All the years of work and sacrifice.
I glanced out at the stands, surprised by how many people had stayed to see this final event in the pouring rain.
My father and my brother were out there.
Coach Sharky.
And Axel. He’d been what I’d missed the last two years while I was out here competing and training.
It meant everything that he was here for this particular competition.
It felt like a sign in a way.
The rain was falling hard, and the blur of people in the stands stood in the distance like a painting.
And then I saluted the judges.
Everyone faded away. The blur of colors. The noise. The spectators.
The sound of the rain falling against the ground became a rhythmic melody that had me moving toward the first jump of thirteen. Wrax stayed to the right, almost solely on instinct and with very little guidance from me.
As we took the second jump, I was fourteen years old again.
Just a girl and her horse.
We moved skillfully through the slushy terrain, the mud impossible to avoid, as we took the third, fourth, and fifth jumps effortlessly.
Me and my boy.
I knew he was focused and leaned forward as we continued moving, the rain falling over us as he sailed over the ninth jump.
Four to go.
I knew we were okay on time, since we hadn’t had any issues with forward motion.
Ten.
Eleven.
We’ve got this, Wrax.
We made a sharp turn, and I was grateful for all the lateral hill work we’d done over the last few months, because Wrax’s legs were unstoppable.
Unwavering.
Twelve.
The rain made it difficult to see, only the outline of the final jump in the distance. All our training outside the arena had brought us right here.
We could handle unsteady terrain.
Unpredictable weather.
Obstacles and challenges.
We’d prepared for all of it.
It was almost as if we were moving in slow motion as he took flight over the final jump. I leaned forward, feeling the pull of my lips tug up on the sides.
