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#1
Roseneath Eventing / Re: Roseneath Office and Admin
Last post by Meketra - Aug 19, 2025, 03:01 AM
#2
Roseneath Eventing / Roseneath Office and Admin
Last post by Meketra - Aug 19, 2025, 03:00 AMUnder construction
#3
#4
Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found
Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 11:06 PMDear 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.
(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.
#5
Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found
Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 11:02 PMI 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
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
#6
Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found
Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:59 PMIt 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.
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.
#7
Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found
Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:57 PMJewel 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.
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.
#8
Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found
Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:54 PMThe 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.
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.
#9
Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found
Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:24 PMHer 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.
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.
#10
Jewel / Re: Story #5: Feelings Found
Last post by Jewel - Aug 05, 2025, 10:21 PMThe 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.
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.