Since the race Midnight Hour had only had one easy maintenance breeze, going four furlongs in 49 seconds flat. The time was not exactly what many would except from the speed demon colt who normally would work lights out, while training, but since the Southwest had required so much effort, nobody wanted to push the colt right away.
Nick practically ran back to the barn area, darn, stupid reporters! Nick had never been much on talking to reporters, that was normally the Fishers' or his dad's job, but it seemed everywhere he turned some nosey little reporter was trying to corner him. Ducking quickly into the stable area, he looked over his shoulder, praying nobody had trailed him this far. When he finally turned back around, he jumped slightly, startled to see Eliza sitting on the ground in front of Midnight's stall.
"Are you looking for a hiding spot too?" Eliza asked, amused, when she saw the startled look on Nick's face turn into relief.
"Why, yes I am. I can't seem to shake those reporters no matter what I do," pausing he shook his head, " I can't believe one race has people so hyped up."
"Why not? What he did was remarkable." She glanced up at Midnight who had his head hung over the stall door, his eyes only half open as he started to doze off.
For a few minutes all seemed as quiet and peaceful, with nothing seeming to bother the three content individuals. Then as if right on cue, a large white trailer pulled up at the exact same time as Brad stormed into the stable area. If looks could kill then god help anybody who came in contact with him. Brad, normally a fairly laid back man, now was the picture of rage, his eyes piratically sending out spark.
He reach Eliza and Nick, then after a few seconds of trying to regain his composer, he asked in a low, yet strained voice, " Did you hear what's going on yet?"
At first all the two of them could do was stare, then with a quick glance towards each other, they turned their attention back to Brad and shook their head.
"What? What's going on?" Nick asked not sure he wanted to here.
Brad didn't even get to answer, for backing off the large with trailer came the massive red chestnut form that Nick could have recognized from a mile away. The colt's fiery chestnut goat gleamed in the sun, his muscles rippling as he twirled all 17 hands of his massive frame towards the stable area where Brad, Nick, Eliza, and Midnight all stood. Flaring his nostrils and pawing the ground he lifted his head again and let out a short sharp whistle that pierced the air.
At that Midnight lifted his own head, and pressed against his stall door. He recognized that shrill whistle from months ago, for it belonged to the only horse to have ever challenged his speed in a race. The horse was none other than Red Warrior.