﹝ ─── the hard way ✦ ﹞ one x one

[bronc]

𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏

Cody couldn't hide the wrinkle in his nose when the other trainer mentioned cross country. Why anyone would want to take solid fences at a gallop was beyond the man. Show jumping, he thought, was pretty damn pointless, but cross country was downright stupid. Cody had been told too many horror stories, horses breaking their backs, their necks, from falls, to consider stepping foot on a course. Too many hot-shot trainers, strung out on adrenaline, the chase of a trophy, not taking the time to consider the danger they were putting their horse in, competition after competition. It was the cockiness Cody couldn't handle over everything else, the air of superiority wafting from these people. Cody was a damn good trainer, something he knew, but you'd never hear it from the man, instead he let his success speak for itself. These English trainers always felt that all within a ten-mile radius had to know they were God's gift to the equine world.

Cody didn't bother with an answer to the man, letting his silence show his disinterest, instead whistling a tune to while he fiddled with a split rein, this one "Southeastern Son" by Turnpike Troubadours. It was a habit he'd picked up who knows how long ago, whistling while he worked with a horse, or when bored, to pass the time. He knew some trainers who sang under their breath when working to calm a spooky horse, but truth be told Cody couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. The whistling worked fine for him, though, worked to calm a young horse or quiet any show nervousness he still felt from time to time, because of the pressure he put on himself to be the best, worked to clear his mind, drown out of all the noise, kept him focused on the task at hand.

𝙄𝙎 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿𝘽𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙃𝘼𝙐𝙉𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙎?

Colby. Cody hid the scoff at the man's calling of the wrong name over his shoulder as he turned to leave, preferring to not give the other trainer the time of day. In his mind, butchering someone's name, the one thing they had that belonged to only them, was the most blatant sign of disrespect one could give. They'd call that fighting words back home. Still, he wasn't about to let the other man know he was getting under his skin. Cody was usually calm and collected anyway, considered himself to have pretty thick skin and not let others get to him, you had to in this industry to survive, so why let this one snob get to him?

"Won't be long before this one is in the show pen," Cody noted, taking a moment to glance in the man's direction but not quite making eye contact. "I think you ought to be there for his debut, see what real training looks like." he said, not bothering to see the trainer's reaction or caring if he heard him at all. With that, he could make out the clopping of hooves on concrete, followed by the thumps of work boots, could make out the silhouette of Trail and the smoky black. The other man wasted no time, tossing a split rein over the stocky cow horse's neck then deftly climbing into the saddle, tossing a nod in Cody's direction. Finally, no more standing around, time to do some work.

𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂 '𝘾𝘼𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙍𝙐𝙉𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂
𝙒𝘼𝙄𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒 '𝙏𝙄𝙇 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂

[Consulting_Angel]

Rafael Karim
"Nothing less than perfection"

Oh boy, here we go, Rafael thought, noting the wrinkle of Cody's nose, expecting some comment or another about cross country, galloping down long stretches and tackling a variety of jumps and obstacles. Sure, it could be dangerous, he'd allow that, but it was fun and a true test of the bond of trust and partnership between a horse and rider. He was so ready to snap back with his own argument, but when the disparaging comments didn't come, Rafael had no reason to defend himself and his riding style. It was honestly a little disappointing - he would have loved to have a reason to start an argument and seem more reasonable.

Start an argument? He thought, caught a little off guard by this thought, to the point of stopping to recollect his thoughts. He was fiercely passionate about his work and training, yes, but very rarely to the point that he'd wish for an argument to start so he could join in. Rafael had to refocus his priorities,.reminding himself that he was training to compete against other English-style riders and trainers, not against Western-style. Not against Cody, of all people (although he very much wanted to prove himself, for whatever reason). And, with Storm, he wanted to prove he could continously prove himself with each horse he worked with, not just one.

He was about to set off again, when Cody had spoken to him. See what real training looks like. Ignore it. Rafael told himself. Don't say any-
"Kicking with spurs and forcing him to buck and rear and charge around? I'll skip it, thanks." Rafael replied, before he could stop himself. Cody hadn't even turned to see his reaction, he could have just left and pretend he hadn't heard it. But it was what he thought - he wasn't going to apologise for it. So, Rafael walked quickly, Storm having to jog to keep up with the speed he left at.

Arriving at the cross country courses, Rafael mounted up from the ground to start with a brief warm up at the first stretch of the courses, a long, straight stretch with various ramped log jumps and a ditch that were a typical beginning set of obstacles to work with.

[bronc]

𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏

"This is where some of the seniors are." The horseback pair had now come to a monitor barn on the impromptu tour of the property. Bringing in the truckload of Brahma cross heifers had taken the two the better part of an hour, and besides Parker throwing a half hearted buck, more of a crow hop, at the sight of cows, something Cody chalked up to the gelding being out of work for so long, not bad behavior, had been without incident. It was always inspiring to Cody, seeing a horse find their stride, do what they were bred to do. Without a doubt, Parker was bred to work cows, possessing the natural cow sense that made the difference between a good cow horse and a great cow horse. It was innate, something a colt was born with, wasn't something you could train. It was what made cutting such a thrill to watch, when the horse was in perfect sync with a cow, anticipating their next move, performing with precision, poise. It was something you could feel, their muscles tensing, their ears pricked, maybe a slight pause, like a pointing dog on a bird. Cody knew Parker couldn't be blamed for the buck. Because of their good breeding, Cody hadn't come across many cow horses that were outlaws. Catty, quick, too smart for their own good, well yeah, but plain born to buck, bad luck? That didn't happen often. It was like a passionate musician finally sanctioned to play following a long absence of music. Cody had felt the same way, coming back (oftentimes before he was cleared by a doctor) into work after being sidelined by an injury. The most recent case had left Cody stuck on the couch for months with bruised ribs, not to mention the torn MCL he'd sustained during a particularly nasty spill off a client horse. Being stuck in the house, not able to work left him uneasy, fidgety, stressed. His stubborn disposition didn't help. It went without saying that it was a relief to all, not just Cody, when he was finally cleared to work, since the boss at the time had the audacity to make him wait until he'd gotten the all clear from a medical professional. Knowing how he'd felt when he'd found his way back in the saddle, stiff, sore, and out of practice but still chomping at the bit, he couldn't find it in himself to blame Parker for the short outburst.

The wooden barn was on the older side of dilapidated, one of the sliding doors sagging, in desperate need of a coat of paint, but when the pair walked through, Cody could see the beams were strong, the build was solid. The barn was original, dating back to the first decades of the twentieth century. The brand, ─W, was painted on the front. Dirt crunched under the two sets of hooves. A selection of bridles and halters hung on hooks nailed to one wall, dusty, stiff from not being used, the brown leather in need of oiling. Out the other side, contrasting the old barn, stood new welded pipe fence, sectioning off four pens on each side. Each paddock consisted of a hay feeder with a one-hundred-gallon stock tank, though the pens stood empty, the troughs on their side. The aisle concluded with a 12 foot gate, beyond which a pasture unfurled on both sides. Half of it was wooded, white oaks and dogwoods offering shelter to the dozen horses turned out. Cody, Parker pausing by the gate, could make out the outlines dotting the pasture in front of him. Nearby, a chestnut mare looked up from the grass she was nibbling, making eye contact with the two horses standing by the gate, before deciding they weren't a threat, lowering her head again, undisturbed.

"That one there's an Autumn Boon daughter, by Smooth As A Cat," Trail spoke for the first time since they'd walked up, breaking the silence. "I showed her. Tyler's son showed the one down there." Trail pointed to a sun bleached black mare with a bald face marking. By the whiskers on the chestnut's nose, the patches of gray hair splotching her face, that wasn't in the not-so-distant past. "Been here 12 years next month. Seen this place through the good and bad," the slightly older man said, seeming to know what Cody was thinking. Cody stayed quiet, letting the statement sink in. What would that be like, tied down in one place for so long, the thought of moving not once crossing your mind. It wasn't a way Cody could see himself being. A change of scenery was as normal to Cody as breathing, as normal as staying put was to Trail, he surmised. Cody could bet Trail had seen as many new faces come and go as Cody had in all his travels.

𝙄𝙎 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿𝘽𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙃𝘼𝙐𝙉𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙎?

"I'd say that about wraps it up," Trail offered, turning back. Cody waited a few paces, then did the same, walking Parker back through the old barn on a loose rein. The barn and the horses complimented each other. Both showed their age, but both wore it well. The walk back to the main barn center was quiet, peaceful, small talk between the two men periodically breaking the silence. Twenty minutes later, they were back where they started, in the open lot behind the barn. The pair paused by a concrete trough, so their horses could drink. Cody watched with a half-smile while Parker nosed through the water, splashing, while the stud, the complete opposite, drank delicately, as if not to disturb the surface of the water.

"Where you from?" Cody asked, one of the icebreaker type questions the two had traded on their way back.

"I was born in North Carolina. I spent some time out in Wyoming after college. Couldn't stand the weather out west," Trail said with a chuckle, which Cody mirrored. "You?".

Cody inhaled a breath, then said, "I came from Winthrop, Washington. But originally, Oklahoma. Blanchard." Cody said the last part like it was somewhere Trail would know, like it was New York City.

"Can't say I've heard of it," Trail said, with a hint of curiosity.

Cody shrugged. "Half the folks there commute to Oklahoma City. The other half have never left." The rest, like me, have never been back, he thought.

A smile played on Trail's lips. "Small town?" he questioned. By now, the horses were through drinking. The two walked back to the barn, pausing to stand to the side, so the aisleway was open, clear for anyone to go through.

"Something like eight thousand people. Old main street, one traffic light, one church," Cody said.

"It makes sense. Small town boy tries to make it in the big world. Bet you're a hometown hero. They got your name on a billboard by the highway?" Trail teased with a chuckle. Cody cracked a crooked smile.

"Something like that." In truth, he hadn't been back in a decade. When he left, the outskirts of the city were beginning to dig their claws into the town. Suburbs were being built left and right. There was a car dealership where Cody and his brothers used to bale their hay. The back pasture was a parking lot for a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Cody couldn't imagine what it was like now. Though, Cody figured that way, he would never have to know. With a sigh, Trail slid his foot out of the stirrup, dismounting. Cody did the same, pausing to stretch after his scuffed boots hit the crushed stone underfoot. The day had been long, the mess of the days before not helping, but Cody couldn't say it had been a bad one. The tour had been thorough, he quite liked one of the horses he'd be working with, and the people, for the most part, had been good to him. Trail's friendliness and laid-back manner made up for the distaste the other trainer he'd had the most interactions with that day, the English one, seemed to harbor for him. Part of him wondered if the other man were finishing up on the cross country course now, too. Cody didn't spend much time on it, the two were bound to cross paths many more times before his time was done here. Cody knew there was nothing he did personally to the trainer for him to hate him so much, meaning his notions about Cody were preconceived, held little weight to them. Besides, since when did Cody care what others thought about him? Truthfully, since the day he was born, but that wasn't important. If Rafael could stay out of his way, they would have no trouble.

𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂 '𝘾𝘼𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙍𝙐𝙉𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂
𝙒𝘼𝙄𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒 '𝙏𝙄𝙇 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂

[Consulting_Angel]

Rafael Karim
"Nothing less than perfection"

It didn't take long before Rafael and Nightstorm were practically flying over the jumps, cantering down the stretch until the gelding was sufficiently warmed up and ready to work, both in the right mindset for cross country. For the first time in a while, he was smiling, a bright grin that came with the adrenaline rush and joy he felt while on the back of a horse. Especially one as experienced as Nightstorm. After managing to gradually slow down to a walk - Rafael didn't want to have Nightstorm come to a halt right after - he directed the gelding off towards a new section of the course.

The brand new section, which was one of three that branched off from the first stretch, had a natural, though somewhat sharp, downward slope that Rafael clocked immediately as something that could throw off some horses. He wasn't hugely concerned about it with Nightstorm, though, as the gelding walked down the slope it without a fuss - although he expected that it might be a little different while taking it at a canter or gallop. Still, it wasn't major enough for him to focus any specific time to it just yet. Instead, his focus would be towards the next obstacle - a keyhole jump. It was a solid, large octagonal ring, with evergreen brush inside the ring and a round hole cut into the center of the brush. The hole was a little smaller than most keyhole jumps, but the brush meant that if it wasn't entirely cleared, at least neither horse nor rider would be smacking into solid wood. Unless they were seriously off-center or took it too high or low. Definitely not something for a green horse.

He started out with walking Nightstorm around the jump a few times, so that the gelding could take a good look at it. The jump was a little too wide and the base a little too high to just step through it and get used to it that way. So, Rafael decided to take it like he would as a regular jump - that's all it was, at it's core, and didn't need overthinking.
Starting at the base of the slope, Rafael brought up Nightstorm to a canter, approaching the jump with confidence, which he trusted would mean the gelding would be confident as well.

Indeed, they made the jump, if a little off-centre so the bush in the jump brushed against their sides. But it was cleared, and Rafael was very happy with what they'd managed to do together. This continued, going back to the base of the slope, approaching the jump and clearing it, adjusting where needed to make sure it was nice and central. Then, he started a little way back from the top of the slope, figuring that it would be worth making sure that they would get used to the transition from the slope to flat ground and to a jump. There was a slight stumble while cantering down the slope, but both recovered within a couple of paces.

It didn't feel like a lot of time had passed, by when Rafael checked, he realised that he'd been working for a little over an hour. So he hadn't managed to get quite as much done as he'd hoped, but at least he'd made a good start on this new section, and Nightstorm, although confident already, seemed to be even more comfortable and confident with it than when they'd started. He was tempted to press on and continue on, but they'd been working quite hard already, and his wrist was starting to ache. Although reluctant, Rafael decided to end it there for the day. Nightstorm huffed, having worked up a good sweat.

So, Rafael set Nightstorm off at a walk, figuring that the walk back to the main yard and barn would work as a good cool-off, dismounting just as they reached the barn with the tacking up bays. However, as they approached, Rafael remembered about Cody. He didn't see the other trainer, and vaguely wondered if the other had finished whatever his training was. Rafael shook his head. He would not let the other trainer dampen his mood, especially while he wasn't around. Instead, he focused on untacking Nightstorm, and then using a towel to dry off some of the sweat from the gelding.

[bronc]

𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏

If the barn had been bustling with horses, trainers, and clients a few hours ago, it was near dead now. Cody surmised that most people were out in the arenas, on the trails- or on the cross-country course. If it were Cody, he would be about close to done with the young horses in his care by this time, preferring to work the three and four-year-olds early, then the older show horses towards dusk. Any client or personal horses would be worked then too, when the work for the day was done. The man was no stranger to early mornings, wasn't scared of 4am starts, instead opting for those first hours when most were still in their beds, when he could work with no distractions. Chores would be done, horses saddled, without crossing paths with another soul. Despite starting at the crack of dawn, Cody was never tired in the morning. Instead, quite the opposite, bright-eyed, taking the time to plan his day, what would need to be done. He didn't like to depend too much on a daily plan, since in this industry any number of things could happen throughout the day to screw your plan up, but he liked order, which a general consensus of what should be done helped keep. When he'd worked in hotter climates, these starts served a whole different purpose; cool mornings allowed him to get the horses worked before it was truly sweltering, because at some of those temperatures, you were doing no good to you or your horse. Now that he was in the north, it wouldn't be such a big deal as before, but he wouldn't be quitting his morning starts. The way his program was structured, the day would start with Cody bringing in the younger horses from the pasture, checking them over quickly for any scratches or signs of soreness that could occur from a night in the pasture, before he started tacking them up while they ate their breakfast. When the young horses were done, unsaddled, more often that not he would let them stand tied, believing that if the situation was safe, the horse had plenty of hay and water, there was nothing wrong with letting a horse sit for hours. It taught them patience. Cody's horses would fall asleep in the cross ties, didn't paw or try to move. When away from home, such as at a show, Cody could trust they would stand tied with no issues whatsoever. When training was through for the day, he'd untie them, bring them back to their stalls, where a fresh bed of shavings and a full hay net was waiting. The older show horses would be out in the pasture, coming back to their stalls when it was their turn to be worked, while the young horses went out in the pasture for the night. Cody knew it was not a common sight, performance horses being turned out in a pasture, but he couldn't imagine his horses being cooped up in their stalls throughout the day, only taken out for training and maybe an hour of turnout by themselves.

𝙄𝙎 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿𝘽𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙃𝘼𝙐𝙉𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙎?

His string of horses in training at this barn was considerably smaller than some bigger places he'd worked for, where the number could be as high as twenty or twenty-five. In places like that, it was common he would have a loper to work with, someone whose job it was to warm up the horses, work as turnback for the cutting horses, traveling to shows. It was how Cody had gotten his start, shadowing one of the top cow horse trainers in the country, most of the time unnoticed but always learning, picking up things here and there. It was why he found himself closer with the lopers than maybe other trainers were, taking them out for a beer when the day was done or something as simple as taking the time to listen to their opinions, since not long ago, it was him in their shoes, never getting the time of day from anybody. Coming here, where the string was smaller, it would be a lot simpler that the daily care of the horses would be left to him, which honestly he liked better, since he would be able to have more one on one time with each horse.

He walked behind Trail and the well-behaved stud to the tacking up bays for the second time, sharing a laugh with the slightly older man like they had been buddies for years. That was something that came naturally to Cody, connecting with new people, able to make them feel comfortable, like they went way back. Once again spotting that same English trainer he had crossed paths with so many times that day, this time, he was untacking the sporty black horse he had been taking out while Cody had tacked up Parker, toweling the sweat off the horse. He brought Parker into the bay next to the trainer, possibly as a comeback to how the other man had chosen the bay furthest away from Cody earlier that day, while Trail brought the stud into the bay directly across from Cody. Slipping the bridle off the roan's head, letting him spit out the bit, Cody put the gelding's halter back on, clipping the cross ties to it before crouching to take off the splint boots, working in silence, Trail doing the same with the stud.

𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂 '𝘾𝘼𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙍𝙐𝙉𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂
𝙒𝘼𝙄𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒 '𝙏𝙄𝙇 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂

[Consulting_Angel]

Rafael Karim
"Nothing less than perfection"

He hummed under his breath, while he dried off Nightstorm. It wasn't always necessary, and he knew that the gelding would dry off on his own, but Rafael figured the sweat might get uncomfortable, and it didn't feel right to just turn him back out covered in sweat. Turning out his horses frequently was perhaps the one thing he did a bit different to the other English trainers - he only really brought his horses back into their stalls in the evening, and then they went back out in the morning after being fed. And then it was an hour or so of yard chores, mucking out and refilling haynets before he started training. It worked well with having two horses, but he knew that some others had more than that, and he noted that they seemed to work much longer.

Rafael ceased humming, even though it was very quiet, when he heard the laughter and saw Cody of all people walking back into the tacking up bays, along with another Western trainer - Trail, perhaps? A little older than he was. So they had finished training after all. And at the same time as well, what an unfortunate coincidence. Rafael was tempted to prematurely take Nightstorm out to his pasture just to avoid them - even more so as Cody had decided to take the bay right next to him. No doubt deliberately, given the other bays were free. He didn't want the Western trainer to 'win', however, so Rafael decided to pretend that he didn't notice Cody or Trail. Getting himself worked up with whatever might be said was not worth it.

After he finished drying Nightstorm, Rafael decided to give the gelding a quick burha down, just to remove any loose hairs, and wick away little more sweat. A standard body brush and rubber curry comb would be all he'd need.
Though he entirely intended to keep ignoring Cody, unfortunately Nightstorm was curious at the presence of another horse in the bay next to him, and so the Anglo-Arabian stretched his head out towards Parker, to get a good look and a sniff. As best as he could from where he was, anyway.
Rafael did attempt to gently pull Nightstorm's head away from the other horse, but to no avail as the gelding did it again immediately after being let go. Fine. Rafael thought, and got on with brushing Nightstorm while continuing to try and ignore the other trainers.

[bronc]

𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏

The workout today wasn't too strenuous, so when Cody undid the cinch, sliding the leather Piland cutting saddle and saddle blanket off Parker's back, there was only a thin layer of sweat on both sides of his spine. Cody slid the bridle on his shoulder, balancing the saddle and blanket on his knee while he did so, then went into the tack room, placing the saddle back on its post, number 7. The contents of the tack room were as much a contrast as the trainers and horses, English taking up one side, western on the other, considerably smaller but still there. Cody thought the western saddles on the wall looked way better than the collection of English saddles on the opposite wall, sturdy, tough, well used but well taken care of. Cody, personally, found the sleek look of English saddles ugly. There was no character to them, they didn't hold stories like the western ones did, in his opinion. Turning back the way he had come, pausing to take the tools he would need on Parker, nothing too crazy, curry comb, body brush, hoof pick.

𝙄𝙎 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿𝘽𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙃𝘼𝙐𝙉𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙎?

Ducking out of the tack room, he walked back to the bay, setting the brushes on the bar. Taking a moment to scratch Parker between the ears, he slipped the cow horse a treat, which Parker sniffed then took, crunching. Cody wasn't one to offer treats willy nilly, not wanting his horses to be spoiled or mouthy, but one or two after a good workout was perfectly acceptable in his mind. He bent in front of the roan, sliding his hand down Parker's front leg, to feel for cuts or bumps, then did the same for the other leg. Satisfied with not finding anything, Cody wasted no time, starting to brush Parker out. Parker sighed, ears to the side, one hoof cocked. Beside from the obvious answer of training a new skill or maneuver, grooming was one of Cody's favorite things to do. Being able to spend the one on one time with your horse, to create that bond that was so important. Cody was more thorough than most, taking a few more minutes than others might, taking pleasure in the quiet time this offered. In comparison, Parker was more than willing to stand in the bay all day if need be, lip drooping. Part of being a trainer was working with all different sorts of horses, with differing personalities, temperaments, and quirks. Horses were much like coworkers, some you liked, some you tolerated, a few you downright didn't care for. It didn't take Cody long to decide he quite liked this young horse, couldn't wait to get him in the show pen. That wasn't something that was all too common for the man. The truth was you couldn't be too attached, most certainly not to a sale horse, but he did look forward to working with Parker, no matter how long that may turn out to be.

Cody noticed the black sporty horse in the bay beside him, the one belonging to the other English trainer, curiously peeking over for a quick look and sniff of Parker. Cody didn't mind this, liked to see horses interacting as they were supposed to. Parker didn't seem to mind much either, turning his head to look in the other's direction but ignoring it. He caught out of the corner of his eye when the other trainer pull the horse's head away, to no use. Taking a moment to toss a look over his shoulder in the direction of the other bay, seeing Trail was nowhere to be seen, probably in the tack room somewhere, Cody took a breath, then said, "Can't blame you, boy, wanting to see what the other side is like." to the black horse, biting back the cocky smile creeping on his lips.

𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂 '𝘾𝘼𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙍𝙐𝙉𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂
𝙒𝘼𝙄𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒 '𝙏𝙄𝙇 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂

[Consulting_Angel]

Rafael Karim
"Nothing less than perfection"

Rafael brushed down Nightstorm, trying his best to ignore the trainer in the stall next to him. He was doing quite a good job of that, he thought, since Cody wasn't saying anything either, and Rafael was starting to think that maybe he'd be getting out of the tacking up bays without another cold conversation. Or, at least, without him getting worked up or more annoyed than it was worth being. He didn't even know why. It couldn't just be because Cody was a Western trainer, since Rafael hadn't even come close to having a heated argument with any of the other Western trainers. Was it because he was jealous? Ugh he hated that word. Jealous was such an ugly emotion. But he did see how the owner of the yard seemed to fawn over Cody, and how well he was gelling with the other trainers.

He pushed that all down, trying to put it from his mind. It didn't matter, he thought. It really didn't matter. He would just have to prove himself and stand out even more. Exceed expectations, which were already quite high for him. Yes... Rafael knew he could do it. Maybe he'd even get offered to train other horses as well. Nightstorm would already outperform himself, he knew that, but perhaps if he could train Destiny to a higher level... he'd have to be careful not to push the rescue too far or too hard. Rafael shook his head slightly to himself. He couldn't make any rash decisions, especially without thinking it through properly.

As he finished brushing Nightstorm, and prepared to take the gelding's tack back to the rack room, Rafael stopped when he heard Cody's comment, referring to Nightstorm looking over at Parker. He could just hear a cocky smile that he was trying to hold back. Rafael clenched his teeth for a few moments, giving a strained smile as he collected Nightstorm's tack. "He wouldn't be so interested if he knew what the 'other side' is really like." Rafael replied, as he walked off towards the tack room.

He returned after a few minutes, having now put the tack away, and started to untie Nightstorm from the bay, ready to go back out.

[bronc]

𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝙋𝙍𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙉 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀𝙎 𝙄 𝘿𝙊𝙉'𝙏

Part of Cody wondered if the other man would take the bait, or if he would see the comment for what it was, baiting. Cody's back was turned to the bay beside him, so he couldn't see the reaction, but the man could practically hear the clenching of Rafael's teeth, feel the tension in the air from his tight smile. This was him testing the waters, seeing what he could, couldn't get away with, no different than a young colt picking on the dominant horse, pushing the boundaries. Cody watched as the other trainer walked into the tack room, heard the man's comeback about the "other side". Cody's side. "You think so?" Cody called after the man, though he was sure the other trainer couldn't hear him.

While Rafael disappeared into the tack room, Trail came back out, walking briskly back to Cody, phone once more glued to his ear, mumbling something incoherent into the other line.

𝙄𝙎 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿𝘽𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙃𝘼𝙐𝙉𝙏 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙊𝙁 𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙎?

"Ice boots," Trail said, Cody taking the said items from him. Trail smiled, mouthed sorry, then walked to the front of the barn to continue the call. The stud stood calm in the cross ties, unbothered, this sort of thing seeming to happen on the daily. The poor man couldn't catch a break. Cody couldn't imagine working with so many distractions, something he imagine came with Trail's seniority. He said a silent prayer that his phone was, most of the time, on silent, or completely off. Outside his professional life, not that many people called anyway, fewer that he actually cared to talk to. The one call he did look forward to was the weekly call from his mom, checking in to see how her son was doing. True, Cody hadn't set foot back in Grady County in ten years, but still she called. That was a call Cody never missed. The calls were short sometimes, but they were still important to the man. Hearing the woman on the other end seemed to calm Cody. Sometimes she'd ask where he was. He knew she worried about him, wondered if he would one day settle down, stop always looking for a way out. He would ask the compulsory questions, how was dad, what'd the doctors say this time, how were his brothers. It didn't matter what Cody was in the middle of doing, it went on the back burner when she called.

Cody crouched by Parker's left front leg, sliding his hand down, then placed the Classic boot on, strapping it on. He shuffled to the other side to do the same with his right leg, now being able to see the other trainer come into sight from the tack room. He waited until he was back with the black gelding, starting to untie the sport horse. Well, this was his doing, Cody decided. "Okay. I'll bite. Why you think so? What is the 'other side' like?" he asked, the slightest hint of a challenge in his voice. He began to put the other boot on. "To be treated like a horse, not a tool? Or to know that what he's doing matters?". Oh boy, this would be something, Cody taking the deepest cut, to see what the man would do, to know what he would be working with.

𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙔 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂 '𝘾𝘼𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙍𝙐𝙉𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂
𝙒𝘼𝙄𝙏 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒 '𝙏𝙄𝙇 𝙏𝙊𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙒'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙂

[Consulting_Angel]

Rafael Karim
"Nothing less than perfection"

Just as Rafael thought that maybe he'd get to leave and have a mostly uneventful encounter, Cody asked those questions. The first two, even with the challenging tone that made Rafael want to take the bait, could be ignored, maybe even just handwaved off as a 'none of your business' or 'why are you so interested?'. But the last two, about his Nightstorm being treated like a horse, were much, much harder to ignore or brush off. The strained smile dropped, expression going through half the stages of grief, before settling on something more neutral, if with a hint of seething. To avoid accidentally jerking the lead rope in anger, he dropped it, letting the end fall to the floor. He trusted Nightstorm, and the gelding was placid enough to not wander off - in most cases the lead rope was only there for show.

Then, he rounded on Cody. It took him a few minutes to maintain some semblance of composure, before he started speaking with a mostly calm tone - if only because it would reflect badly on him if he just started shouting around the horses, and the last thing anyone needed was to risk spooking any of the horses. Even if he did think that, at this moment, Cody deserved to be trampled by a horse.
"Isn't that what Western riders use horses as? As a 'tool' to round up a few cows and overwork them like that? Or maybe you prefer the constantly kicking them spurs variety? Making them buck and rear and arch their backs horribly? That bulky and heavy saddle can't be that comfortable, especially if they have to wear it for hours and hours at a time while having to trek across uneven terrain without a break. And sure, maybe jumping and dressage isn't 'natural' for a horse, but I don't see horses in the wild rounding up cattle or pole bending."

Rafael gave Cody a hard stare as he finished, and then loosely picked up the lead rope again. "Happy now?" he asked, coldly. He'd noticed that another trainer had walked in partway with their horse, but had quickly turned around and left when noticing the tension and confrontation happening, having decided to wait until it was a less awkward time.
He had been about to walk off, to leave and let his words simmer, but Rafael stayed, to let Cody respond, though he hardly thought there was anything that would change his mind. The Western world was full of cocky riders that didn't actually care about their horses, they just wanted to charge around and use their spurs. And he had heard far too many stories of horses getting injured from being charged at by cattle, or even just from the strenuous work that was asked of them while cutting. Or even their legs getting inflamed from the work, which, as he glanced at the ice boots that Parker was now wearing, only set Rafael's stance more firmly.