layin' me down ;

Riley Poole & Ignacia

-----

Being on the back of a horse felt more like home than Riley Poole would ever care to admit. Even now, in the overcast haze and slight chill of the early February morning, a wide-mouthed grin was plastered onto Riley's lips. Crystal blue eyes took in the quiet scenery with a mix between loneliness and awe. It was ironic that even his mount today matched the view well, what with her steel grey coat. Riley's lips twitched into a lop grin, hands stroking the filly's neck. Ever since Ignacia had arrived at Fannon Hill Farm, Riley had been itching to take her out for a spin; luckily enough, today was that day.

"C'mon pretty girl. That's it,"

Riley cooed to the grey filly, his lean legs gently guiding her to the entrance of the turf track. The tall filly beneath him rumbled, with excitement, her spindle-like legs pattering onto the turf track. Both the horse and rider seemed to have a bit of anxiety about the match up that day; this was Ida's first work at FHF and the pressure was on to perform. Riley, on the other hand, was worried about the compatibility between the two. To the dark haired male, it was all about the connection between a horse and rider that led to their victory. It was quite a bit of pressure on the two.

"Canter a mile. Just a nice and easy canter. Perhaps a slow gallop on the last half mile if she's doing well."

Logan's words were firmly placed in Riley's clouded mind, and as the pair touched down on the track, they jumped into a slight disorganized trot. Riley felt the muscles in his legs churn as he half-halted the filly back to a more balanced step. Though it took more than a fair share of re-balancing aids, Ida was soon throwing her sleek legs forward in a bright trot, her ears perked and taking in the sounds of the surrounding property. Riley couldn't help but do the same, his icy hued eyes taking in the lush green scenario. It was different, but his heart felt sore with glee at the very sight.

Propping himself up into a two point, Riley took a more secure grip on the reins, his masculine voice forming soft and sweet compliments to the filly. "That's my girl, good... up, canter." At the soft request of Riley's, Ida jumped into a bouncy canter, her compacted footsteps creating a quiet thud in the green turf track. As with any new horse, it was quite tough to become accustomed to Ida's way of moving. The three year old was high headed, nostrils flared and inhaling pools of sweet air, but her canter remained energetic and rather pliable.

After crossing nearly three eighth poles at the same pace, Riley laid his legs into the filly, clucking to her and driving her forward. The canter churned slightly, eventually shifting into a slow gallop. One, two, three, four. Riley's lips twitched, his smile growing smaller, and a determined gaze overtaking his eyes. Five furlongs left to run; a little over half a mile. One, two, three four. Riley's heart sped up, matching the tempo of the filly's long strides, and at further encouragement from her male rider, Ida sped forward, her reserved stride opening into a strong pound.

Four furlongs left. It was a shame that the workouts and races were so short. The exhilaration of galloping a horse was so short-lived; it was terrible. None the less, Riley kept his eyes seared on the approaching turn in the track, pressing his outside leg against the filly's steel grey rib cage, his lean body leaning toward the inside rail. Ida, having been more experienced than, say, a green two year old, obliged and steadied her steps, racing into the turn with a level mind. Once out, the chase was back on.

Three furlongs left. Curious of Ida's limits on speed, Riley crouched closer in the saddle, burying his fingers into strands of Ida's inky-colored mane, mumbling various "get's" and "go's." Hooves dug into the turf, hind end straining to produce a stronger run. The sheer effort on Ida's end pleased Riley greatly. Two, Scrubbing his hands at the base of Ida's mane, Riley urged the young filly for a larger stride, the filly automatically swapping to the right lead. If he were to say so himself, the filly was rather professional in her efforts.

One. There was nothing left for Riley to do but sit along for the ride. Ida carried him forward, sweat having broken out on her neck. She seemed to be enjoying the stretching of her legs, however, as did Riley. Joy creeped into his heart with every pounding stride they took. All too soon, it was over. And, done. With the slightest shift in his weight, Riley stood in the stirrups of his well-loved, easing pressing into the reins. Tossing her head in protest at the finish of their workout, Ida released a few snorts of disagreement: she soon dropped into a flouncing canter, than a trot. Riley dropped the reins against her neck, hands patting the filly's hot neck with affection. Ending up where they had first began a short time ago, Riley guided Ida off the track, settling into a long walk to cool out.