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Description
I always see Faster as this brute of a horse, built like crazy in the body with a teensy little refined head and eyes you can't resist. Hence, this drawing.

The timing wasn't quite right over the winter with young Speed. Originally, the plan was to run him in the Gulfstream prep races, but with the way his schedule was shaping up... well, he still hadn't lost the habit of training perfectly, of course, and turned out to be ready to go far sooner than anticipated. As a result, Tom turned to old training methods and sent him out in February for a seven-furlong "Non-winners of three" allowance at the Florida track.

As expected, it was a monster of a public workout. Despite a field of eight having shown up for the padded purse, Gulfstream didn't allow show betting, and Brazen Fields' colt still produced a minus pool in win and place. From the moment the gates opened, he was uncatchable, and thundered home barely shaken up, eleven lengths the winner, having run the sprint in 1:21 3/5.

He flew north to New York and Aqueduct the buzz horse by far early in the Derby chase, and entered the GIII Gotham Stakes a 1-5 favourite in a field of only five. He'd scared the rest away, and what remained was a soft contingent of locals looking to grab second money in a rich home-track stakes. It was the best they could hope for, in the end. Faster destroyed them, lunging across the finish six lengths in front in 1:42 3/5. Chloe, who had traveled with the colt, kept him there and started training him harder to keep him sharp for the Wood Memorial. He wasn't even blowing after the Gotham, she reported; it had taken nothing out of him, and so she worked him over to tighten the screws.

Down in New Orleans, Cordax toyed with a strong field in the Louisiana Derby. Having developed an almost frightening ability to plunge through the tiniest of holes in traffic, he'd become unstoppable, a freight train of its tracks and running over anything in its path. It was a similar story in California, as Fantasma rolled into Santa Anita for its Derby, and rolled out a grade one winner. Earlier on that same day, in New York, Faster had made mince meat of seven rivals in the Wood. Laurence, having ridden the colt to all three of his victories in his early three-year-old season, was visibly shaking with excitement: he was going to ride in the Derby.

The press compared the trio of budding superstars to 2007's big three of Street Sense, Curlin and Hard Spun: they appeared head and shoulders above anything anyone could throw at them (Tom pursed his lips and said nothing when such a thing was suggested; he'd seen Poltergeist at work).

They shipped into Kentucky to great fanfare, every movement tracked as Derby contenders are wont to be scrutinized. Faster with his easy manners and bright mind was a treat to fans gathered around the Churchill paddock during schooling sessions--Fantasma was a treat to photographers, his antics no doubt proving prime fodder for those with Eclipse aspirations. On the first Saturday in May, a hundred and fifty thousand tested the colts' resolve; Fantasma broke quickly. He was lathered and wild before he stepped on to the track.

Cordax, on the other hand, was cause to worry. The colt had been expertly schooled, exposed to every antic an unruly fan or fellow runner could possibly pull. The juvenile champion gleamed red in the early summer sun, the camera flashes reflecting off of his curious eyes doing a glorious nothing to his collected mind. Laurence watched Cordax calmly parading to post with his heart in his throat. He reached down and rubbed Speedy on the crest, at the base of his mane, and started to murmur softly in French, as he'd done before every race aboard the colt. The painted chestnut swiveled his ears to listen. Laurence wouldn't stop talking until the race had been run.

The pair loaded without complaint into the sixth post; Fantasma made a great ruckus in the stall immediately to their outside, but Faster had his ears trained on Laurence and calmly planted his feet. Then, the interminable wait, with only the deceptively distant roar of the crowd for company.

The iron bars parted, and there was a deafening clang, which was at once drowned out with the even more deafening thunder of thousands of cries of delight. Laurence barked something and Silmarillion's son burst from the gate; Fantasma tossed his head in the air and ducked inward, brushing Faster, but Laurence held him firm and his colt gathered his legs. They left the bright bay behind them in half a dozen bounds, taking aim at the frontrunners. The chestnut colt shut off the gas once he'd established himself in fourth, to the inside of another runner and tucked in behind the leader. The fractions were quick.

Laurence glanced underneath his arm and located Cordax, some three or four positions back and to the outside. The red colt was running easily. It would be horse against horse, no advantage to either party, when the pair hooked up in the stretch. And they would: of that, Laurence was certain.

When the leader began to back up into Faster, the jockey, always murmuring, tipped him out and not-so-gently pushed the long shot--already dropping back--to his outside, out of the way. A hole opened up and the sabino colt pounced on it, but a quick glance showed that Cordax was hot on his heels and following him straight through the hole. Laurence dropped onto his belly and raised his voice as the crowd raised theirs. He pumped his arms, moving them in time with his colt's neck, and Faster accelerated into the stretch. His nose hit the front, and he disposed of the former lead. A hundred and fifty thousand cried out. Cordax was just to his outside and gaining.

The red nose, splattered with dirt, bobbed at Faster's saddlecloth, then inched up to his elbow, to his throatlatch, and then even. Laurence was shouting, Cordax's jockey was shouting, and the colts strained with every ounce of strength they could summon. The wire drew nearer. Cordax thrust his nose in front and pushed. Laurence felt a tiny hesitation beneath him, a bob of the head, and then a great exhale as exhaustion crept into his limbs. Lactic acid scorched him from the inside, and though his eyes rolled with the effort to keep with Cordax, the red haunch drew away. When the dust settled, it was Cordax by two in 2:00 4/5.

Two weeks later, Faster was recovered and back for another try in the Preakness, but it was a doomed effort. By some freak accident, a horse ahead of him and to his inside shied out. Laurence tried to put on the breaks, but his colt clipped the heels of his rival and stumbled, his nose brushing the backstretch dirt. Speedy wildly threw out his legs and found his balance while Laurence threw his weight back. There was a second clang as one of his shoes flew off a hoof and crashed into the rail.

The prognosis was not encouraging. While Speedy had been trying to hoist himself back upright at high speed, one of his hind hooves had smacked into his right front leg and nearly slashed right through a ligament; the other hind hoof was responsible for a front shoe getting thrown. On the damage to the ligament alone, it was not guaranteed that Faster would ever be in racing condition again. At the very least, he would be gone for the year.

Tom looked to the North, where a little girl named Ellie was about to start Summer vacation.

OMG CRISIS AVERTED. ALSO GEIST SPOILERS. Sort of. A SNEAK PREVIEW, MAYBE.

Name: Faster
Barn name: Speed, Speedy, the lolbaby
Gender: Colt
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 3
Height: Projected 16hh
Color: Chestnut sabino
Genotype: ee Aa nSb
Markings: two front socks, two hind stockings; uneven star and snip
Temperament: A bundle of fire wrapped in a long-lined body, Faster was remarkably quick to learn the mechanics of his body. He is quite a precocious baby, and may be our best shot at the juvenile races yet.
Discipline: Racing
Preferred distance: Unknown
Running style: First Flight
Bloodlines: Thatswhatshesaid x Silmarillion
Offspring: N/A
For stud/lease: Unavailable - too young

Season: 5-3-1-0
Major Stakes Wins: GIII Gotham Stakes, GI Wood Memorial

Description
I always see Faster as this brute of a horse, built like crazy in the body with a teensy little refined head and eyes you can't resist. Hence, this drawing.

The timing wasn't quite right over the winter with young Speed. Originally, the plan was to run him in the Gulfstream prep races, but with the way his schedule was shaping up... well, he still hadn't lost the habit of training perfectly, of course, and turned out to be ready to go far sooner than anticipated. As a result, Tom turned to old training methods and sent him out in February for a seven-furlong "Non-winners of three" allowance at the Florida track.

As expected, it was a monster of a public workout. Despite a field of eight having shown up for the padded purse, Gulfstream didn't allow show betting, and Brazen Fields' colt still produced a minus pool in win and place. From the moment the gates opened, he was uncatchable, and thundered home barely shaken up, eleven lengths the winner, having run the sprint in 1:21 3/5.

He flew north to New York and Aqueduct the buzz horse by far early in the Derby chase, and entered the GIII Gotham Stakes a 1-5 favourite in a field of only five. He'd scared the rest away, and what remained was a soft contingent of locals looking to grab second money in a rich home-track stakes. It was the best they could hope for, in the end. Faster destroyed them, lunging across the finish six lengths in front in 1:42 3/5. Chloe, who had traveled with the colt, kept him there and started training him harder to keep him sharp for the Wood Memorial. He wasn't even blowing after the Gotham, she reported; it had taken nothing out of him, and so she worked him over to tighten the screws.

Down in New Orleans, Cordax toyed with a strong field in the Louisiana Derby. Having developed an almost frightening ability to plunge through the tiniest of holes in traffic, he'd become unstoppable, a freight train of its tracks and running over anything in its path. It was a similar story in California, as Fantasma rolled into Santa Anita for its Derby, and rolled out a grade one winner. Earlier on that same day, in New York, Faster had made mince meat of seven rivals in the Wood. Laurence, having ridden the colt to all three of his victories in his early three-year-old season, was visibly shaking with excitement: he was going to ride in the Derby.

The press compared the trio of budding superstars to 2007's big three of Street Sense, Curlin and Hard Spun: they appeared head and shoulders above anything anyone could throw at them (Tom pursed his lips and said nothing when such a thing was suggested; he'd seen Poltergeist at work).

They shipped into Kentucky to great fanfare, every movement tracked as Derby contenders are wont to be scrutinized. Faster with his easy manners and bright mind was a treat to fans gathered around the Churchill paddock during schooling sessions--Fantasma was a treat to photographers, his antics no doubt proving prime fodder for those with Eclipse aspirations. On the first Saturday in May, a hundred and fifty thousand tested the colts' resolve; Fantasma broke quickly. He was lathered and wild before he stepped on to the track.

Cordax, on the other hand, was cause to worry. The colt had been expertly schooled, exposed to every antic an unruly fan or fellow runner could possibly pull. The juvenile champion gleamed red in the early summer sun, the camera flashes reflecting off of his curious eyes doing a glorious nothing to his collected mind. Laurence watched Cordax calmly parading to post with his heart in his throat. He reached down and rubbed Speedy on the crest, at the base of his mane, and started to murmur softly in French, as he'd done before every race aboard the colt. The painted chestnut swiveled his ears to listen. Laurence wouldn't stop talking until the race had been run.

The pair loaded without complaint into the sixth post; Fantasma made a great ruckus in the stall immediately to their outside, but Faster had his ears trained on Laurence and calmly planted his feet. Then, the interminable wait, with only the deceptively distant roar of the crowd for company.

The iron bars parted, and there was a deafening clang, which was at once drowned out with the even more deafening thunder of thousands of cries of delight. Laurence barked something and Silmarillion's son burst from the gate; Fantasma tossed his head in the air and ducked inward, brushing Faster, but Laurence held him firm and his colt gathered his legs. They left the bright bay behind them in half a dozen bounds, taking aim at the frontrunners. The chestnut colt shut off the gas once he'd established himself in fourth, to the inside of another runner and tucked in behind the leader. The fractions were quick.

Laurence glanced underneath his arm and located Cordax, some three or four positions back and to the outside. The red colt was running easily. It would be horse against horse, no advantage to either party, when the pair hooked up in the stretch. And they would: of that, Laurence was certain.

When the leader began to back up into Faster, the jockey, always murmuring, tipped him out and not-so-gently pushed the long shot--already dropping back--to his outside, out of the way. A hole opened up and the sabino colt pounced on it, but a quick glance showed that Cordax was hot on his heels and following him straight through the hole. Laurence dropped onto his belly and raised his voice as the crowd raised theirs. He pumped his arms, moving them in time with his colt's neck, and Faster accelerated into the stretch. His nose hit the front, and he disposed of the former lead. A hundred and fifty thousand cried out. Cordax was just to his outside and gaining.

The red nose, splattered with dirt, bobbed at Faster's saddlecloth, then inched up to his elbow, to his throatlatch, and then even. Laurence was shouting, Cordax's jockey was shouting, and the colts strained with every ounce of strength they could summon. The wire drew nearer. Cordax thrust his nose in front and pushed. Laurence felt a tiny hesitation beneath him, a bob of the head, and then a great exhale as exhaustion crept into his limbs. Lactic acid scorched him from the inside, and though his eyes rolled with the effort to keep with Cordax, the red haunch drew away. When the dust settled, it was Cordax by two in 2:00 4/5.

Two weeks later, Faster was recovered and back for another try in the Preakness, but it was a doomed effort. By some freak accident, a horse ahead of him and to his inside shied out. Laurence tried to put on the breaks, but his colt clipped the heels of his rival and stumbled, his nose brushing the backstretch dirt. Speedy wildly threw out his legs and found his balance while Laurence threw his weight back. There was a second clang as one of his shoes flew off a hoof and crashed into the rail.

The prognosis was not encouraging. While Speedy had been trying to hoist himself back upright at high speed, one of his hind hooves had smacked into his right front leg and nearly slashed right through a ligament; the other hind hoof was responsible for a front shoe getting thrown. On the damage to the ligament alone, it was not guaranteed that Faster would ever be in racing condition again. At the very least, he would be gone for the year.

Tom looked to the North, where a little girl named Ellie was about to start Summer vacation.

OMG CRISIS AVERTED. ALSO GEIST SPOILERS. Sort of. A SNEAK PREVIEW, MAYBE.

Name: Faster
Barn name: Speed, Speedy, the lolbaby
Gender: Colt
Breed: Thoroughbred
Age: 3
Height: Projected 16hh
Color: Chestnut sabino
Genotype: ee Aa nSb
Markings: two front socks, two hind stockings; uneven star and snip
Temperament: A bundle of fire wrapped in a long-lined body, Faster was remarkably quick to learn the mechanics of his body. He is quite a precocious baby, and may be our best shot at the juvenile races yet.
Discipline: Racing
Preferred distance: Unknown
Running style: First Flight
Bloodlines: Thatswhatshesaid x Silmarillion
Offspring: N/A
For stud/lease: Unavailable - too young

Season: 5-3-1-0
Major Stakes Wins: GIII Gotham Stakes, GI Wood Memorial