#1

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 11:06 PM

   

Emma Cavanagh — Unsaved Draft (Never Sent).

   

 

Dear Alex,
(Scratch that.)
Hey, loser.
(No. Too rude.)
Hi.

Okay, look. I'm not great at this. Writing letters. Talking about feelings. You know that.

Wyndmere's beautiful. Wet, green, proper-English countryside beautiful. The kind of place that smells like mud and moss and old money. The horses are incredible. Celtic Ember is starting to trust me — she even nickered when I brought her breakfast this morning. I think I smiled for an hour after that.

We had a group lesson today. I didn't fall off, but I definitely made a fool of myself trying to mount from the wrong side. Eleanor said nothing but gave me That Look. You'd like her, I think. She's a bit like Jewel if Jewel drank earl grey and wore tall boots.

I'm learning a lot. But sometimes, I wish you were here.
I miss the red dirt. I miss Jewel's lectures. I miss being teased over burnt toast and bad coffee.
I miss you.
(There. I said it. Not out loud, but it's something.)

I've been carrying around this stupid damper photo you snuck into my gear. Candle and all. You're a dork. But it makes me laugh when the homesickness hits too hard.

Don't let Chaos eat your hat again.
And tell Jewel I haven't gone soft. Just... temporarily soggy. Blame the rain.

I'll be back before you know it. Maybe things will be different. Maybe they won't.
But I hope...
(That's where the words run out.)

Take care of the station for me.

— E.

P.S. If you tell anyone I got sentimental, I'll deny it. Forever.

#2

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 11:02 PM

   

Alex Quinn — Journal Entry (Midway Through Emma's Stay in England).

   

 

I don't even know why I'm writing this. Maybe it's just easier to talk to paper. No chance of being interrupted. No risk of sounding like an idiot.

Emma's been gone for what, two and a half months now? Somewhere between the dust storms and long days, I lost count. Not like I'm keeping track or anything. Except I am. Sort of.

Southern Lights feels... quieter. Like someone turned the volume down on everything except the wind. I keep expecting to hear her boots on the porch or that awful hum she does when she's cleaning tack. Even the dogs seem a bit more sour than usual — or maybe it's just me.

I got a letter from her last week. Said she'd had a good schooling session and managed not to fall off a sassy Irish mare. Typical Emma. Always chasing a challenge with that fire in her eyes. I read the letter twice. Okay, five times. That's not weird, right?

I wish I knew how to say this stuff to her. That I'm proud. That I miss her. That I'm counting down the days like some lovesick teenager.

Except I'm not in love with her.

Am I?

Hell.

Jewel says I'm walking around like a kicked dog. I told her to mind her own business. She just smirked in that way that says she already knows the truth I'm too stubborn to admit.

I don't know what'll happen when Emma comes back. Maybe everything'll go back to normal. Maybe it won't.

I just hope—
...nah.

Forget it.

— Alex

#3

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:59 PM

   

Bonus Scene 2: The Conversation Between Alex and Emma.

   

 

It was late.

The firepit out back was just glowing embers now, and the air had cooled enough to tug on sleeves. The sky was a deep navy, scattered with stars, and the smell of eucalyptus drifted on the breeze.

Emma and Alex sat on the tailgate of an old ute, feet swinging idly, a shared thermos of tea between them.

Neither had said much for a while.

"Feels weird being back," Emma said finally. "Like nothing's changed... and everything has."

Alex nodded. "I get that. I felt the same when I came back after the circuit. Like I knew this place, but I didn't quite fit right for a while."

Emma leaned back on her hands. "I didn't think I'd miss it so much."

"You didn't just miss the station."

She smiled. "No. I didn't."

Alex tapped his fingers on the metal beside her. "So... what happens now?"

She turned to look at him. "I don't know. We go slow? We keep doing what we're doing?"

"Which is...?"

Emma nudged his shoulder. "Sharing thermos tea and pretending Crumble didn't try to sabotage our entire romantic moment?"

Alex chuckled, low and genuine.

"I like that plan," he said.

They sat in the silence for a moment more before he added, "I'm glad you went. To England, I mean. You needed it."

"I did." Emma glanced sideways at him. "But I'm glad I came home, too."

He looked at her, serious now. "So am I."

No dramatic declarations. No fireworks.

Just the stars, the dust, and two people who were finally in the same place — at the same time — with no more words left unsaid.

#4

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:57 PM

   

Bonus Scene 1: Jewel Notices Something's Changed.

   

 

Jewel leaned against the fence, pretending to check the latch, but her eyes were locked on the pair in the stables.

Alex was brushing down Crumble with a little more pep in his step than usual, and Emma... well, Emma had that glow. The kind that didn't come from a tan or a good ride. It came from finally setting something down that had been too heavy for too long.

Jewel didn't say anything when Emma passed by with an empty feed bucket, but she raised one eyebrow.

Emma tried not to smirk. "What?"

Jewel shrugged, utterly deadpan. "Nothing. Just funny how a person can be gone for five months and come back with a shine in her eye and a certain someone trailing two steps behind like a stockhorse with a lead rope."

Emma rolled her eyes. "It's not like that."

"Mmm." Jewel chewed on a bit of straw she'd picked up. "You're right. It's not like that. He never looked at anyone else like that before."

Emma flushed crimson. "Jewel."

"What?" Jewel said innocently. "I didn't say anything. Didn't say a word about first kisses in shadowed barns or horses trying to ruin the moment."

Emma groaned. "Who told you?"

"I didn't need to be told," Jewel said, smug. "The stables have eyes. And ears. And noses."

Crumble let out a snort right on cue.

Emma couldn't help but laugh, shoulders relaxing.

"Welcome home, Em," Jewel said softly, and squeezed her arm before walking off, leaving Emma with a blush and a smile that lingered long after.

#5

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:54 PM

   

Epilogue: The Horse, the Kiss, and Everything in Between.

   

 

The dust hit her first.

After months of green hedgerows and drizzly mornings, the red-gold haze of Southern Lights Station bloomed in her vision like something out of a memory. The sun was already dropping behind the hills when the truck rolled up the long drive, lighting the paddocks in a warm burnished glow.

The familiar clang of the front gate. The sound of cattle lowing in the distance. And there, leaning against the yard railings with a smirk, stood Jewel—arms crossed, boots dusty, same battered hat pulled low over her brow.

"Well," Jewel said, "Look what the storm blew back in."

Emma laughed as she climbed down, barely dodging the dogs that launched itself at her knees.

"Missed you too, Jazzy, Ringo, Boomer."

Jewel pulled her into a one-armed hug that was firm and grounding and just long enough.

"You're skinnier," Jewel muttered into her ear. "But you walk like you believe in yourself now."

Emma pulled back with a sheepish grin. "Thanks. I think?"

More figures appeared from the barns—Old Ted tipping his hat, a couple of the younger hands giving her cheeky grins. Even Crumble stuck his fuzzy face over the stable door and gave a huff like he was pretending not to care.

And then there was Alex.

He hung back at first, arms deep in a hay bale he clearly wasn't interested in.

Emma wandered over slowly, her heart tapping out a rhythm in her chest that hadn't been there when she left.

"Hey," she said.

He turned. That crooked smile. The one that started in his eyes.

"Hey."

They stood awkwardly for a beat. Then—

"You look... different," he said.

"You mean I finally stopped smelling like hoof oil and liniment?"

"God no. You still smell like a saddle."

They both laughed. The kind that bubbled up from somewhere that still felt tender.

Emma looked down, toeing a bit of straw.

"I got your letters," she said. "Even the one that was just a doodle of Crumble kicking a wall."

Alex shrugged, suddenly shy. "He's not exactly subtle when he misses someone."

She looked up then, really looked. And he stepped closer.

"I missed you," he said, voice low.

Something cracked open in her chest.

"I missed you too."

There was a pause—long enough to wonder, short enough not to stop it—and then he leaned in. And she did too. Their noses bumped. Breath hitched. And—

A snort. Wet and loud.

Crumble had shoved his giant nose over the railing behind them, effectively wedging himself between their shoulders.

"Mate," Alex groaned, half-laughing, half-exasperated. "Do you mind?"

Crumble snorted again and tried to chew Emma's hair.

They both broke down laughing, forehead to forehead now, hands resting on each other's arms.

"I think he's jealous," Emma whispered.

Alex shrugged. "Can't blame him. I was gone a long time too."

She looked at him—really looked. All the unsaid things weren't unsaid anymore. The ranch, the sky, the warm wind — it all felt like a beginning.

Alex kissed her properly then, soft and sure, just out of reach of the horse's teeth.

And this time, Crumble let them be.

#6

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:24 PM

   

Chapter Eleven: The Leaving Kind.

   

 

Her last week unfolded gently, as if Wyndmere Hollow was easing her toward goodbye instead of dragging her from it.

No dramatic countdowns. No over-the-top send-offs.

Just quiet moments that lingered.

The fog rolled in low every morning now, wrapping the pastures in soft white. Emma took to rising early and walking the length of the yard with her coffee, letting the cold bite her skin as her breath fogged the air.

Her duffel bag sat half-zipped in the corner of her room for days. She kept finding reasons not to finish packing.

A borrowed fleece she hadn't returned.

Boot polish she'd meant to use.

The rhythm of the days continued: stalls to muck out, horses to ride, tack to clean. But there was an edge to it now. The way conversations drifted off. The way people hesitated before saying goodbye, as if speaking it aloud might make it real.

Celtic Ember nickered when she walked into the barn on her last morning, and Emma nearly cried.

She spent extra time grooming the mare, brushing out her forelock, whispering nonsense into her warm neck.

"You're going to make someone else very lucky, you know that?" she murmured.

She gave Ember a peppermint and lingered longer than necessary at the stall door.

Eleanor found her later, sitting on the fence line, boots muddy, hair half in a braid and half falling out.

The head trainer didn't say much. Just handed her a folded piece of paper.

Inside was a photo. Grainy, slightly crooked. Emma mid-air on Celtic Ember, eyes up, posture solid, wind catching her shirt. In blue pen beneath it, Eleanor had written:

You proved something—to yourself.
If you ever want to come back, Wyndmere Hollow always has room for one more.

Emma blinked hard.

Eleanor stood with her arms crossed, pretending not to notice. Then added gruffly, "And don't get sentimental on me. You know where the tack soap is. Put that energy to good use."

Emma laughed through the lump in her throat.

She left before dawn the next day. One of the grooms drove her to the train station, and Wyndmere Hollow faded into the mist behind her like a half-remembered dream.

As the train pulled away, her phone buzzed.

A voicemail from Alex.

"Hey, Em. Got your letter. Crumble bit Old Ted again. He says you taught him that. I told him you're probably too busy charming poncy British horses to care. Anyway. Can't wait to have you back. Ranch coffee's been awful since you left."

A pause.

Then, softer:

"Ride safe, okay?"

She leaned her head against the window and smiled. Not the wistful kind. The real kind.

She was going home.

But she wasn't leaving Wyndmere behind.

Not really.

#7

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:21 PM

   

Chapter Ten: In Her Stride.

   

 

The morning of the local event dawned grey and blustery. Emma stood beside Celtic Ember, plaiting the mare's mane with trembling fingers, the scent of saddle soap and hay heavy in the cool air.

She wasn't nervous—not quite. Not like she'd been at the start. This was something else. A quiet kind of steadiness.

"I don't expect ribbons," Eleanor had said briskly as she adjusted the cheekpieces on Ember's bridle. "Just ride with intent."

Emma nodded, tucking that phrase in her chest like a talisman.

The competition was low-level, Training height, but it might as well have been the Olympics to her. It was her first time riding under the Wyndmere Hollow banner—first time riding in England at all—and the little local showground buzzed with dogs, ponies, and the clink of stirrups.

Dressage came first. Celtic Ember moved with calm focus, a far cry from the fussy, distracted mare Emma had first swung a leg over weeks ago. They scored solidly—nothing flashy, but balanced, correct.

Show jumping was tighter. The course was twisty, poles brightly painted. One rail rattled, but stayed put. Emma came out of the ring flushed with adrenaline, breath catching behind her grin.

Cross-country, though—that's where it all clicked.

They galloped through open fields peppered with novice-height fences. Water crossings, little drops, log piles. Emma rode with her body, not her doubts. She stopped thinking and started trusting.

And Ember—bless her steady Irish heart—carried them like she'd known Emma her whole life.

They came home clear.

Not first place. Not even top three.

But it wasn't about that.

It was about riding into the finish box and hearing Eleanor say, quiet and proud, "You looked like you belonged out there."

Over the next few weeks, time seemed to both slow and speed up. The final stretch.

Emma started noticing the little things more.

Mornings wrapped in fog, the way the older riders teased the younger ones, the way Eleanor always wore her watch face-down.

She joined in on hack-outs and helped set fences for others. She groomed in the rain and learned to wrap legs one-handed. She shared a victory hot chocolate with one of the junior riders after a clear round at a schooling show.

There was a letter from Southern Lights—a photo of Crumble rolling in the dust, hooves straight up in the air. Alex had written, He's untrainable, just like you. We miss you around here. No signature, but none needed.

Emma pinned the letter to her corkboard beside a printout of her cross-country course map.

The days rolled on.

#8

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:18 PM

   

Chapter Nine: Over the Edge.

   

 

The arena was quiet that morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the high windows, catching in the mist rising from the horses' backs as they warmed up. Emma sat tall in the saddle, heart thudding louder than Celtic Ember's hoofbeats beneath her.

Today felt different.

Eleanor hadn't said much—just a clipped, "We're raising the stakes. You're ready." Then she'd walked out to the centre of the arena and adjusted the cavaletti to a sharp grid, a line of fences growing gradually higher, tighter, more demanding.

Ember tossed her head as Emma circled, testing the bit, then settled into a working trot.

It wasn't the fences Emma feared—it was disappointing the people who believed in her.

"Again," Eleanor called. "And don't let her fall behind your leg this time. Ride the rhythm, not the nerves."

Emma set her jaw, gave a soft cue, and gathered up the reins. They rolled into the grid like a pair of thunderclouds: focused, coiled, ready to burst.

One, two, three, lift.

Ember cleared the final oxer cleanly, landing with a sharp snort and ears pricked. Emma let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She was still upright. Still with her. And suddenly, that familiar swirl of self-doubt loosened its grip just a little.

Eleanor raised one eyebrow. "There it is."

Emma blinked. "What?"

"The rider I knew was in there."

And that—more than the cleared fence or the rhythm or even the feeling of flight—made Emma's chest ache with something that felt suspiciously like pride.

That evening, after mucking out and tacking down, Emma climbed the hill behind the staff cottages with her phone and a borrowed blanket, curling up under the trees. The sky was soft and streaked with purple, the kind of twilight that made her want to say things she normally swallowed.

She hit the call button before she could second-guess it.

Alex picked up on the third ring.

"You survive your first UK winter yet?" he asked, voice laced with amusement.

Emma huffed a laugh. "Barely. I lost feeling in my toes two weeks ago."

"Still riding?"

"Of course. Had a breakthrough today. Proper one. Even Eleanor said so."

There was a pause on the other end. She could almost hear his smile.

"See? Told you you'd hold your own."

Emma wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "It's starting to feel like... maybe I belong here."

Another beat of silence, and then Alex's voice, quieter this time.

"Just don't forget where else you belong, alright?"

She froze. Just for a second.

Then: "I haven't."

Neither of them said what they wanted to.

The silence stretched, not awkward, but charged.

Finally, Emma shifted gears. "How's Crumble?"

"Fat. Lazy. Keeps breaking fences to flirt with the geldings."

She snorted. "Sounds like you."

"Oi."

More laughter. Softer this time.

The call ended not long after, with a promise to talk again soon. But long after her screen went dark, Emma sat under the stars, heart still tangled in the words they didn't say.

Maybe one day, she'd have the courage to say them.

But for now, the ride was enough.

#9

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:15 PM

   

Chapter Eight: Dust, Boots, and Butterflies.

   

 

The air at Tadcaster Park was buzzing long before the first rider set foot in the warm-up ring. Trucks were still rolling in. Horses leaned out of stock trailers with pricked ears and wild eyes. Riders tacked up with the brisk efficiency of veterans. Grooms darted about with armfuls of saddle pads, water buckets, and fly spray.

Emma stood just outside Wyndmere Hollow's borrowed grooming bay, sleeves rolled up and braid coming undone, trying to keep track of whose boots needed polishing and which horse was meant to be tacked next.

She wasn't riding. Not today.

Today, she was a groom—and honestly? It was exhilarating.

"Do not let Felix eat another sandwich," barked Natalie, one of the upper-level riders, as she stormed past, tossing a sweat-marked saddle pad in Emma's direction. "He's like a Labrador with hooves."

Emma grinned, catching the pad. "No promises."

They had four horses entered across Novice and Intermediate levels. Celtic Ember was here too, but only for the atmosphere. Eleanor wanted her to soak up the noise, the chaos, the buzz—just as Emma was.

And soak it up she did. By lunchtime, Emma had memorized rider numbers, watched half a dozen dressage tests, and offered water bottles to flushed, breathless competitors with a sort of giddy pride. She even helped bandage up a knock after one gelding clipped a fence.

But it was during cross-country that her breath caught.

They stood in a cluster near the galloping lane—Emma, Tilly, two other working pupils, and Eleanor, arms crossed, face unreadable. The Intermediate riders were going now, and watching them surge over log piles and splash through the water complex made Emma's chest ache.

She wanted that.

Not the ribbon. Not even the speed. Just the connection. The grit. The fire behind a rider's eyes when they trusted their horse completely and asked them to fly.

"You'll get there," Tilly murmured beside her, nudging her elbow. "I saw you watching."

Emma blinked. "That obvious?"

"Only to someone who's done the same."

Later, in the quiet between phases, Emma found herself perched on the trailer step, brushing Ember's forelock out of her eyes. The mare leaned into her hands with a soft sigh.

From her jacket pocket, Emma pulled out her phone.

There was a message waiting from Alex.

Alex:
How's it going, hotshot? Don't tell me you've joined a cross-country cult.

PS. Saw a kid ride backwards on a sheep today. Thought of you.

Emma let out a laugh that startled Ember, then typed back quickly.

Emma:
You would've loved today. Absolute madness.

Also: sheep kid > everyone else.

I miss Southern Lights. And you. Just a bit. But don't get smug about it.

She hovered a moment, then deleted the last line.

Too much.

She hit send.

As dusk fell and the last competitors packed up, Eleanor handed Emma a paper cup of tea and nodded toward the still-busy rings.

"Take a mental picture," she said. "This is where it starts. Not under the spotlight. Out here, in the dust and noise and endless wait times."

Emma sipped the tea, the warmth chasing away the fatigue in her fingers.

"I think I get it," she said.

Eleanor's gaze settled on her. "Good. Because one day, I'll expect to see you in the ring. Not just beside it."

Emma didn't answer aloud. But something in her chest flared—equal parts excitement and fear.

Maybe this was what growing meant. Being seen. Being believed in.

And maybe, just maybe, realizing there were two homes tugging at her heart now.

#10

Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found

Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:10 PM

   

Chapter Seven: Riding the Rhythm.

   

 

The indoor arena buzzed with motion—horses moving in wide circles, riders calling out apologies as they narrowly avoided each other, and the occasional squeal from a young gelding testing boundaries. It was controlled chaos, and Emma was trying her hardest not to panic.

Celtic Ember moved beneath her with the same calm rhythm as always, ears flicking back occasionally as if to check Emma hadn't fallen off from sheer embarrassment.

"This isn't riding," Emma muttered under her breath as they trotted by the open end of the arena. "This is horse traffic."

"Inside leg, outside rein," Eleanor called sharply across the din. "Emma, you're drifting out. Keep your line."

Emma gave a tight nod, adjusting her contact and trying not to grimace. She wasn't used to this many riders in one space. At Southern Lights, it had always been just her and Alex—or Emma and the open paddocks.

A grey mare passed too close, her rider barely managing a half-halted apology. Ember flicked an ear but kept going like the wise old soul she was. The mare was proving to be a godsend.

Tilly cantered past with a whoop, seat light and forward, shouting over her shoulder, "Pretend we're jousting! Makes it more fun!"

"Fun," Emma echoed, steering Ember toward the long side and trying to find her rhythm again.

By the end of the lesson, Emma was exhausted. Her shirt clung to her back, and her thighs burned from two-point position and too many transitions. But as they cooled out at a walk, weaving through the others like a tide ebbing after a storm, something inside her had shifted.

She wasn't the best. Not by a long shot. But she hadn't drowned in the crowd either.

That counted for something.

She was loosening Ember's girth when Eleanor approached, quiet boots on gravel giving her away.

"You rode well," she said, matter-of-fact.

Emma blinked. "Really? I felt like a train wreck."

"You were focused. You listened to your horse. That's more than half the battle."

Eleanor rested a hand on Ember's shoulder, the lines around her eyes softer than usual. "She likes you, by the way."

"I like her too."

There was a pause—brief but weighted. Then Eleanor said, in that quiet, steel-edged tone of hers, "Homesickness hits hard in the quiet moments. But horses don't lie, Emma. They tell us when we're steadying up. Don't forget that."

Emma felt the lump rise in her throat before she could stop it. She nodded instead of speaking, blinking hard.

Eleanor gave Ember a pat, then walked away without another word, leaving behind the faint scent of liniment and leather and something unspoken that Emma would carry with her for days.

That night, Emma scribbled a note in her journal.

Group ride = exhausting chaos. I think I'm learning to listen in the noise.
Eleanor noticed. Noticed me.

I miss the silence of home.

But maybe here, I'm learning a new kind of quiet.

She didn't text Alex. Not tonight.

Some feelings needed to sit a while, undisturbed.
Just like a steady mare at the end of a long, jostling ride.