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There are big fat glaring hints (yes, hints PLURAL) to future things hidden in this segment. Just FYI.

Continuation of:

"The more you sweat in peacetime, the less you bleed during war."
~Chinese Proverb

“What are you doing?”

TJ froze and turned toward the voice. The colt beside her, however, kept walking. The lead jerked in her hand, making her yelp, which in turn startled the naturally high-strung colt. He snorted and reared slightly. “Woah!” she yelped as she grabbed for his halter. “Woah, easy, boy. Easy now.”

“I thought you were going to sell him,” Rafe continued with gritted teeth. “You promised.”

She turned to her husband with pleading eyes. “Oh, come on, Rafe,” she whined pitifully. “Look at him. He’s a one of a kind horse!”

“He’s useless.”

“He’s a baby. You can’t judge a racehorse’s potential before he ever sets foot on a track!” she barked incredulously.

Rafe rolled his eyes and pointed a harsh finger at the weanling in question. “That colt couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag,” he growled. “He’s clumsy, dumber than dirt, high-strung, and one of the unluckiest sods I’ve ever had the displeasure of breeding.”

TJ gasped and slapped her hands over the colt’s ears. “Don’t say that, he can hear you!”

Rafe scowled. “He can’t understand me, twat.”

“No, you ballbuster, but he can feel it,” she retorted back. “He’s sensitive.” She cuddled closer to the weanling and cooed softly in his ear. Sure enough, Rafe’s shouting had reduced the poor thing to shivers, and that beautiful yellow coat of his rippled with each shudder.

Rafe rolled his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a sharp headache coming on. “TJ,” he said more calmly, “that colt is no racing prospect.”

“That’s what they said about Peter, if you’ll recall,” TJ reminded him snottily. Rafe looked up. She quirked a brow in challenge. “That’s what they said about Peter,” she repeated. “And he ended up being one of the best racers we’ve ever had. Or had you forgotten?”

Rafe shook his head and scrubbed a hand through his graying hair. His wife was right. Cagar had been just like this colt when he was young and had grown into a multi-millionaire who was still a top stallion prospect some fifteen years later. But even if this new colt did turn out to be the next Peter--which he seriously doubted--they still had one problem left to conquer.

“What trainer would take him?” he questioned. Might as well hit the bull head-on. “Ling said no and Robby wants nothing to do with him. You refuse to branch out and Nachita is still setting up shop down the road; There's no way he'd be ready to handle such a…” he waved in the colt’s vague direction. “Strange creature,” he finished lamely.

“I’ll take him on.”

TJ and Rafe both turned toward to the new voice.

“What did you say?” TJ breathed warily.

“I said I’ll take him. I’ll be his trainer.” Dawson stepped farther into the barn and ambled up to the colt.

“But… You’re retired.” TJ was truly puzzled, as was Rafe. “You have a new life now, don’t you? In… wherever it is you settled. Right?”

Dawson ran a gentle finger down the quivering colt’s velveteen nose. “I can’t leave the boys,” he said quietly without looking up. “Not Sven, and especially not Drew. Not again.” He lifted a weary gaze to meet TJ’s wide eyes. “I’d like to come back to work. If you’ll have me, that is.”

The woman studied him for many long, heart-pounding moments before she reached out with a shaking hand and curled her fingers around his elbow. “Welcome home, Jared,” she murmured softly. “If you ever leave again, I will cut your balls off with a spoon and feed them to the dogs.”

The former soldier smiled slightly, amused, and dipped his head in acknowledgement of TJ’s threat. He turned back to the colt. “What’s this one’s name?” He ran ghosting fingers over the weanling’s pale, moonlit hide. It shimmered in the morning light, all bright fire in the face of a burning sun. A pure white forelock obscured a face marking that would one day mark one of the most recognizable faces in Black Creek Crossing’s history. But none of them knew that yet. At that moment, the colt was just another of TJ’s sympathy cases, all young potential and nerves.

“This is Thunderbolt,” TJ answered happily. “And one day he’s going to make me very proud. I just know it.” She handed Dawson the lead.

“Thunderbolt,” the trainer breathed quietly. “Hello, boy.”

Shown:

Name: Thunderbolt
Barn Name: Bolt
Gender: Colt
Age: Weanling
Projected Height: 15.3hh
Color: Golden pale palomino
Eyes: Brown
Markings: Stripe, 3 socks
Build: Bolt is small and wiry, but beautiful in his own peculiar way. He possesses an elegant head and feminine build, with a thin swan neck and gently sloping shoulders. He is not what one would think a strong colt to look like, and is thus often thought to be a gelding and overlooked.
Breed: Thoroughbred
Bloodlines: Fighterjet x Amy Mine
Genes: ee/AA/nCr
Temperament: Thunderbolt is a skittish horse by nature, small and effeminate in design. He is dainty and clumsy—two characteristics that are never good when paired together. Still, he seems to be a resilient little bugger and has never hurt himself any more than a few cuts and bruises despite Murphy’s Law trying its best to fell him. He is not overly smart or very bright, but he has a lot of heart and it shows in everything he does.
Trainer: Jared Dawson
Jockey: n/a
Racing Style: n/a
Stable: Black Creek Crossing Stables

Art, Characters and Story © me

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Description
There are big fat glaring hints (yes, hints PLURAL) to future things hidden in this segment. Just FYI.

Continuation of:

"The more you sweat in peacetime, the less you bleed during war."
~Chinese Proverb

“What are you doing?”

TJ froze and turned toward the voice. The colt beside her, however, kept walking. The lead jerked in her hand, making her yelp, which in turn startled the naturally high-strung colt. He snorted and reared slightly. “Woah!” she yelped as she grabbed for his halter. “Woah, easy, boy. Easy now.”

“I thought you were going to sell him,” Rafe continued with gritted teeth. “You promised.”

She turned to her husband with pleading eyes. “Oh, come on, Rafe,” she whined pitifully. “Look at him. He’s a one of a kind horse!”

“He’s useless.”

“He’s a baby. You can’t judge a racehorse’s potential before he ever sets foot on a track!” she barked incredulously.

Rafe rolled his eyes and pointed a harsh finger at the weanling in question. “That colt couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag,” he growled. “He’s clumsy, dumber than dirt, high-strung, and one of the unluckiest sods I’ve ever had the displeasure of breeding.”

TJ gasped and slapped her hands over the colt’s ears. “Don’t say that, he can hear you!”

Rafe scowled. “He can’t understand me, twat.”

“No, you ballbuster, but he can feel it,” she retorted back. “He’s sensitive.” She cuddled closer to the weanling and cooed softly in his ear. Sure enough, Rafe’s shouting had reduced the poor thing to shivers, and that beautiful yellow coat of his rippled with each shudder.

Rafe rolled his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a sharp headache coming on. “TJ,” he said more calmly, “that colt is no racing prospect.”

“That’s what they said about Peter, if you’ll recall,” TJ reminded him snottily. Rafe looked up. She quirked a brow in challenge. “That’s what they said about Peter,” she repeated. “And he ended up being one of the best racers we’ve ever had. Or had you forgotten?”

Rafe shook his head and scrubbed a hand through his graying hair. His wife was right. Cagar had been just like this colt when he was young and had grown into a multi-millionaire who was still a top stallion prospect some fifteen years later. But even if this new colt did turn out to be the next Peter--which he seriously doubted--they still had one problem left to conquer.

“What trainer would take him?” he questioned. Might as well hit the bull head-on. “Ling said no and Robby wants nothing to do with him. You refuse to branch out and Nachita is still setting up shop down the road; There's no way he'd be ready to handle such a…” he waved in the colt’s vague direction. “Strange creature,” he finished lamely.

“I’ll take him on.”

TJ and Rafe both turned toward to the new voice.

“What did you say?” TJ breathed warily.

“I said I’ll take him. I’ll be his trainer.” Dawson stepped farther into the barn and ambled up to the colt.

“But… You’re retired.” TJ was truly puzzled, as was Rafe. “You have a new life now, don’t you? In… wherever it is you settled. Right?”

Dawson ran a gentle finger down the quivering colt’s velveteen nose. “I can’t leave the boys,” he said quietly without looking up. “Not Sven, and especially not Drew. Not again.” He lifted a weary gaze to meet TJ’s wide eyes. “I’d like to come back to work. If you’ll have me, that is.”

The woman studied him for many long, heart-pounding moments before she reached out with a shaking hand and curled her fingers around his elbow. “Welcome home, Jared,” she murmured softly. “If you ever leave again, I will cut your balls off with a spoon and feed them to the dogs.”

The former soldier smiled slightly, amused, and dipped his head in acknowledgement of TJ’s threat. He turned back to the colt. “What’s this one’s name?” He ran ghosting fingers over the weanling’s pale, moonlit hide. It shimmered in the morning light, all bright fire in the face of a burning sun. A pure white forelock obscured a face marking that would one day mark one of the most recognizable faces in Black Creek Crossing’s history. But none of them knew that yet. At that moment, the colt was just another of TJ’s sympathy cases, all young potential and nerves.

“This is Thunderbolt,” TJ answered happily. “And one day he’s going to make me very proud. I just know it.” She handed Dawson the lead.

“Thunderbolt,” the trainer breathed quietly. “Hello, boy.”

Shown:

Name: Thunderbolt
Barn Name: Bolt
Gender: Colt
Age: Weanling
Projected Height: 15.3hh
Color: Golden pale palomino
Eyes: Brown
Markings: Stripe, 3 socks
Build: Bolt is small and wiry, but beautiful in his own peculiar way. He possesses an elegant head and feminine build, with a thin swan neck and gently sloping shoulders. He is not what one would think a strong colt to look like, and is thus often thought to be a gelding and overlooked.
Breed: Thoroughbred
Bloodlines: Fighterjet x Amy Mine
Genes: ee/AA/nCr
Temperament: Thunderbolt is a skittish horse by nature, small and effeminate in design. He is dainty and clumsy—two characteristics that are never good when paired together. Still, he seems to be a resilient little bugger and has never hurt himself any more than a few cuts and bruises despite Murphy’s Law trying its best to fell him. He is not overly smart or very bright, but he has a lot of heart and it shows in everything he does.
Trainer: Jared Dawson
Jockey: n/a
Racing Style: n/a
Stable: Black Creek Crossing Stables

Art, Characters and Story © me

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