rippling with health, pranced into the Saratoga paddock. Her brilliant orange coat had exploded with dapples, her eyes shone like stars, and her ears never stopped moving; along with the exquisite conformation she had always possessed, these things gave Koko the look of a goddess, the ultimate icon of perfection in her species. Though she rode a three-race losing streak dating to February, the public so adored the look of Pipinoukhe's rather less famous daughter that she was bet down to third choice at 6-1 for the GII Fourstardave Handicap. All this despite the fact that Tom had daringly entered her against open company.

From her position on the rail, Nokomis launched her campaign right at the start, hurtling into fourth early and confidently securing her position. Frankie felt her strength running through the reins and into his hands, and couldn't suppress a grin; they were halfway down the backstretch when the red filly began to make up ground on her own, and had pulled into third by the time the field spun into the far turn.

Frankie couldn't believe how good Koko felt. She had always had a big heart, always tried her hardest but for whatever reason was not always able to get to the front and stay there, even against her own division. But today? Today, the daughter of Pipinoukhe and Silmarillion was invincible. Today, he dared anyone to stay with her.

No one could. She roared into the stretch, pounced on the leaders and took off, leaving them coughing on her dust. She won by better than two lengths, in 1:40 2/5 for the mile and a sixteenth.

----

And then it was Laurence's day for drama, as Saratoga buzzed for the rubber match between Blizzard and Baptism in the GI Alfred G. Vanderbilt Handicap. A strong field of eight was entered, including some top older sprinters from the West coast, but it was the three-year-olds who commanded the spotlight, their rapidly burgeoning rivalry the talk of the track that day. Visually, the pair were too good to be true: one near-black, a fire-breathing dragon trapped in a horse's body; the other a pure white angel, his ears flopping as he accepted tribute of scratches and apple cubes.

The sight of them inspired memories of a greater rivalry, years previous. Every sign foretold a fierce battle.

A fierce battle was exactly what materialized. It was difficult on this day, sixty-four days after his last start, for Laurence to ration Blitz's speed as he'd done in the Woody Stephens, and so the white colt rocketed through openers of :21 4/5, :44 1/5, while Baptism lay in wait at the rear of the field.

And then, he pounced, and the Earth tilted on its axis with the force of his assault. Blitz barely had time to brace for it before he was there, right there, snorting and blowing and pushing with all his might; the pair of them strained, digging deep within themselves and finding some lost vein of strength neither had expected to find. They matched strides, their noses bobbing in perfect time as they left the field, the world behind and it all sharpened and focused until it was only them, they were all that existed, and then there was a flash of light.

Both jockeys stood in the irons, dazed. They looked at each other, but neither could tell who had won. Nor could anyone in the public, which milled about for several minutes, watching a tote board which stubbornly refused to light up.

Nor could the camera.

It took long seconds before the flashing DH finally began to sink in, but when it did, there was a ripple across the crowd which suddenly welled and transformed into thunderous applause. The jockeys aboard the warrior colts laughed, leaned over and shook hands. Discourse between the owners and trainers of the pair was short, and it was almost immediately decided that they should forego separate pictures and just take one photo with both horses. After all, they'd both won the race, and a dead heat in a GI is one hell of a memory to have.

----

Poltergeist would only stand being ignored for so long. As the season went on, only Ellie paid much attention to him for any length of time, and he was growing bored and frustrated, a potent mix in a colt who'd taken out someone's eye as a youngster. Ellie tried to convince Tom to let her take the horse out for a few little gallops, that was all, but the trainer was firm in the negative. He would never admit it, but he was horribly afraid.

And so Ellie became frustrated, too, and it came through in her riding. She and Manit suffered their first defeat together in the GII Saratoga Special, when Ellie failed to negotiate traffic and the pair closed quickly to nab third but fell two and a half lengths short.

----

Six days thereafter, Anna ran away with the GI Alabama Stakes, eased in the stretch to win by almost five lengths in 2:01 4/5. She was clearly too good for filly company, it was decided. A page would be taken out of Rachel Alexandra's book for her next start: Anayehi was headed for the Woodward.

SEPTEMBER

September blasted into existence with all the force of an atomic bomb, as its first Saturday was to feature two races which had the racing crowds in a fit of delight. The featured race, of course, would see tiny little Anayehi take on elder males in the Woodward Stakes, but just as exciting was the GI Forego Stakes earlier on the card. The Forego, it should be noted, was to feature Blizzard and Baptism, together for the fourth time, but that wasn't all. Oh, no. They were to be joined in the starting gate by none other than Aiaru, the filly who had reduced the East coast's sprint division to ashes.

There was a general tremble of delight when the three of them appeared in the paddock together. The two dark forms, huge and foreboding, contrasted brilliantly to the compact white of the third, and when they loaded into the gate, the roar of the crowd was torrential.

And then, all Hell broke loose. The gates ripped open, and the two Brazen Fields competitors leapt at each other's throats. This had been a concern, of course. Particularly among the handicappers who boasted that this would surely be Baptism's day now that the Fields team had sent their two most notorious speedsters head and head.

What they did not account for, of course, was said team's own curiosity. Tom, Chloe, Frankie, Laurence, even Ellie thirsted to know which, if either speed demon would survive the assault of the other, and when Frankie and Laurence had learned that their sprinters would be pitted against each other, they had thrilled in the knowledge.

But that thrill was nothing compared to what they felt now. The blue-eyed wonders thundered along, Blitz on the rail, Roo just to his outside, leaving the field--and Baptism--far enough behind them to merit a new area code. They scorched the track so thoroughly that Baptism was forced to make a premature run to even have a chance at catching up in time, and by the time he rolled up to their outside, he was just as exhausted as they were.

And still, they ran. The three of them together, side by side, searching and finding the courage to go on despite the acid fire in their aching lungs and limbs. And then, with a sixteenth of a mile remaining, they separated. Blitz faltered, barely. Baptism gave the barest hint of hesitation. Aiaru pinned her ears against her pain and hurtled forward one last time.

The filly hit the line three quarters of a length in front. Baptism had managed to subdue Blizzard by another head. They had gone seven furlongs in 1:20 4/5, a new stakes record. The crowd went wild.

In fact, the crowd went so wild that you'd have thought they didn't anticipate as much screaming as they were sure to do during the featured race. It was a bit irresponsible of them, actually, considering that they'd all likely have laryngitis in the morning.

But no matter, because on the day, they were all having the time of their lives. Three sprinters had just defied logic in the running of the Forego, and their favourite tiny little filly was about to take on the best of the handicap division.

Any one of them should have been enough to scare her off. There was Express, a son of Silver Train who'd won the Santa Anita Handicap before crossing the country and taking the Stephen Foster, just for fun. There was Donn Handicap winner Chuk Kam, a son of Touch Gold. There was Jötunn, a son of world record holder Red Giant, who had made a name for himself winning graded stakes on any surface.

And there was Lion's Way. The only one Tom feared.

He was a son of the Kingmambo stallion Thewayyouare out of Arlette, a daughter of King of Kings. A magnificent red chestnut, he towered above the rest of the field in stature and in apparent talent: a very late bloomer, his breakout performance had been an eight-length victory in the Met Mile, after which he had reeled off victories in the Suburban and Whitney Handicaps. The manner of his triumphs had been so casual, so easy, had spoken of such untapped talent that today, he was favoured over Anayehi.

Chuk Kam broke fastest, going straight to the lead as he'd done in all of his best races. Anna skipped out of the gate, avoided another horse and glued herself to the leader's dark flank. Just to her outside, the grey Jötunn moved into a stalking position. In behind them was Lion's Way, then a pair of longshots and the stretch-running Express.

It didn't take long for drama to unfold. Jötunn rapidly became impatient with a slow-developing pace and launched himself at Chuk Kam, who immediately accepted the challenge and the pair spun away from the field as the whole complexion of the race changed. Frankie guided Anna to the rail as Lion's Way moved up beside her, and the two eyeballed each other for the first time. And in a blink, they were locked in combat, in their own race.

Around the far turn, Chuk Kam faltered and fell back. Anna slipped to his inside while Lion's Way took the overland route, first passing the falling pacesetter before taking aim at Jötunn. Anayehi, on the shorter path, got there first, using her lack of bulk to her advantage and slipping through on his inside. Jötunn's jockey pleaded for more, but to no avail: the filly and the red colt were at each other's throats again, leaving him behind.

It was a desperate struggle. Anayehi had never lost a race while a rider stayed firmly on her back, and Lion's Way was riding the sort of win streak that went to a horse's head. Each was secure in his or her own invincibility, and each was absolutely firm in that such invincibility was not to be shaken today. And with such security, such determination as this coursing through them, they were not even aware of the agony of fatigue which inevitably clutched hold of them. They were ignorant of it in the face of their unshakeable will. Legs whirled, faster and faster, staging an impossible acceleration in the final seconds of a race which, predictably, triggered several cases of laryngitis. Filly and colt screamed to the finish, their heads bobbing out of time. And then the finish slid past.

Once again, neither jockey could be sure of the victor, but this time, the camera could tell.

Fourteen days after beating her own division in a ten-furlong test, Anna had beaten the top older horse in the country by a nose.

----

In the aftermath of the day's euphoria, Manit's run in the Hopeful Stakes was overshadowed; his case was not helped by a relatively lacklustre run into second which boggled his connections. He scoped out clean: Manny had simply not put in his best effort on the day.

Ellie blamed herself. Her vibrant energy had dimmed as she faced Geist every day, watched him fall back into depression. She began to harp on Tom at every opportunity. What harm could there possibly be, she argued, in letting him gallop?

Finally, he gave in, and one unseasonably cool August morning saw Ellie, shaking, climbing aboard Poltergeist for the first time.

One journalist, one single man just happened to be passing by when Ellie's telltale platinum ponytail was seen aboard the black colt with the white face. It didn't take long before a hoard of them flooded to the rail, cameras at the ready.

All they did was gallop. But for Ellie, and for the press, it was a momentous occasion, though for slightly different reasons.

The Blood-Horse ran an article, headlined "POLTERGEIST TO RUN AGAIN?", which featured side by side photographs. One was a most recent shot of Ellie galloping Poltergeist. The other was from years previous, when a seemingly much younger Ellie had led a strangely calm Poltergeist into the paddock for a race. "ELIZABETH CAMPBELL ALL GROWN UP, PERFECT MATCH FOR SON OF EL DIABLO," boasted the subheader.

Ellie, however, had no care for press or articles or conjecture. When she slid into Poltergeist's saddle for the first time, it was like coming home. She struggled not to cry as the emotions washed over her, as Geist arched his neck and kindly, gently gave her anything she asked, as she felt the suppressed power rippling through him when he broke into his favourite gait. He was nowhere near as strong as he had been, as he could be, but there was still that old magic coursing through his veins, driving him to push himself even now.

Tom looked on from the rail, and knew there was no turning back.

----

The remainder of September passed largely without incident. A few times a week, Ellie cheerfully swung into Poltergeist's saddle and steered him around the main track, much to the supreme pleasure of early bird fans who took out their cameras and flashed away at the old star. By the second week, Geist was pulling eagerly at Ellie's hands for two whole circuits, and Ellie was developing a hot streak in the afternoons.

It all started when a particularly gutsy trainer decided that Ellie's hot seat was exactly what was needed to get his talented, but lazy juvenile filly motoring. The filly, a daughter of Quality Road called Redeemed, had finished second in her first three starts, each time the victim of her own slowness to get going. Ellie jolted some serious life into Redeemed right at the break, steered her into contention halfway around the turn and bounced away by five at the finish. From that day on, sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Campbell was regarded as the most exciting up-and-comer in her vocation.

To close out the month, Nokomis tried the GI Garden City at Belmont, but the magic into which she'd so explosively tapped had all but vanished. She navigated a huge field, but flattened slightly in the stretch, conceding first and second to other fillies and settling for third. The following day, Ephialtes made his first start and also tallied a third for his record, only really rolling at the finish and galloping out in front.

And all the while, Poltergeist grew stronger.

HAVE I MENTIONED GOOD MADAMS THAT I AM ON FIRE?

Fun fact: Manit's physical references have all been Mr. Greeley foals, because though I'm not usually a Mr. Greeley fan, his babies tend to have the elegant bulk I imagine Manny to have. For this, I referenced Kensei.

Shown:
Name: Nokomis (Literally Mother Earth in Native legend, and the mother of all the other Earth Mothers)
Barn name: Koko, Granny
Gender: Filly
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 4
Height: Projected 16hh
Color: Chestnut sabino
Genotype: ee AA nSb
Markings: Sabino markings
Temperament: A supremely confident if laid-back youngster, Koko is content to let trouble find her, and then to smash it to itty bitty pieces when it inevitably does. At first she was seen as easy pickings to the other youngstock, but you can bet they don't anymore.
Discipline: Racing
Preferred distance: Unknown
Running style: Unknown
Bloodlines: Pipinoukhe x Silmarillion
Offspring: N/A
For stud/lease: Unavailable - too young

Name: Manit (Native American dream god)
Barn name: Manny, The Man, Sleepyhead
Gender: Colt
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 2
Height: Projected 16hh
Color: Bay
Genotype: Ee Aa
Markings: Four stockings; blaze with spot
Temperament: Manny is the sleepiest bucket of horse-shaped goo that ever graced the Fields. He loves sleep, food, and cuddles, preferably in that order. That isn't to say there isn't speed in there somewhere; he runs around like any other colt of his breed, but when he isn't running, he isn't even standing up.
Discipline: Racing prospect
Bloodlines: Pipinoukhe x Intuned
Offspring: N/A
For stud/lease: Unavailable - too young