Burning Desire

Chapter Eighteen

After several minutes of schooling Brenna on both reins at a light trot to get her warmed up, I pressed her into a canter and aimed her at a small brush fence before she had the chance to gather her thoughts and get over-excited. But the mare was intelligent – quick in both her mind and on her feet – so she popped over it effortlessly with a small, delighted snort. This enthusiasm quickly fused into attitude and she tugged at the reins, attempting to drag me towards the bigger arrowhead that followed. With a firm kick of my right leg and a small tug of the left rein, I directed the mare in the opposite direction, asking her to negotiate a decent-sized trakehner instead. Brenna flew over it, perhaps putting a bit too much height between her and the fence, but she still landed balanced and was quick to respond to my aids when I immediately aimed her at a coloured fence that was positioned at an angle.

After cruising effortlessly over some small fences, Brenna's excitement got the better of her. She tossed her head, tugging at the reins, and threw her weight against my hands as she charged towards a roll-top. Though she popped over it smoothly, if she fought the contact the whole way round Kentucky's cross country course it would slow us down and waste precious seconds.

I knew that I would have to be firm with the mare if I stood any chance of her listening to me, even if it heightened the risk that she would work herself into a frenzy at the added pressure on her mouth. Despite the progress we'd made over the past few months, the mare was still highly-strung and sensitive, although it had been a long time since she'd gone absolutely mental. Sassy tail flicks, devious snorts and ears flattened against her head were the extent of her ill-natured attitude these days, though she was still easily provoked and I treated her sympathetically to avoid chaos.

With this training session I also knew that I'd have to be one step ahead of the game; twisting her in directions she didn't expect and asking her to negotiate challenging combinations so that she could think about them for herself and to prevent her from getting bored, in which case she would inevitably take advantage of me.

But already the mare was proving to be sharp and light on her feet, and her jumping form and gallop were undoubtedly excellent. Her stamina would have to be improved, but that was to be expected. She had all the physical assets required of a great eventing horse, it was just her mental attributes that needed working on.

It was clear that she'd been well-schooled in the past – not surprising considering she'd already made a four-star debut a few years ago. When I slowed her to a controlled canter as we approached a coffin combination, she eased through it even though my aids were very vague. When I accidentally rode her too close towards a brush fence, causing us to land unbalanced, she gathered herself quickly before cantering boldly towards the skinny that followed, exhibiting an honest and genuine side she'd never revealed before. Maybe, deep down, she did actually want to look after her rider. Or maybe she just loved her job.

I slipped the reins through my hands slightly and Brenna leapt at the opportunity to open her stride and break into a ground-covering, effortlessly smooth gallop. She was light on her feet and so speedy that I questioned if she actually had Thoroughbred bloodlines, not Warmblood descent. The mare was snorting with excitement, ears pricked forward, as we cruised around and I couldn't help but smile as we charged recklessly around the perimeter of the course. I didn't bother slowing her as a small filler loomed ahead, wanting to see if she was capable of jumping from an open stride. She flew over it, and my heart soared slightly in my chest too.

Slowing her back down to a steady canter proved to be somewhat a battle, but the mare shied away from the firm pressure I put on her mouth and slowed reluctantly. Still leaning forward in the saddle and pushing my weight down through my heels, I pointed her at a tall roll-top which she jumped over with less fervour now that she was tiring. Her jumping form didn't suffer; the exertion made her less zealous, but not incapable. Sweat caked her auburn neck, staining it a darker copper shade, despite the coolness of the early winter morning.