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Description
Event: ROSES n RIBBONS HALTER SHOWCASE | OPEN

Horse: S188 - Sortilege
Horse Age: 8
Handler: Caleb Langham
Handler Age: 33

+ 8 BP (Donstrupper )

+ 1BP - Full Body
+ 1BP - Detailed Shading
+ 1BP - Handler
+ 2BP - Detailed Background
+ 1BP - Effort Show Entry
+ 2BP - 1028 Words Literature

+ 2 CP (WBA )

+ 1CP - Show Entry
+ 0.5CP - Drawn Background
+ 0.5CP - 1028 Words Literature

-------------------------------------

The Carrai Centre was an impressive venue, Cal had decided when he’d arrived. The horse truck had kicked up a small cloud of dust as they’d rumbled through to the car park. This seemed to be an equestrian’s paradise; red dirt paths crisscrossed the property between the stone walkways, a pleasing contrast to the thick green grass that spanned as far as the eye could see. Massive arenas, both indoor and outdoor, surrounded the barns. Inside the barns themselves, natural light streamed in from skylights and open stall windows, which also allowed a slight breeze to whisper through the aisle, and the chuckling cry of birds carried from the towering trees just outside, lending the otherwise quiet stalls some gentle background noise.

In the cross-ties next to the guest stall he’d been assigned, Cal glanced up from where he was sewing the last of Sortilège’s plaits tightly against the crest of his muscular neck. The clock on the cross-beam at the end of the barn aisle read twelve-thirty; the heat of the day was nearing its peak, and Cal was glad of the lightweight, short-sleeved show shirt he wore. He wouldn’t put on his jacket until just before the class started. With some amusement, he realised that he was getting far more use out of his pink show jacket than he’d ever imagined. This was the third event they’d been to that had a Valentine's theme this year. Cal had been sure the jacket would be a one-and-done waste of money, but it seemed that wouldn’t be the case. He gave his horse a once-over – his hooves were clean and oiled, braids meticulously sewn with pink thread and adorned with pink ribbons. There was no gunk in his eyes or nostrils and his halter– ah! Cal reached into the tack trunk next to him and replaced the plain black leather halter with another. This one had a braided pink noseband, decorated with a rose motif. Dropping a final pat on Sortilège’s shiny neck, Cal reached for his pink linen jacket and shrugged it on. They were ready for the halter class.

Walking down the immaculate barn aisle towards the outdoor arena where they’d be showing, Cal wasn’t sure what he was more excited for – the class itself, or the trail ride he’d planned with another rider later. When they’d arrived the day before, he’d run into an old friend from the New England show circuit. They’d both been surprised to see each other on the other side of the world – especially since neither of their barns or horses were based in Australia. The Carrai Centre seemed like the most random possible meeting location. Nevertheless, they were thrilled, and aimed to meet for a ride around the grounds once the severe light of the sun had begun to sink behind the trees. Now, however, the sting of the sun’s rays seemed to seep through the light linen of Cal’s jacket, and he was already feeling trickles of sweat begin to run down his back. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably. Yes, he thought to himself, definitely more excited for that evening ride.
The class before them had just ended, and a long line of chestnut-based mares and geldings exited the outdoor arena. Their coats glistened in the sun, rippling with muscle. Some handlers had elected to braid, like him, while others had left their horses’ manes long and shiny. Most handlers wore a combination of show jacket and breeches or western show shirts with jeans. He nodded to the nearest as he passed with his horse, then moved forward with Sortilège towards the open gate as a steward called their class.

Other pairs had begun to emerge from behind the indoor arena and from other areas of the barn. The horses were a range of breeds, from stocky quarter horse types to other warmbloods like Sortilège. Their handlers were equally varied – he spotted a heavyset man with an equally squat horse, and a teenager with a lively-looking black pony. Not for the first time, he wondered if the adage about owners looking like their dogs applied to horses. Glancing sidelong at the elegant black Donstrupper walking next to him, Cal hoped it was true.

They lined up on the centre line, and the judges began making their way down the queue. Each pair took their turn being inspected for dirt and grime by one judge while the other jotted notes on a clipboard. With that finished, the horses and handlers would make a half-lap of the arena at a walk, and another half-lap at a trot before returning to their positions. It was a relatively long time before the judges made it down to Cal and Sortilège. The judges smiled at him and ran hands over the stallion’s coat and fingers through his tail, checking for knots and tangles. One of the judges nodded in approval at the braids in Sortilège’s mane, noting they’d been sewn the traditional way rather than tied with rubber bands. They motioned for him to begin his lap.

Sortilège moved forward willingly, glad to be doing something other than standing still. Cal had found it remarkable that the stallion had been willing to stand that long at all; he was more inclined to shift with impatience or call to other horses. Maybe it had something to do with the heat- even the brief quarter-hour they’d been outside in the direct sun seemed to have sapped some of Cal’s energy. Sortilège moved fluidly next to him, tracking up nicely with big, even strides. At the halfway marker, Cal picked up the pace, and Sortilège followed without much prompting. His trot, if anything, was even nicer than his walk. Sortilège’s feet flicked out in an energetic trot, his neck arched elegantly and tail raised slightly. Cal ran along easily beside him, and the half lap was over before they knew it.

They returned to their place in line, and the judges moved on to the next pair. They’d find out shortly how they’d done. Cal, now thoroughly sweaty, resolved to find a shower as soon as possible after the class was over.

Description
Event: ROSES n RIBBONS HALTER SHOWCASE | OPEN

Horse: S188 - Sortilege
Horse Age: 8
Handler: Caleb Langham
Handler Age: 33

+ 8 BP (Donstrupper )

+ 1BP - Full Body
+ 1BP - Detailed Shading
+ 1BP - Handler
+ 2BP - Detailed Background
+ 1BP - Effort Show Entry
+ 2BP - 1028 Words Literature

+ 2 CP (WBA )

+ 1CP - Show Entry
+ 0.5CP - Drawn Background
+ 0.5CP - 1028 Words Literature

-------------------------------------

The Carrai Centre was an impressive venue, Cal had decided when he’d arrived. The horse truck had kicked up a small cloud of dust as they’d rumbled through to the car park. This seemed to be an equestrian’s paradise; red dirt paths crisscrossed the property between the stone walkways, a pleasing contrast to the thick green grass that spanned as far as the eye could see. Massive arenas, both indoor and outdoor, surrounded the barns. Inside the barns themselves, natural light streamed in from skylights and open stall windows, which also allowed a slight breeze to whisper through the aisle, and the chuckling cry of birds carried from the towering trees just outside, lending the otherwise quiet stalls some gentle background noise.

In the cross-ties next to the guest stall he’d been assigned, Cal glanced up from where he was sewing the last of Sortilège’s plaits tightly against the crest of his muscular neck. The clock on the cross-beam at the end of the barn aisle read twelve-thirty; the heat of the day was nearing its peak, and Cal was glad of the lightweight, short-sleeved show shirt he wore. He wouldn’t put on his jacket until just before the class started. With some amusement, he realised that he was getting far more use out of his pink show jacket than he’d ever imagined. This was the third event they’d been to that had a Valentine's theme this year. Cal had been sure the jacket would be a one-and-done waste of money, but it seemed that wouldn’t be the case. He gave his horse a once-over – his hooves were clean and oiled, braids meticulously sewn with pink thread and adorned with pink ribbons. There was no gunk in his eyes or nostrils and his halter– ah! Cal reached into the tack trunk next to him and replaced the plain black leather halter with another. This one had a braided pink noseband, decorated with a rose motif. Dropping a final pat on Sortilège’s shiny neck, Cal reached for his pink linen jacket and shrugged it on. They were ready for the halter class.

Walking down the immaculate barn aisle towards the outdoor arena where they’d be showing, Cal wasn’t sure what he was more excited for – the class itself, or the trail ride he’d planned with another rider later. When they’d arrived the day before, he’d run into an old friend from the New England show circuit. They’d both been surprised to see each other on the other side of the world – especially since neither of their barns or horses were based in Australia. The Carrai Centre seemed like the most random possible meeting location. Nevertheless, they were thrilled, and aimed to meet for a ride around the grounds once the severe light of the sun had begun to sink behind the trees. Now, however, the sting of the sun’s rays seemed to seep through the light linen of Cal’s jacket, and he was already feeling trickles of sweat begin to run down his back. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably. Yes, he thought to himself, definitely more excited for that evening ride.
The class before them had just ended, and a long line of chestnut-based mares and geldings exited the outdoor arena. Their coats glistened in the sun, rippling with muscle. Some handlers had elected to braid, like him, while others had left their horses’ manes long and shiny. Most handlers wore a combination of show jacket and breeches or western show shirts with jeans. He nodded to the nearest as he passed with his horse, then moved forward with Sortilège towards the open gate as a steward called their class.

Other pairs had begun to emerge from behind the indoor arena and from other areas of the barn. The horses were a range of breeds, from stocky quarter horse types to other warmbloods like Sortilège. Their handlers were equally varied – he spotted a heavyset man with an equally squat horse, and a teenager with a lively-looking black pony. Not for the first time, he wondered if the adage about owners looking like their dogs applied to horses. Glancing sidelong at the elegant black Donstrupper walking next to him, Cal hoped it was true.

They lined up on the centre line, and the judges began making their way down the queue. Each pair took their turn being inspected for dirt and grime by one judge while the other jotted notes on a clipboard. With that finished, the horses and handlers would make a half-lap of the arena at a walk, and another half-lap at a trot before returning to their positions. It was a relatively long time before the judges made it down to Cal and Sortilège. The judges smiled at him and ran hands over the stallion’s coat and fingers through his tail, checking for knots and tangles. One of the judges nodded in approval at the braids in Sortilège’s mane, noting they’d been sewn the traditional way rather than tied with rubber bands. They motioned for him to begin his lap.

Sortilège moved forward willingly, glad to be doing something other than standing still. Cal had found it remarkable that the stallion had been willing to stand that long at all; he was more inclined to shift with impatience or call to other horses. Maybe it had something to do with the heat- even the brief quarter-hour they’d been outside in the direct sun seemed to have sapped some of Cal’s energy. Sortilège moved fluidly next to him, tracking up nicely with big, even strides. At the halfway marker, Cal picked up the pace, and Sortilège followed without much prompting. His trot, if anything, was even nicer than his walk. Sortilège’s feet flicked out in an energetic trot, his neck arched elegantly and tail raised slightly. Cal ran along easily beside him, and the half lap was over before they knew it.

They returned to their place in line, and the judges moved on to the next pair. They’d find out shortly how they’d done. Cal, now thoroughly sweaty, resolved to find a shower as soon as possible after the class was over.