Was it favoritism that found Minske the one to be pulling the year's hottest prospect out of his stall, saddled for a routine work before his first start? No one would say it, either because they were too nice or because they didn't believe it to be true. It was proven, at least, that Minske was as skilled a rider as he was a fledgling trainer - he'd taken Laddie Luck this year from tentative prospect to classic winner, poised to run an incredible race in the Breeders' Cup. And it wasn't like his father had given him all of the best mounts from the crop. In fact, this was his only new Valkyrie Stud mount, which was of course because of his new role as Manager and Trainer at Perennial Racing Stable. He quite had his hands full, but he'd leaped at the opportunity to ride the highly anticipated son of Mastermind and Requiem. It was a breeding years in the making, brought forth by slow convincing, trading, and friendship. The ultimate sprinter, a promising miler, with all of the talent nature could give him. Valkyrie already had Requiem's only grade one son standing stud, and they looked to make this one even better than the first.

The colt's eyes were large, kind, despite his youth. The blonde patted a hand on his neck before he got a leg up, settling onto the shining bay's strong back. The colt held steady, looking back at the rider with an inquisitive gaze. He was so incredibly different than Mourning Passion, their Requiem son of Tempered Passion. That one had been tolerant, but cold and calculating. He didn't enjoy human company even now. But Masq was kind, even if he did come off as pushy when he was excited, and he's stolen the hearts and imaginations of many already without ever having run a race. Minske didn't have to urge the colt to movement, instead settling easily into the long rhythm of his walk. The morning was misty and quiet, and the juvenile moved like an old trail horse in spite of being on his own. There were others milling around, and Cole would be watching the breeze, but in many ways the two of them were alone out there.

"You might want to wake him up a bit out there," his father quipped, and Minske gave him an easy smile. To be honest, Masq didn't seem to have a whole lot of motivation to work out, but that wasn't a problem. Many of the best horses didn't show their heart until race day. Something about the crowds and jarring of horse flesh brought out the war horses in them. But on a morning like this, as they came around the turn, Minske had to tap-tap-tap the colt's shoulder with the crop to wake him up and get him to dig in. Even then, Minske knew their speed was going to be lackluster. There would be no bullet work in the program, nothing but his pedigree to suggest him as a potential winner. But he hardly even needed that to convince his rider that he was ready. The steadfast colt was going to make a splash, pedigree or not, and Minske was honored to be the one that would take him there.