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story added:: Sovereign Hills Valentines Swing ::
Horse: Smooth Criminal
Rider: Lucas d'Almeida
Stables: WestLane Equestrian
Class: Eventing - Dressage Phase
Music: Rent - I'll Cover You
"It's way too hot," Lucas muttered, chucking Smoothie's grooming tray onto the ground. It was quite a shock, such heat after being bundled up in scarves, hats and lots of layers just a few days earlier, and that, combined with the massive hour difference, only contributed to making this a less than pleasant experience. Smoothie didn't seem as bothered, though; chewing on his hay, he merely flicked an ear back, listening. The gelding had been clipped for this - not completely, as Lucas didn't fancy bringing a naked horse back to Manhattan's snowy streets, but just enough for him not to suffer heatstroke after the demanding cross-country phase.
Leaning down, he ran his hands down the horse's legs, the now automatic routine they went through every day, fingertips already familiar with the bumps and dips of tendons and ligaments, even through the thick fluffy layer of his winter coat. All good, he quickly decided, no strange heat or swelling, as he fetched the hoofpick from its tray.
The flowers he would braid into the horse's mane and tail were in a bucket by the door, over which hung the immaculate white saddle pad and the freshly oiled saddle. He'd chosen to come on his own, but he'd let Aaron deal with buying the flowers - he didn't know what types they were, not one to concern himself with botany, but they were big enough to make an impression, and seemed sturdy enough not to crumble when wrapped up with a rubber band - of course, the fact their petals were soft fabric instead of the real thing probably helped.
"Don't you agree it's hot?" he murmured, more to himself than to the horse, letting his hoof come to rest on the straw again. Smoothie didn't reply. Lucas had to admit he had some mixed feelings about Aaron's insistence to come, which he was sure was due to more than a chance for a free trip to Australia. The other always complained when he was asked to do any kind of yard work, after all - granted, that wasn't his job, but neither was being a groom. A part of him was very sure - afraid, even - that his insistence was born of a need to, if not baby him, at least look after him, and, truth be told, he'd had it with people worrying. God, this was what he'd left Portugal to avoid.
Letting out a breath through his nose, he shook those thoughts away, chucking the hoof pick back into the tray. It wasn't worth it to bother himself with this, not so soon before his competition. Perhaps, when he travelled back to New York, they'd talk. He could worry about it then.
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Comments10
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WAitwaitwait is he clipped
*reads story, gets the answer like an idiot*
that's adorable
*reads story, gets the answer like an idiot*
that's adorable