Battlecry

The big black Thoroughbred was raring to go. He hadn't raced in such a long time, and was very eager to get going again. His handlers had a difficult time keeping him down long enough for the light racing saddle to be thrown on and his tiny jockey to be legged up. Once he was on, Battle half-reared in excitement. The walked around the paddock once, and then headed on the track for the post parade. His jokey was wearing red and white silks, and Battle was wearing a red saddle pad with his number, 2, on it. Eager to get going, he began loping along the track, and his jockey stood up in the stirrups and kept him on a short rein. A pony came up beside them, and Battle promply began to irritate her. But a well aimed snap from the older mare calmed him down quite a bit. At least for awhile.

Name: Battlecry
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 4
Color: black
Racing silks: red and white
Gate Number: 2
Height: 16.2hh

Red October

Red October was a bit smaller than most of the big Thoroughbreds here, but that didn't seem to make much of a difference. Red was a quick horse, with great stamina too. While he was very eager, he wasn't as neurotic as some of the younger racers he had seen before.

Despite being a rather laid-back horse, Red turned into a machine when it came to races. Or being chased by an angry cougar. Red remembered the time that happened. Dimitri urged Red to go faster, and he sure did, even on that rough terrain.

Red October wouldn't hold still when the stable hands geared him up. Finally they managed to get everything on, and as soon as the Arabian felt the jockey in the saddle, he was off. The jockey had a bit of trouble slowing the horse down at first, but once Red burned off a little bit of that excitement, he was much more of a pleasure to work with.

He was quite in tune with his jockey. He was, however, a big showoff when it came to competitions. His jockey brought him up past Battlecry, and the chestnut Arabian tossed his head and pranced a bit before continuing on as his jockey requested. Somehow, he seemed to know that the parade wasn't the game he could win. The game he could win was when the gates flew open, the jockeys urged on, and the only thing between Red October and the finish line was dirt and wind and a flash of colors beside him.

Name: Red October
Breed: Arabian
Age: 4
Color: Chestnut
Racing Silks: Red and yellow
Gate Number: 4
Height: 15.1 hh
Owner: Dimitri Volkov
Jockey: Timothy Orion

Cyclone

He was a tall boy, 16.2 hands high, and for Arabians that wasn't much known. His eyes, a brilliant blue in a body of dappled grey, were startling and unsettling. He let loose a scream, a challenge. Cyclone was here to play with all the little kiddies. He pawed the earth, sending dirt scattering across way. He half reared as the saddle was placed upon his back and the girth cinched. A cooing could be heard, a soft voice and his head whipped around to find Aralyn. Her stomach was slightly swelled with child, she wouldn't be riding today. No, not Aralyn. His girl, she was his girl. Right? Aralyn gave a nod, and Sanuye was thrown up into the saddle. Probably the youngest jockey there, the seventeen year old had her fingers buried in Cyclones mane. She to was pregnant, but not far enough along yet to worry herself over it. She didn't even urge the horse forward, he just seemed to jump forward, racing towards the others, his tail held high and his head raised with pride. He seemed to flow forward, poetry in motion. They ushered him into the gates, and he stood motionless, waiting... waiting...

Name : Midnight Cyclone
Breed : Polish Arabian
Age : 4
Color : Dappled Grey
Racing Silks : Black and Crimson
Gate Number : 3
Height : 16.2 hands
Owner : Aralyn Sanchez
Jockey : Sanuye Dimarkus

Battlecry

The big black pinned his ears when Red came up alongside him. Snorting, his nostrils flared red. He arched his heavily-muscled neck and pranced a bit. He felt good about this race, though he hadn't raced since last year. But spending a year in the wild had kept him fit and on his toes. He sized up the grey demon with the eerie blue eyes. Both of his competition were Arabians, and trained for racing. It would be a close race.

The drew up to the starting gate, and long metal contraption that had scared many horses into throwing fits inside. But not Battle. He was used to this thing, the feeling of being trapped, the loud clanging bell. He wondered if the Arabs were also used to it.

His jock steered him toward the number two slot, and Battle went in after an excited spin. They pushed him on in, and then closed the doors behind his shining ebony rump. Inside, he pawed at the front, bashing his hoof to create more racket. He pranced in place, looking out of the corners of his eyes to watch the red and grey brutes enter.

Red October

The sleek chestnut stallion would have smirked and sneered at Battlecry if a horse could smirk and sneer. He leapt forward into a slow gallop, making it to the gates. Of course, he didn't want to be in a little box when he'd rather run around. He was pushed into the gate, but at the last moment, he dashed in and found that the gates were closed behind him. Red October gave his head a toss and whinnied a bit, stomping and pawing, eager to get started. Timothy, the jockey, was already ready. The man was bent over the Arabian, his pale blue eyes on the track ahead.

Dimitri stood on the sidelines, watching Red October getting ready to bolt, and hopefully win the race. Dimitri needed the money. He could barely take care of little Shaine and his teen sister Erin as it was; his 'father' stole most of his money from him. But winning and money were the least of it. Dimitri loved to watch Red go like a miniature missile.

Cyclone

He was the last to be loaded into the gates, the dappled grey stallion with his bright blue eyes. He had never been out in the wild, released to roam the wilderness and survive. No, his own fate had been a slaghter house, where Aralyn had found him. So here he was, would be dog food, and now a giant animal with the speed and power of any great thoroughbred. He cantered around for a bit longer, his jockey warming him up before he settled into a walk and headed towards the gate. He slid in smoothly, and he was more then okay with being locked in. Aralyn had made sure to expose him to the gates, the noises of the crowds, the roaring of the speakers. Sanuye collected the reins, and settled him so that all of his weight was on his back legs, preparing for a launch forward from the gates. He didn't paw, he didn't whinny, he was silent and still. Waiting for the perfect moment...

Aralyn moved through the crowds and she lightly touched dimitri's back. Hows Shaine? She asked softly. Dimitri, she didn't think, knew her, but Hunter did, as well as little Shaine. At least a little bit. She gave a faint smile, her eyes sad as she turned her eyes back to the horses. The slight baby bump gave notice as to why she wasn't racing, but you could tell that she wanted to be there, be the one on top of the thousand pound animal, pushing them to the finish line.

Battlecry

Battle was tensed, ready to go. He could feel the hum of excitement in the air, and see his opponents in the gates on either side of him. He snorted, and sat back on his haunches just slightly, his muscles coiled to spring. He could even feel it the second before the bell rang and the gates clanged open. He sprang out, and charged out onto the dirt track, clods flying out of his hooves. He wanted to get up front, right now, leave the others in his wake. But the pesky jockey on his back held him tight, the bit sawing at his mouth, trying to hold the stallion back. Right, save myself. For the stretch. He looked to his right and left, to see where the competition was.