~ Robin's Inspection

By the next morning, the rain had vanished as quietly as it had come. Fog, which had curled itself like a sleepy cat around the hills and trees through the early hours, had lifted slowly; peeling away in lazy swaths until the world emerged bright and golden once more. Sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, dappling the ground in warm, shifting patches, and the breeze had returned too, playful and light, tugging at loose strands of Taylor's hair and rippling the sides of the pop-up tents like sailcloth on a calm sea. It was, objectively, a beautiful day, and yet, the blonde was exhausted. Her jacket hung open, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing tattooed forearms streaked faintly with sweat and the occasional smudge of dust or hay. Her boots, still damp from yesterday, squeaked slightly with each step, and she carried the kind of weary tension in her shoulders that only came from too many back-to-back days of early mornings, high-stakes inspections, and a schedule packed tighter than a feed bag before winter. The woman sipped lukewarm coffee from a dented travel mug, barely tasting it anymore, her blueish-green eyes scanning the field as cobs and handlers moved through the lanes with practiced rhythm. Some trotted out, sleek and sharp under the returning sun, others stood quietly at attention in the waiting ring.

Taylor had already brushed three horses, getting them ready for the inspections, and hadn't sat down once. Her thighs ached from all the jogging, her knuckles were sore from buckles and leads, there was a smear of dried carrot pulp on her vest from bribing her fussy stallion, and her braid was beginning to fall apart at the back of her neck. And there were still more inspections to go. She leaned against the side of the trailer for a brief moment, letting the sun warm the tired chill from her skin. Around her, birds chirped lazily from nearby hedges, and the breeze carried the soft scent of grass and saddle soap. Everything looked so peaceful; so deceptively easy... but Taylor knew better. She glanced at her clipboard, eyes squinting against the glare. EIGHT more mares, and one stallion, and then, if the schedule didn't shift again, the woman would have a break. Maybe. Unless someone needed help braiding, or cooling out, or standing in as a handler for a horse who decided today wasn’t the day.

"God, I need a nap.", she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. At her side, a soft nicker pulled her from her thoughts, and Taylor smiled, the tiredness still there but softened around the edges. The sun continued to climb a little higher, and a gust of wind sent a spray of apple leaves rustling across the path. And the day; long, bright, and full of work, continued. "It's time."

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The woman stood near the edge of the warm-up ring, adjusting the lead rope in her hand for the third time in as many minutes. Her boots were still muddy from yesterday’s rain, and her clipboard was tucked under one arm, already filled with notes and smudged fingerprints, but her eyes weren't on the page - no, they were on the filly beside her: Robin, the youngest mare in the barn. The one with too-long legs and a short attention span, a heart too big for her own chest, and a sparkle in her eye that no amount of training could dull. Her red-brown coat glistened in the morning sun, a coppery blaze that looked almost metallic. Her mane was braided into soft, bouncy rows that she’d already tried to rub out once while Taylor wasn’t looking, blue bows decorating the strands. The mare  tossed her head, ears flicking toward the flags snapping on the other side of the field, and her nostrils flared, not with nerves, but excitement. "Easy, birdie.", Taylor murmured, resting a steadying hand against her shoulder, "We've got a job to do."

Robin snorted, not entirely convinced. The steward finally waved them forward, and Taylor took a deep breath before stepping into the ring. The bay cob pranced at her side, her trot springy, each step more expressive than the last. Her tail flagged, lifting high like a banner, and for a moment the blonde worried she’d break into a canter... but she didn't, she danced, but she followed - a miracle in itself. The judges stood in their usual formation beneath the shade of a canopy, the two women and one older man, each with clipboards and neutral expressions. The first, a short woman with silver hair and keen eyes, gestured for them to halt. Taylor squared Robin up, or at least tried to. The filly wiggled her hind end twice, stepped out of place, and then froze in a pose that somehow looked elegant and chaotic at the same time.

Then, the judges approached. Robin's ears flicked between them with unfiltered curiosity, and she reached out to sniff the edge of one clipboard before Taylor gently guided her head back.

"She’s um... enthusiastic.", said one of the judges with a faint smile.

"That's one word for it.", Taylor laughed softly, awkwardly, as she glanced up at her mare. The first judge then began the inspection, walking around Robin slowly, noting her angles, her muscling, her posture. Robin stood still for exactly thirty seconds before she started shifting her weight, craning her neck to follow the woman's movement like a puppy trying to keep up.

"She is very alert.", the older judge, the veterinarian, remarked.

"Yes. She's still very young.", the blonde offered in return, keeping a light hand on the lead. The second judge reached for the mare's withers, pressing lightly to test her response. Robin flinched; not from fear, but because she spotted a leaf blowing across the far end of the ring and decided it needed her full attention. Taylor tightened her hold slightly.

The judge only chuckled under her breath, "Plenty of energy here. But good structure, promising joints. She's going to grow into herself."

"She's already showing a lot of heart over fences.", Taylor said, smoothing a hand down Robin's neck. The judges only nodded and stepped back to consult quietly for a moment, and then came the trot. The woman moved toward the lane with Robin still practically bouncing beside her. As they lined up, Taylor gave her a moment to settle, gently whispering, "Okay, babygirl. Let's show them what you've got.", and they set off. Robin's trot was a joy to watch; springy, elevated, natural suspension in every stride. She wasn't polished, not yet, but she moved. Tail lifted, head high, her gangly frame finding rhythm in bursts of brilliance. She almost skipped a beat halfway down the lane, distracted by a fluttering ribbon tied to a fence post, but Taylor managed to keep her on track. They pivoted at the end, turned back, and repeated the motion. This time, Robin stayed more focused, her strides lengthening as she grew into the moment.

When they returned to the center of the ring, the youngest judge was smiling openly now, "Such impulsion. And that spark; she's got something special." Taylor nodded, breathless but proud. And then the steward signaled, "You're cleared for the free jumping arena." The blonde led Robin out, loosening the lead slightly, letting her relax her head. The filly chewed on the bit of her lead rope before Taylor gently redirected her toward the jumping lane. The setup was pretty simple: a chute with three jumps of increasing height, flagged at either end, and lined with padded rails and guide poles. A handler waited at the far end, ready to release Robin when Taylor gave the cue. The woman handed off the rope, stepped aside, and held her breath.

Robin came through like a spark lit from both ends. She trotted in with that same playful step, eyes flicking between the rails and the sky. The first jump she cleared with ease; almost too much ease. She overjumped, legs tucking neatly beneath her but landing a little crooked on the far side. The second jump she approached faster; her ears locked forward, nostrils flaring. She took it with surprising grace, her long legs folding like a practiced ballerina's. And then the third: the highest. Robin galloped towards it with the kind of unfiltered joy only a young horse could carry. She didn't hesitate, didn't question, and lifted into the air like she'd done it in dreams a hundred times. Her front legs tucked, hind end snapped up, and for a split second she looked like she belonged in flight. The bay cleared it easily, landing in a slightly awkward stumble but recovering quickly, tossing her head and prancing to the end of the lane with a prideful whinny.

Taylor let out a breath she'd been holding, a grin breaking across her face. She jogged to meet the filly, who immediately pressed her damp forehead against the woman's chest. "You little show-off.", she whispered, rubbing behind the cob's ears. The judges conferred again, and one of them leaned over the fence to address Taylor directly.

"Still a little rough around the edges.", she said, "-but she's a star in the making."

Taylor nodded, her fingers still stroking Robin's mane, "I know." They then left the arena together, the sun warming the backs of their shoulders. Robin's braids had loosened during the jump, little tufts of dark strands fluffing free, and her chest still heaved from the run, but her steps were light, almost dancing. Yes, she was still young, and yes, she was still raw. But she had proven just now that she was ready for what the world had to offer her, and Taylor truly had never been prouder.