Dagger's Point

Chapter Nine

The barn is not one that smells of horses and cleanliness like Oxford, instead it smells of dirt and ammonia. I don't know whether or not it's a bad thing, but here I wouldn't be worried about making a mess. In the aisle there is a pile of buckets, all different colors and with peeling duct tape that might have once held names. The horses that are inside reach over to greet us, though some pin their ears and swing their butts in our direction.We stop in front of one stall in particular, the wood is eaten away on the top and the horse inside wears a cribbing collar.

She's a fine thing, with stick like legs and muscular hindquarters. Her mane falls in a long wave down her neck, whilst she lays her ears back at us. Her head is thick contradicting everything else, and her ears are small and curved inwards. She is almost ugly, but not glaringly so. Her palomino coat glistens, she is well conditioned and the muscles there are obvious.

"Candi stop being such a bitch." Bea snaps, though she is smiling at the mare who flicks her ears at the sound of her voice before pinning them again.

"She's a mess. Nothing like what you're used to I bet." She sounds embarrassed, like I am going to judge her for her horse or the barn that is not of the highest quality. But there is nothing to judge, the barn is not falling over and it looks like horses actually live here, there is pasture and the horses inside look well cared for; that is all that matters.

"Variety is nice."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever been to Oxford?"

"No."

I laugh, though it is dry and without any humor. There is nothing quite like that barn, with the carbon copy horses in every stall, each one boasting of a pedigree of champions a mile long or being imported from Germany. Here though, each horse has their own story, much more unique and undoubtedly not purchased to become the next Olympic champion.

"They all look the same. Just a bunch of bays and chestnuts that are all built the same and all the owners hold the desire to be the next best thing the equestrian world has ever seen."

"You're lying, even the thoroughbreds look different."

"Of course they do. But there is a certain type of dressage horse, and that 'type' is what you see at Oxford. Down the whole aisle and back again."

I think fleetingly of Ty, he is different than the others, but Bea shouldn't know of his existence. I don't know why I still haven't told her, but I feel that if I did he would be taken away, and selfishly I never want that to happen.

"I'm going to bring her out." Bea steps into the stall, snagging the halter off the stall door, brandishing it with a smile and while the mare continues to look grumpy. She pulls it on, fingers deftly fastening the straps, still ignoring the mare's sour look. When she leads her out I step back, taking in the way she is built, from the slope of her shoulder to her short back. I don't know what to look for in a barrel racer though, so my observations are fairly useless. Though when I imagine one I imagine something built heavier than her.

"Do you mind if we go out to the arena? I know it's swampy but she needs some exercise and it's not her day to be turned out."

I nod, following slowly as I stop to look at the other horses. The one's that are still inside look at me with curious faces, though with Bea, with me they have more interest in their hay. Each horse is different from the last and it's not just one that has a blaze and the other tall socks. Instead they have different body types, from small to large and thick, there are a couple paints and even an appaloosa.

When I step outside it isn't raining anymore, though it is a brisk and cold morning, one that makes me pull my jacket closer to my body. Bea is already in the arena, Candi is tossing her head, hooves churning the sloppy sand. She can't hold still dancing and flipping her head, but Bea doesn't let her go, instead she waits, backing the mare out of her space when she attempts to crowd in. I watch confused and interested at the same time, it's weird to see her actually making her horse wait like you would a dog. I don't think that it is possible for her to hold still, that is is undoubtedly a battle she won't win. But I don't say anything, instead I watch, waiting to see how it'll play out. Then in the breath of a moment the mare is still, and the lead rope is off and she is spinning away.