I walked into the barn on a hot summer morning and went up to the first stall on the right.
“Hey, girl,” I said, rubbing my horse Willow’s neck. She nibbled my breeches pocket, looking for the peppermint that she knew was there. “That’s for later,” I scolded. She laid her ears back and made a face at me.
My riding instructor popped out of the tack room. “Hey, Erin! Are you still thinking about entering that Novice event next weekend?”
“Yeah, I am,” I said, scuffing my boot on the floor nervously.
“I know you’ve galloped on other horses before and have been getting your friend to gallop Willow, but you should probably try a little gallop work in the back field just in case. You can keep it slow during cross-country, but it’d be good to get in the practice.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “OK.”
My trainer went into her dapple gray gelding’s stall and started currying his sleek back. I dragged myself over to the tack room and grabbed my saddle, bridle, and grooming kit.
Willow took a nap while I groomed her shiny bay coat and picked out her hooves. However, she stomped one front hoof grumpily when I tightened her girth and gave me a side eye when I bridled her. I fidgeted again. This was not going to be good.
I stepped out of the stall, put my helmet on, and zipped up my body protector. “I’m ready,” I said faintly.
“Oh, good,” my trainer said, appearing from nowhere with her horse in tow. She led him out of the barn and swung into the saddle. “Let’s go!”
I took a deep breath and followed her. Luckily, Willow’s sides felt relaxed when I swung onto her broad back. She wasn’t feeling too spooky, I decided. Nonetheless, her perkier-than-usual ears weren’t comforting.
My trainer and I rode through a couple of pastures to the back field, which was actually a gallop track that opened into a long, grassy run that the more experienced riders used for their horses’ conditioning.
I warmed Willow up at the walk, trot, and canter for 15 minutes or so. Her dramatic head-tossing at the canter brought my butterflies back—with a few hundred friends.
“Um, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I stuttered, pulling Willow down to a collected trot. “Maybe we should go back to the dressage ring and try this again tomorrow.”
“She’s fine,” my trainer said, riding her horse out of the gate and closing me and my mare in the gallop track alone. “Ask for a canter and then ease her into a controlled gallop.”
“‘Controlled,’” I muttered under my breath. “That’ll be the trick.”
I asked for a canter, my heart banging against my chest as I let her pick up more speed.
Ah! This was no joke. My horse was fast. I buried my hands in her mane and gritted my teeth.
“Is this too fast?” I yelled toward my trainer as I came around the turn.
Her smiling face was a blur as Willow whipped past the gate. “She looks good! Drop your weight into your heels.”
“OK,” I said weakly.
“Alright, pull her down gradually,” she said on my next lap past the gate.
I wished I could go right back to a walk and fling myself onto the ground, but I knew better. Willow slowed to a quick canter, a steady canter, a trot, and (finally) a walk.
“Was that good?” I was just glad it was over, but I felt like I should say something.
“It was great. Let’s take her into the run.”
Oh no, oh no, oh no … “The run?”
“Sure. She’s done a Beginner Novice, and so have you.”
“Not at the same time!”
My trainer looked at me for a second. I sighed. “Alright.”
I went through the creaking gate and watched my trainer latch it behind me. “Same thing,” she said. “Canter for part of the flat stretch and get her into the gallop before the hill. Otherwise, she’ll stay in a canter too long and you’ll never get her into it.”
“OK,” I said. I leaned forward and grabbed mane, then nudged Willow’s sides and held my breath.
She kept a steady canter for eight strides. Two more and I’ll push her forward. Counting made me feel better. One, two—I dug my heels into Willow’s sides and felt her surge forward.
We galloped over the last few feet of flat ground and started climbing the hill. I knew we were too slow and was torn for a second. Then I sucked in a breath. “Let’s go.”
My brain was screaming, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t … Finally, I told it to be quiet. “Come on,” I whispered. “We can do this.”
About halfway up the slope, I let my hands go forward and deepened the weight in my heels. Willow reached her nose forward, her ears pricked, and flew toward the place where the hill met the sky. I laughed. I still couldn’t breathe and felt like I’d get flung onto the fence any second, but who cared?
After a few hundred yards of flat grass, it was time to pull Willow up. We reached the end of the run at a steady trot, and I had already turned around by the time Willow had come back to a walk. When we were halfway down the hill, my trainer yelled up, “How was that?”
I grinned. “I wish this run was longer.”
I wanted to let out a cowgirl yell. Oh, I felt alive! It was wonderful.
I leaned down and hugged Willow’s neck. She nibbled my half-chap, still looking for her peppermint. “Oh, alright,” I said. I fished it out of my pocket and laughed as she snatched it from my hand.
Thank you to all who participated in Young Rider magazine’s first-ever Fiction Contest, held in collaboration with Trafalgar Square Books. Congratulations to Emmary!
