Braveheart; turf legacies

[Melissa]

I'm hiding from the storm until the damage gets done

The chestnut stallion's head nearly collided with my shoulder as he charged past me in a vain attempt to bolt for freedom but my iron grip on his stud chain and lead rope combined stopped him in his tracks. The retired life was really not suiting the lifestyle of FS Waylay Attack and he was being called a terrorizer by the hands for the increasing amounts of energy he had now that he could no longer be exercised as hard as he had been in his racing days. "Waylay, you are going to mind. You're going to get this out of system right now. I will not tolerate you running over someone due to your enormous amount of energy" I said in a firm voice, stepping closer to the four year old champion who flicked his ears and stomped a hoof against the ground, eyes rolling and muscles tense. A bomb waiting to explode, maybe this was a bad idea I thought to myself staring intently at the copper chestnut stallion.
He had been a complete pain the entire walk over and my right shoulder and arm was so sore from his repeated head tossing and spins. Rolling my shoulder around to loosen it up I sighed before moving, being half-dragged by Waylay toward the barn. Thunder rumbled overhead and I shot a quick look upwards at the dark sky, of all nights it had been predicted to rain, it had decided to rain tonight. I was too excited about what waited in the barn than the weather. Pulling my hood up around my face I picked up a jog, making sure Waylay's nose was practically at my hip just in case he decided to take me for a run through the mud. Pricking his ears forward the chestnut moved into a gentle trot alongside, obviously he was content with just trotting for the time being.

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[Melissa]

<sub>Three days. Three days since the birth of FS Waylay Attack's latest son and I was working on about 3 hours of sleep in those entire three days. His tail swishing against his flanks, Braveheat flicked one ear in my direction. Resting my chin in my hands my eyelids fluttered and I nearly dozed off until Braveheart released a shrill whinny. "My god Bravieeeeee, everybody knows you're alive and kicking." I said in a half-whimper, half-whine to the boisterous black Thoroughbred colt. Pricking his ears forward the handsome black son of Wayz and Bull's Lemonade pawed at the bedding, before prancing around the large broodmare stall with his head held high, knees popping up and ears pricked with interest at his surroundings. Even in my sleep-deprived state I had to chuckle with happiness at the gorgeous black Bravie. Even at a young age, Braveheart was showing real potential and he had the big lungs I thought with a wince when the energetic black released another piercing baby whinny, head snapping in the direction of the barn doors.

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