‘Honestly?’I pause.‘I rode a horse in the outback a while ago.It was only once, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how it felt.’
Ava squints up at me, checking the sincerity behind my eyes.
‘Hmm,’ she says, tightening the chin strap.‘That feeling’s a sticky one.’
‘Sticky?’
‘Sticks with you,’ she explains.‘But riding here is not like the country.’
I nod again.‘I figured.’
‘Out there, you ride the land,’ she says.‘Here, you learn the horse.
Learn how to listen.How to earn trust.They’ll give you everythingif you treat ’em right – but only if.’She taps her ear and winks.She then takes me over to a sleek black mare with soft eyes and a proud gait.‘This here is Stella,’ she says.‘She’s kind.Honest.But she doesn’t suffer fools.’
I step forward, gently, trying to remember how I said hello to Banjo.I stroke the mare’s neck and whisper, ‘Hey, Stella.’
She blinks at me.We’re off to a good start.
Ava adjusts the saddle, gives it a quick tug, then steps back with a nod.I don’t move right away.Instead, I stand there – one hand resting on the worn leather – and my mind slips, uninvited, to the last time I did this.
Luke’s hands wrapping around my waist and hoisting me up onto Banjo.No hesitation.No teasing.Just quiet strength and the kind of focus that made my breath catch for reasons I didn’t want to name at the time.
He didn’t ask if I needed help.He gave it.
I swallow hard.
This time, I do it on my own.I place my boot in the stirrup, grip the pommel the way Ava showed me, and swing my leg over with a grunt that’s more effort than elegance.The saddle creaks under me, but I’m up.
Just me and the hollow thud of everything I’ve chosen to do alone.
Ava mounts her own horse – a brown mare named Ruby – and leads us out of the stables and onto a trail through Centennial Park.It’s not the outback.The air’s smothered with city noise.Planes buzz overhead.Joggers pass us wearing Bluetooth earbuds with labradoodles in tow.But none of that matters once we start moving.
Ava talks softly as we go, walking me through how to nudge Stella to change pace – which, it turns out, requires actual finesse when there’s no broody six-foot-tall man behind you slapping your horse’s arse.She shows me how to keep my shoulders loose, how to shift my weight so I’m not fighting the rhythm but moving with itand the two of us are learning the same language one quiet step at a time.
It’s slower than last time.Calmer.No galloping, no wind-in-myhair moment of cinematic magic.But it’s something.
It’s the realisation that this horse – this beautiful, breathing creature – is actually listening to me.Responding.Reading me.And I’m reading her.
It’s not the country.But it’s stillsomething.
By the time we get back to the stables, I feel as though I’ve been wrung out in the best possible way.Ava shows me how to unbuckle the saddle and slide it off gently, how to brush Stella’s coat and check her hooves.
‘She’ll warm to you a lot more if you do it right,’ she says, handing me an apple.
I take it and hold it out flat on my palm, offering it to the black mare.Stella’s lips brush my hand as she takes the apple.Her breath is warm.Her eyes meet mine for a second, and I swear I feel understood.
‘I know,’ I whisper.‘I’m figuring it out too.’
Ava reappears as I’m rubbing down Stella’s side, helmet under my arm.
She leans against the stable door.‘So?’
I look at her.Then at Stella.Then back again.
‘It’s still … beautiful,’ I admit, walking out of the stall and closing the door behind me.‘Being around them.I feel grounded.’
Ava smiles.‘They have a way of holding up a mirror.You can’t lie to a horse.’
