~ Babe's Inspection
The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden shafts across the inspection ground, but it offered little warmth as frost still clung to the edges of the grass, glittering like scattered glass, and the breath of every horse and handler hung in the air; soft white plumes that drifted skyward before dissolving into the blue. The ground itself was firm beneath worn boots, the cold having bitten away the softness of last week's rain, and hooves rang sharp and clean against the packed dirt, each step a crisp punctuation in the silence between murmured commands. Horses stood tall and taut, their coats gleaming like polished bronze and dappled stone beneath the light, ears twitching at the occasional crackle of a distant radio or the hollow clap of hands through gloves. Handlers moved briskly, their shoulders hunched against the chill, their breath visible in steady rhythm as they adjusted bridles and straightened lead ropes with practiced efficiency. There was a reverence to their movements, a quiet intensity as inspectors walked the lines, their eyes sharp, notes scribbled, nods exchanged, and every so often, a horse would paw the ground or toss its head, steam rising from its nostrils like smoke from a fire not quite out.
Despite the cold, the air was alive with expectation. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called; short and clear, and it echoed over the fenced arena like a bell. Even the cold wind, whispering through the pines that edged the field, seemed to hush in deference to the quiet of muscle and pride playing out beneath the cold summer sun. Taylor stood besides her trailer, one hand resting against the metal, the other tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The Last Time, affectionately known as Babe, stood with her head high, tail swishing in lazy arcs, already looking every inch the star she was. There was no mistaking her; Babe was breathtaking... a grey on silver pangare perlino tobiano splash, she shimmered like starlight distilled into muscle and motion. Her coat was an intricate mosaic of cream and silver, marked with bold patches of pearlescent white that wrapped around her chest, and spilled across her legs like an artist's brush had been guided by wind. Her mane and tail were pale, almost glowing in the sunlight, and her eyes; a clear, intelligent blue, watched the world with the cool, calculating grace of someone born to lead.
She wore her braids like a crown, threaded with ivory ribbons and a hint of silver thread that caught the morning light. Every inch of her was polished, but not artificially so, this wasn't vanity; this was precision, because she was the moment. But what Taylor saw wasn't just the beauty of now; it was the whole journey that brought them here. She remembered the first day Babe stepped off the trailer, just a weanling then, so awkward and long-legged, all ears and potential. Even in that first uncertain moment, there had been a spark in her, a confidence that felt older than her age as she'd looked around the new barn like she owned it already, bold and curious, ears swiveling at every sound. And training her had been... different. From the very beginning, Babe had made it easy, and not because she was perfect; she had her moments of drama, like any bright young horse, but because she wanted it. She wanted to learn, she wanted to move, and gosh, she wanted to win.
Taylor could still remember the first time they set a small cross rail in the arena. Babe had trotted towards it like it was a cathedral door opening just for her; no hesitation, no confusion, just a clean, perfect jump, like she'd been born knowing how. Like gravity didn't apply to her. Every lesson after that had only confirmed what the woman had already suspected: Babe wasn't just talented; she was driven. There was joy in her movement, yes, but there was also a sense of purpose, an understanding that she was meant for more than just pasture life. She loved the routine, the polish, the applause and she collected ribbons like candy, not for the praise but for the thrill of earning them. "Most horses learn to compete-", the blonde had once said to her friend, "Babe was born to."
And now, as she stood at the edge of this latest milestone, Taylor felt the familiar swell of pride rise in her chest. This inspection wasn't just about validation, it wasn't just about scores or judges or showmanship... it was about legacy. Getting Babe's breeding certificate was the next step in something so much bigger. It meant her genes; her fire, her elegance, could be passed on. It meant foals, and futures, a line of horses who might carry that same gleam in their eyes and hunger in their stride. It meant that Babe wouldn't just be a champion for now; she would be a name people remembered. Taylor exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the mare as she moved through the grass like a poem in motion. She'd never rushed the process, she'd always let Babe take the lead when she needed to, stepped back when things needed time. But today, standing here, she felt the quiet certainty that everything had aligned at exactly the right moment.
Babe looked up suddenly, ears pricked towards her across the distance. "Alright, superstar.", she murmured, calling the cob over, "Let's go give them a show." And so, they entered the inspection ring at a walk, Babe gliding beside her like a dancer on a polished stage. The judges straightened at the sight of her, their pens already poised as aylor squared her up in the center of the ring, and Babe settled with that quiet stillness she reserved for moments like this. The judges approached with practiced calm, but made no comments aloud at first, however; their expressions shifted, their brows lifted, heads tilted, and pens scribbled. They circled slowly, taking in every angle, every muscle group, the shape of her hooves, the slope of her shoulders and one even reached out to test her limbs; luckily Babe didn't flinch. Her ears flicked, her nostrils twitched, but she held her square like she'd been carved from marble.
"Exceptional symmetry in the hindquarters.", one judge murmured to the others, "And that gaskin muscle development at her age? Remarkable." Taylor nodded proudly, glancing towards the other judges as one opened her mouth to speak.
"And look at the balance through her topline.", the woman added, noting something on her clipboard, "She's quite young, but she's already carrying herself like a finished athlete." There was admiration in all of their voices now, and Taylor understood exactly why.
When it was finally time for the trot-out, Taylor led her to the lane, took a calming breath, and set forward... and Babe floated. Her trot wasn't just elastic; it was electric as power coiled in every step, lifting through her withers and down into her hocks. She moved like music, like the world shifted a little just to accommodate her motion. Her neck arched naturally, her front legs curled with grace, and her hind end propelled her forward with coiled strength that seemed effortless. As always, they pivoted at the end of the lane and returned, this time even more collected. Babe had warmed up to the idea of being watched, and she loved it, and the woman could feel it in the soft tension of the lead rope, in the way her hooves bit the earth and lifted with barely a whisper of sound. When they halted again in the center, Babe flicked one ear towards Taylor, and the steward signaled, "Okay, you're clear for free jumping."
Taylor gave Babe a final pat and handed her off to the chute handlers, who led her down the narrow lane, the mare moving with the same unhurried confidence, tail lifting as she scanned the jumps ahead. The free jump lane was simple, designed to test ability, scope, and raw talent: three fences in succession, each raised slightly higher, with crisp white rails and safe footing. The handlers finally stepped aside, and Babe ignited. She didn't canter, didn't gallop - no, she soared. From the first stride, she launched herself into motion, her long legs extending with perfect balance, her pace deliberate but unstoppable, eating up the ground with every step, zeroed in on the first fence like it was something she'd built herself.
The takeoff was seamless: her knees snapped to her chest, her hooves tucked, and her back rounded into an elegant arc. She cleared the rail with three inches to spare and landed like a dancer, not hesitating to storm towards the next one. The second jump came faster, and she took it even more cleanly, legs moving with machine-like precision, her focus absolute, her tail flicking in the air like punctuation.
"Scope and confidence.", one judge said quietly, "This one loves her job."
And then the third; the highest. Babe powered into it like it was a challenge she'd been waiting for, as her stride lengthened, her hocks digging into the dirt. And when she took off, it was like watching a bird take flight. She rose higher than needed, effortlessly clearing the spread. Her form was like textbook: once again, her knees snapped up, her neck stretched forward, and her tail streamed behind her like a silken flag. The crowd watching from the edge of the ring murmured aloud, a ripple of awe passing through them. Babe landed and collected herself instantly, skimming through the rest of the lane with a triumphant energy, tossing her head once, the ribbons in her mane catching the wind. Taylor was waiting at the far end, her mare happily trotting towards her, pressing her head against the woman's shoulder briefly, then lifting it again, gaze scanning the field like she was ready to go again. The blonde ran her fingers through her mane, letting out a quiet laugh, "Love that you know you did well, babe."
