~ Peace's Inspection

The morning broke under a blanket of grey clouds, soft and heavy, stretching low across the horizon like a woolen shawl drawn tightly around the earth. Rain had fallen gently through the early hours, leaving behind a mist that clung to every blade of grass and darkened the dirt paths underfoot; the kind of day that seemed to speak in hushes and murmurs, without a glare or a blaze, just all quiet like a silent breath and soft edges. THe young blonde stood at the trailer with her hand resting against Peace's warm shoulder, the mare, a pangare red roan with a coat like oxidized copper and rust-washed satin, standing calmly chewing her hay, her ears flicking gently with the distant sound of hooves and low voices. She looked like a painting brought to life with tones of burnt sienna and rosewood dusted across her coat, the pangare lightening her belly, muzzle, and the insides of her legs in soft contrast. Her mane, dark with streaks of bronze, was neatly brushed and fell in heavy, relaxed waves against her neck. Peace; true to her name - because whereas other horses fussed in the distance, calling to trailer mates or fretting at unfamiliar sights, this mare simply existed, rooted and steady as if nothing in the world could ruffle her spirit.

Taylor gave her a last stroke along the withers before slipping the halter over her fine-boned face. "You ready, girl?", she whispered, and Peace exhaled deeply in response, her breath steaming faintly in the cool air. The walk to the inspection ring was quiet as rain misted down in tiny droplets, barely enough to notice unless you looked at the slick sheen it left on the mare's coat. The ground was firm beneath their boots, damp but not soggy, the grass glistening with silver beads of water as the woman led Peace into the holding pen and waited their turn. She kept a soft hand on the lead, not because the mare needed guidance, but simply for the comfort of touch. The teddy-eared red roan stood loose-limbed and quiet, one hind hoof cocked, blinking slowly as she surveyed the small crowd and the trio of clipboard-wielding judges. And then, it was their turn. As always, the steward gestured them forwards, and Taylor walked Peace into the ring with calm confidence, her boots falling in rhythm with the soft pad-pad of the mare's hooves.

The judges watched with interest as the pair halted in the center. The blonde squared her up, and Peace stood perfectly still, her muscular legs evenly spaced, her compact head held at a natural, graceful height. There was no tension in her frame, not even a hint of nerves or any restlessness. She was calm, unwavering so, and it was that deep calm that Taylor had loved from the first moment she met her.

The inspection officially began when the first judge approached, a thick notebook in hand, and began his slow circle around the mare. He touched her shoulder, ran a hand down her neck and Peace didn't so much as blink. She allowed herself to be measured, examined, poked and prodded in the way inspections always required - her round ears checked, her teeth glanced at, even her chest and flanks pressed for muscle tone and symmetry. The second judge moved in, running a palm down each leg, lifting her hooves and checking for balance and form. Still, the mare remained unmoved, and her eye never left Taylor. A soft breath rose from her nostrils, but that was the only sign of acknowledgment. Even when a clipboard grazed her flank by accident, she didn't flinch. The third judge knelt slightly to look at her hindquarters. "Solid gaskins. Excellent muscling through the haunches.", he murmured to his colleagues, and they continued by noting the depth of her chest, the curve of her throatlatch, the evenness of her topline. The mare's build wasn't necessarily flashy, but it was overtly correct, and there was definitely beauty in that.

Once the conformation portion ended, Taylor walked her gently to the edge of the ring and readied for the trot-out. When the steward gave the nod, the woman clicked her tongue and set off at a jog, and Peace stepped forwards in perfect unison. Her trot was a thing of understated brilliance; not overly animated or overly collected, but natural and elastic. She floated forwards, her movement clean and free through the shoulder, her hocks driving power from behind without overreaching while her hooves touched the ground like music. The red roan's head stayed level at all times, her neck slightly arched whereas her ears flicked forward in quiet attention. There wasn't a flick, nor a bob, nor a single deviation from rhythm, she moved like a metronome of grace even as they reached the end of the lane, turned and eventually jogged back. Constantly, the mare offered a textbook performance; her tail carried relaxed, her legs tracking neatly under her round body - her movement the very image of a teddy cob's balance and poise.

Taylor halted her cleanly at the end, gave her a pat, and looked to the steward. There were murmurs of approval from the judge's table, but no dialogue; only the subtle scribble of pens and a few exchanged glances. As always, lastly, came the free jump. The blonde led Peace to the separate arena where a small group had gathered to observe the next portion; and the jumps were already set: a simple gymnastic line, low and inviting at the start, increasing in height by the third element. Taylor unclipped the lead and stepped back. "Okay. Go on, beautiful.", she mumbled, and watched as the mare stepped forwards at a trot, her round ears alert as always. The roan approached the first pole without theatrics, she didn't spook nor speed up, and didn't even second guess whether she could. Just calm momentum as her eyes locked on the layout ahead, and she adjusted her stride naturllay. The little mare cleared the first jump with room to spare, and the second already came up quick, albeit Peace never faltered. She tucked her legs neatly, clearing it with the same fluidity as before.

By the time the young mare finally reached the final jump - which was taller and more demanding - there was a brief beat of gathering as her body coiled just slightly, but then she launched herself in a clean arc. Perfect bascule, with her tail lifted slightly in flight, and then she landed lightly. Peace cantered out three strides, then came to a relaxed trot, circling back towards Taylor without any need for direction. The woman grinned, feeling her chest tighten with pride, as she did anytime any of her cobs performed well. Not every horse offered what Peace could; not just a fancy performance, but grace under pressure, this willingness without coercion. A kind of innate goodness, the kind that made every bit of effort leading up to this day worth it. The red roan finally stopped in front of the woman, nudging her pocket gently. Taylor laughed and pulled out a carrot slice, "Of course you get a treat."