well met {emmy

I'm not here looking for absolution;
I found myself an old solution

It was with a brisk efficiency that the petite brunette groomed her much taller companion, whisking a body brush over the mare’s sepia-colored flank, picking up each well-formed hoof to give it a cursory cleaning. For her part, Elfenhexe stood calmly in the cross-ties; her long, lean neck curved back to eye the tiny whirlwind of a woman with what seemed to be amused patience. Emmanuelle, for her part, was in a hurry to use what little pre-dawn coolness the Sonoran desert had to offer.

In less time than it takes to tell, the jumping instructor had the saddle in hand to sling aboard her Trakehner, cinched the girth in place, and slipped the unadorned leather halter from her face. With quick, sure movements - and the helpful stillness of her mount - Emmy slipped the mare’s bridle on, securing the throatlatch and figure-eight noseband to a comfortable tightness. All that done, she stepped back for a moment and huffed out a sigh. “Ah, Elfie, ma cher,” she finally crooned, stepping up to pat the arch of her mare’s neck. “A morning run sounds tres magnifique, non?” Chuckling to herself the lithe woman reached for her helmet, crop, and gloves before returning to mount. Her lightness surely made things easier as she bounced in a practiced movement up and into the saddle. Elfie turned, then, heading for the barn’s exit in anticipation of the ride to come while Em slipped the worn black riding gloves onto her hands and - letting the leggy mare make her own pace down the aisle - strapped the helmet on.

Slapping the mare’s shoulder approvingly, Emmy finally took the reins as they left the barn. It was almost chill outside, in the last vestiges of nighttime desert air that lingered before sunrise. Dawn was just barely lightening the eastern horizon, and birds sang sweetly from the creosote and brush. Elfie pressed forward eagerly, ears pricked and tail swishing with each smooth step. Em hummed under her breath, inwardly rejoicing at the feeling of her horse’s easy gait and the loveliness of the morning. They angled toward the cross-country course, with the bay mare easing into her ground-eating trot at a squeeze of the legs from Emmy. A double-row of pines marked the entryway to the course, and their shade made it cold enough to merit a real shiver. The sound of hoofbeats was muted on the floor of fallen pine needles, air thick with the scent of pine resin.

At last, the trees opened into a broad swathe of turf; the ground was crossed with a tract of dirt trail between the three obstacles in view. Those trails wound off into the trees once more after that, toward other jumps, ditches, and hills. Elfie gave an earnest whicker, and her rider asked for a canter with a laugh. Emmy turned the mare into a long circle around the far side of the clearing before angling toward the first obstacle; a simple log jump. It was only then that she spotted them; another horse and rider, down near the far side of the clearing. How she’d missed the mostly-white paint, Em had no idea, for he stood out like blood in the snow against shadowy pines.

In a move that she was sure drew disappointment from Elfie, Emmanuelle headed in that direction rather than moving toward the first obstacle (as originally intended). “Hey there!” she called, once they’d come close enough. The other rider was a tall, broad-shouldered brunet man who stood - well, stooped - near what would’ve been the third log jump in the clearing. Elfie eased to a stop of her own accord as they came within a few yards of the strangers, and eyed the man’s mount with a polite interest. “I do apologize; I’m afraid I didn’t see you down here. Were you wanting to use the course?” Inwardly, Em winced. Elfenhexe needed a run through of the lengthier course pretty badly, since it’d been almost two weeks since her last cross-country run back in West Virginia. But he had been here first, and it was only common courtesy to let him have his turn before she tackled the course. But, speaking of common courtesy... “Oh, forgive my rudeness,” she said with a half-smile. “My name is Emmy, and this is Elfie.” In that moment she was acutely aware of her accent, the vague nasality of her tones that made people’s heads tilt in curiosity. Smiling with a touch of nerves and hands fidgeting on the reins, she awaited his response.

WORD COUNT: 767
NOTES: Let’s place this meeting before they got in touch on Facebook/arranged to have coffee. :B
TAGS: Carson!
CREDIT: AERIE OF OTE