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Description
Horse: Beaumont’s Blackbird Fantasy
Event: *BangGoesReality 's Gaelic Challenge
Discipline: Dressage
Class: Grand Prix Dressage
Handler/Rider: Kalib Beaumont
Song: Five Finger Death Punch - Far From Home [YouTube]

There was a great rush of cold, dense air as Blackie stepped from the trailer and onto Irish soil for the first time. He lifted his head wearily to smell the scent of the new land before closing his eyes and letting out a great, tired sigh.

He had been sleeping too many hours to count on the plane, his head held stiffly in position in his small, fitted stall and the changes in pressure just large enough to irritate him whilst so heavily drugged.

“Good afternoon, boy,” Kalib said fondly, brushing Blackie’s forelock from his eyes and stroking down his forehead. “Hope that wasn’t too bad,”

“…understatement,” he grunted to himself, nudging Kalib’s chest and then the side of his jeans, looking for a treat.

“Sorry, Blackie, I’ve gotta buy you an apple – can’t bring them over here apparently.”

The stallion lifted his head again, feeling the weight of the sedative in his veins and let out a big, long sigh.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He said, motioning forward as he led Blackie towards the stable block at Ravendale.

The stables were unfamiliar; there was a deep, earthy smell about the place, though that was probably caused by the rain that had fallen the night before. It was slightly metallic, with a heavy feeling about, like the humid air that hung low on rainy summer days. It wasn’t bad, but Blackie’s body felt drained, weighty and stiff as he was led from his stall for the first day of training.

“Good mornin’,” Kalib greeted him, looking none-the-worst-for-wear considering the horrific time difference that was eating away at Blackie. “Oh, suck it up,” He chuckled, walking towards the door of the barn with the stallion wearing nothing but a rope halter.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, noticing Blackie’s ears spinning as they walked out towards the Dressage arena. “No proper training today; we all need a break.” Kalib ruffled the stallion’s mane a little, throwing it out of his eyes and patting his shoulder, running his hands along the curves and lines of his body. “You’re looking great boy, we both know our stuff, there’s no need for any real work.”

This was odd. Blackie was used to being in intensive training almost all the time, with a week or so off now and again to give him and Kalib a rest. It was competition season and they’d been jetting all over the world as well as doing several small competitions around Colorado, but they still required a flight in that helicopter – he often preferred being knocked out and flying across the Atlantic than spending an hour in that death machine.

The morning consisted of an hour long walk around the grounds, a walk which involved being kicked off the grounds several times for ‘attempting to cheat’, by looking at the cross-country course – when in fact he really didn’t care, nor would ever give Theyn a better chance in her competition, she could cheat herself if she was bothered.

They resorted to circling the arenas several times, to the displeasure of many riders who considered the presence of the ‘brooding’ black stallion to be off-putting when they were practicing. Kalib didn’t care. The walk had done what Kalib had hoped, and warmed Blackie up enough that he was stepping high and had an energetic pull with each stride as though he wanted so desperately to trot or gallop instead of staying at such a steady pace. As they finished their walk back at the stables, Kalib could do naught but oblige. He jumped from a standstill, swung his legs over Blackie’s big, broad back, produced a small carabiner clip, attached it to the end of the lead rein and in one swift movement had it attached the other side of his halter and kicked off towards the gate that opened up to great stretches of open land.

They soared forward for a few strides before pulling up on instinct as several people started yelling from behind about Kalib ‘not wearing a hat’… as if that bothered him – he’d jumped Sky 5ft before without a helmet, fell off, nearly got a concussion but was up and walking in the next 6 seconds… a.k.a. he didn’t give a shit.

Blackie kept up a brisk walk as Kalib turned and yelled back about said ‘not caring’ and then pushed him on again. The stallion obliged, jumping forward and took off at a canter, which quickly turned into a gallop, which became some kind of mad sprint too fast and messy to be considered a gallop rather than ‘a black horse kinda running really fast and looking like he’s gonna stumble over and make a crater in the ground’.

They began what would become a circuit around RDS, slowing as they switched from field to track and through small gaps in trees and fences, jumping a couple of creeks that were supposed to mark the end of the field (much to Blackie’s displeasure) and around towards where the main horses fields were. There were several large fields, a few smaller ones, and one that seemed packed with horses. Kalib supposed it was all the RDS horses being kept in the same pasture to make room for the other horses, and as they ran closer, they were met by a chorus of neighs from the herd.

Blackie tossed up his head and let out a whinny of greeting as they passed so close to the fence Kalib’s boots brushed the wood. He held on calmly, however, and then leaned to his left and Blackie’s course curved to the side and back towards where the outside school was.

It was the next day that Kalib finally had Blackie back into his normal demeanor. Nevertheless, the stallion was far more energetic and eager with what he was doing and as they half-passed across the school there was a jump in his stride that Kalib had never experienced with him before. It was as though there was a newfound power within the great, black Friesian, a power that was driving him to excel in every way he possibly could.

He struck into a methodical canter as they reached the other side of the school, sweeping past a pair of bay horses and circling past a small gray. He snorted with each stride, working with the bit in a soft outline, hooves thrown out marvelously, looking every ounce as magnificent as he could.

Kalib sat atop him almost motionless, holding the stallion steadily with calm, soft hands. His heels were half an inch away from his flanks, pushing him on only with his seat – there wasn’t a point using his legs or his hands to tell him what to do – Blackie was a master.

They worked for a solid two hours before stopping for a rest. A rest that consisted of leading Blackie out to the grass, removing all his tack and letting him lie down on the cool, damp grass for half an hour to sleep.

Kalib’s heart thundered as he swung himself into Blackie’s saddle and walked towards the entrance of the Dressage arena. The crowd was hushed and all eyes were locked intently on him and Blackie. His throat was dry and a lump was formed where breath was supposed to flow. He felt clammy, weighted and as though he was about to be sick. The rubber and sand mixed arena seemed to create a mirage of space; the school seemed ten-times longer. He gulped. Nerves eating away inside him as he waited for his cue to motion to Blackie to start.

The music started. Blackie surged forward. Almost unconsciously, Kalib had saluted and pushed the great stallion into a trot, flying down the central line and off to the side in a collected trot that flowed effortlessly into a working canter. They floated forward, not a single slip in his stride as Blackie took a slow curve to the inside and onto a large circle, switching to an extended trot as they met the longside again.

The stallion and man were linked by an invisible bond in those few minutes. The music, so meaningful, so deep, so powerful, drove them forward. Blackie’s strides matched the beat perfectly, with every word his hooves struck the surface of the arena, only to be pulled up again as they moved forward effortlessly.

Art & Beaumont Stables ©: =Baringa-of-the-Wind
Ref: [link]

I do not appreciate critique unless I request it!
Please keep your own opinions to yourself unless I ask for it - I will not be happy to hear you bashing my work.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's forbidden to copy, transmit, distribute, display, reproduce, sell, heavily reference, claim, trace, reuse, license or anything else, without my written permission, capiche? All rights are reserved!

Description
Horse: Beaumont’s Blackbird Fantasy
Event: *BangGoesReality 's Gaelic Challenge
Discipline: Dressage
Class: Grand Prix Dressage
Handler/Rider: Kalib Beaumont
Song: Five Finger Death Punch - Far From Home [YouTube]

There was a great rush of cold, dense air as Blackie stepped from the trailer and onto Irish soil for the first time. He lifted his head wearily to smell the scent of the new land before closing his eyes and letting out a great, tired sigh.

He had been sleeping too many hours to count on the plane, his head held stiffly in position in his small, fitted stall and the changes in pressure just large enough to irritate him whilst so heavily drugged.

“Good afternoon, boy,” Kalib said fondly, brushing Blackie’s forelock from his eyes and stroking down his forehead. “Hope that wasn’t too bad,”

“…understatement,” he grunted to himself, nudging Kalib’s chest and then the side of his jeans, looking for a treat.

“Sorry, Blackie, I’ve gotta buy you an apple – can’t bring them over here apparently.”

The stallion lifted his head again, feeling the weight of the sedative in his veins and let out a big, long sigh.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He said, motioning forward as he led Blackie towards the stable block at Ravendale.

The stables were unfamiliar; there was a deep, earthy smell about the place, though that was probably caused by the rain that had fallen the night before. It was slightly metallic, with a heavy feeling about, like the humid air that hung low on rainy summer days. It wasn’t bad, but Blackie’s body felt drained, weighty and stiff as he was led from his stall for the first day of training.

“Good mornin’,” Kalib greeted him, looking none-the-worst-for-wear considering the horrific time difference that was eating away at Blackie. “Oh, suck it up,” He chuckled, walking towards the door of the barn with the stallion wearing nothing but a rope halter.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, noticing Blackie’s ears spinning as they walked out towards the Dressage arena. “No proper training today; we all need a break.” Kalib ruffled the stallion’s mane a little, throwing it out of his eyes and patting his shoulder, running his hands along the curves and lines of his body. “You’re looking great boy, we both know our stuff, there’s no need for any real work.”

This was odd. Blackie was used to being in intensive training almost all the time, with a week or so off now and again to give him and Kalib a rest. It was competition season and they’d been jetting all over the world as well as doing several small competitions around Colorado, but they still required a flight in that helicopter – he often preferred being knocked out and flying across the Atlantic than spending an hour in that death machine.

The morning consisted of an hour long walk around the grounds, a walk which involved being kicked off the grounds several times for ‘attempting to cheat’, by looking at the cross-country course – when in fact he really didn’t care, nor would ever give Theyn a better chance in her competition, she could cheat herself if she was bothered.

They resorted to circling the arenas several times, to the displeasure of many riders who considered the presence of the ‘brooding’ black stallion to be off-putting when they were practicing. Kalib didn’t care. The walk had done what Kalib had hoped, and warmed Blackie up enough that he was stepping high and had an energetic pull with each stride as though he wanted so desperately to trot or gallop instead of staying at such a steady pace. As they finished their walk back at the stables, Kalib could do naught but oblige. He jumped from a standstill, swung his legs over Blackie’s big, broad back, produced a small carabiner clip, attached it to the end of the lead rein and in one swift movement had it attached the other side of his halter and kicked off towards the gate that opened up to great stretches of open land.

They soared forward for a few strides before pulling up on instinct as several people started yelling from behind about Kalib ‘not wearing a hat’… as if that bothered him – he’d jumped Sky 5ft before without a helmet, fell off, nearly got a concussion but was up and walking in the next 6 seconds… a.k.a. he didn’t give a shit.

Blackie kept up a brisk walk as Kalib turned and yelled back about said ‘not caring’ and then pushed him on again. The stallion obliged, jumping forward and took off at a canter, which quickly turned into a gallop, which became some kind of mad sprint too fast and messy to be considered a gallop rather than ‘a black horse kinda running really fast and looking like he’s gonna stumble over and make a crater in the ground’.

They began what would become a circuit around RDS, slowing as they switched from field to track and through small gaps in trees and fences, jumping a couple of creeks that were supposed to mark the end of the field (much to Blackie’s displeasure) and around towards where the main horses fields were. There were several large fields, a few smaller ones, and one that seemed packed with horses. Kalib supposed it was all the RDS horses being kept in the same pasture to make room for the other horses, and as they ran closer, they were met by a chorus of neighs from the herd.

Blackie tossed up his head and let out a whinny of greeting as they passed so close to the fence Kalib’s boots brushed the wood. He held on calmly, however, and then leaned to his left and Blackie’s course curved to the side and back towards where the outside school was.

It was the next day that Kalib finally had Blackie back into his normal demeanor. Nevertheless, the stallion was far more energetic and eager with what he was doing and as they half-passed across the school there was a jump in his stride that Kalib had never experienced with him before. It was as though there was a newfound power within the great, black Friesian, a power that was driving him to excel in every way he possibly could.

He struck into a methodical canter as they reached the other side of the school, sweeping past a pair of bay horses and circling past a small gray. He snorted with each stride, working with the bit in a soft outline, hooves thrown out marvelously, looking every ounce as magnificent as he could.

Kalib sat atop him almost motionless, holding the stallion steadily with calm, soft hands. His heels were half an inch away from his flanks, pushing him on only with his seat – there wasn’t a point using his legs or his hands to tell him what to do – Blackie was a master.

They worked for a solid two hours before stopping for a rest. A rest that consisted of leading Blackie out to the grass, removing all his tack and letting him lie down on the cool, damp grass for half an hour to sleep.

Kalib’s heart thundered as he swung himself into Blackie’s saddle and walked towards the entrance of the Dressage arena. The crowd was hushed and all eyes were locked intently on him and Blackie. His throat was dry and a lump was formed where breath was supposed to flow. He felt clammy, weighted and as though he was about to be sick. The rubber and sand mixed arena seemed to create a mirage of space; the school seemed ten-times longer. He gulped. Nerves eating away inside him as he waited for his cue to motion to Blackie to start.

The music started. Blackie surged forward. Almost unconsciously, Kalib had saluted and pushed the great stallion into a trot, flying down the central line and off to the side in a collected trot that flowed effortlessly into a working canter. They floated forward, not a single slip in his stride as Blackie took a slow curve to the inside and onto a large circle, switching to an extended trot as they met the longside again.

The stallion and man were linked by an invisible bond in those few minutes. The music, so meaningful, so deep, so powerful, drove them forward. Blackie’s strides matched the beat perfectly, with every word his hooves struck the surface of the arena, only to be pulled up again as they moved forward effortlessly.

Art & Beaumont Stables ©: =Baringa-of-the-Wind
Ref: [link]

I do not appreciate critique unless I request it!
Please keep your own opinions to yourself unless I ask for it - I will not be happy to hear you bashing my work.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's forbidden to copy, transmit, distribute, display, reproduce, sell, heavily reference, claim, trace, reuse, license or anything else, without my written permission, capiche? All rights are reserved!