Southern Sands

Gremlin's entry for the Gran Premio Nacional

Race: The Jockey-Club's Gran Premio Nacional 
Horse: The Gremlin 
Jockey: Sam MacLean 
Pole position: 8 (just seen on Gremlin's blanket!) 
Featuring: 

and the jockey of BTs In A Nutshell



I totally lost my drive to finish this so I'm not completely happy with it. But it's as done as I can make it really...
There are some minor digital edits here too. 

Referenced from google!!



Storyy:

*In my universe, this race probably happens before the Melbourne Cup and the Japan Cup

——

The weather was surprisingly cool for the season. Gremlin’s tumultuous international career had left him with very little time to adjust, though not that it had bothered him. Their touch down in Argentina would be fleeting before moving him on to whatever lay next. Maybe they would be able to return to Scotland soon. It had seemed like months and months they’d been away.

Gremlin, despite his enamour with the wet and cold, took to the climate as he always did: easily and - compared to everything else about him - painlessly. The climate was soothingly on the upturn, them being in the southern hemisphere, and it made for a pleasant stay.

Following his stretch in the Haskell, in which he’d done exceptionally for being such an undecorated racer, his profile had raised somewhat, even if it had been for his tempestuous character. But in Buenos Aires, they once again were an unknown team. Sam recognised several of the stables and syndicates that the other horses were running for, and he’d come across some of the jockeys too. In the stables, the grey filly Questioning Faith stood out. She was mean, and had tried to kick him as he’d been passing. She was pretty, and he noticed her pleasant personality with her jockey. The Gremlin didn’t have that with anyone, let alone Sam. 

Swinging up into the saddle, he felt the weather tilt, signalling the approach of the evening. The sky had turned that beautiful bright, high contrast way that signalled the end of the afternoon. The sky had turned a beautiful strong, pure blue that could never be seen in Scotland except for the occasional rare day in summer. Around them the crowd bristled with excitement. It was unusual to be part of such a large field, and one where he had not competed against any before. 

Already the field was washed out with dust that flew up from the track. Sam noticed that Gremlin’s hide was coated with a very thin layer of it. As they streaked up and down the backstretch he could tell it made him antsy. 

There was a pleasant balance of colts and fillies in the field. The colour spectrum was beautiful too.  he admired a couple of bay fillies. Bay fillies were a favourite of his. However, Gremlin was in a sour mood, and whenever any of the more spirited ones got too close he would pin back his ears, stamp a hoof and lash out his teeth at them. He was particularly vocal that day and a few of the track hands narrowly missed a savaging and a kick in the gut. 

He was on edge as the slipped into the starting gate, heading up the middle of the pack again. The clang of the starting bell opened up likes the gates of hell to release the grey devil from his patient dormancy. Shooting out, Sam was surprised to find him pulling at the bit almost immediately, and striding powerfully to the front of the field. He could feel little lurches underneath him as he attempted to hold him back, knowing the stress would only exert the colt too early. He released the tension as a few others trickled infront, allowing him to resume his normal position of hounding the leaders. 

The dust whirled around them, and Sam coughed horribly as a cloud of filth hit him in the mouth, sent flying from the hoof of one of the horses infront. Releasing his grip more, his bore his head into the back of Gremlin’s neck, watching patiently as the pace quickened about half way. Gremlin didn’t need pressing as his gallop stretched out, long and lean. Sam searched for an invisible gap in the field, and asked for fifth gear, and like a blitzkrieg Gremlin burst through, his clarion call piercing on the wind as they ate up the earth toward home.