Chapter 4

Diana cast a cautious gaze over her shoulder as she guided Beatrix away from her stall, half-expecting to catch the Garcia girl lingering in the corridor. Given how much time she had spent in Belle's box, she was curiously absent. Diana noted that since Barbara's horse was particularly fastidious about cleanliness, it was odd for the task to have stretched on for so long. The girl seemed pleasant, albeit slightly peculiar, and Diana found herself irked by her casual disregard for authority figures. She privately admitted that Professor Finnegan's lectures were terribly tedious – her voice could easily lull anyone into slumber – but there was a clear distinction between harboring such thoughts and expressing them candidly.

Dismissing these ruminations with a lite wave of indifference, Diana refocused on Beatrix, allowing her fingers to gently caress the mare's soft coat near the withers as they moved towards the cross ties. Placing her mug of steaming tea onto a stool, she strolled over to the tack room to gather her riding equipment.

The early morning hours held a special enchantment for Diana, persuading her to rise well before her housemates. Hannah and Barbara were likely deep in slumber, which suited Diana just fine. As much as she cherished their company, the allure of serenity while tending to her mare solo was irresistible. The quiet was a scarce commodity; life as a Hitchens meant encountering people ceaselessly – be it with friends, riding instructors, professors, or mentees clamoring for guidance. Thus, these solitary interludes were infinitely precious.

Having returned with cavalry of gear for Beatrix—who had waited patiently, eyes vigilant throughout—Diana carefully examined and massaged Beatrix's left front leg. In the aftermath of an injury to the suspensory ligament resulting from an intense competition season the previous year, Diana remained diligent in inspecting for any signs of swelling or heat. Beatrix wasn't just any horse; sired by an illustrious stallion and birthed by a treasured mare no longer owned by Hitchens Estate, she carried immense nostalgic worth as the final offspring bred by Diana's late mother.

After ensuring everything was in order with a soft murmur of approval—"Looks good"—Diana shifted on to meticulously grooming Beatrix's glossy coat. Her hands followed each brush stroke diligently searching for irregularities or unnoticed hurts—a practice so ingrained it had become second nature. Her veterinary studies had ingrained a sense of vigilance towards every nick or bruise through the lens of clinical expertise.

A comical whimper rippled down the aisle capturing Diana's attention; stepping out from the safety of the cross-ties, she peered towards its source. Cellie had progressed down several stalls but appeared to be indulging in a playful respite—headphones seated snugly in place and vocalizing spiritedly along to some unheard melody treating her pitchfork akin to a pop star's microphone. Concealing a bubbling chuckle prompted by this impromptu performance behind a veiled smile, Diana reverted attentively back to tending her beloved mare.

After finishing with Beatrix's tacking, Cellie had already moved onto the next barn, leaving a few exhausted riders trickling into the stable. Nearby, several girls griped about the aftermath of last night's indulgences. Eager to escape the clamor, Diana swiftly cinched her mare's girth and grasped the supple, braided leather reins to guide her outside, where the rhythmic clink of iron and steel from her mare's shoes provided a tranquil counterpoint against the cobblestones.

Beside the mounting block, Diana meticulously adjusted Beatrix's noseband and gave one final check to the girth. Despite her own tall stature enabling her to mount from the ground, she preferred using the block to ease strain on her mare's back; a practice she viewed as a worthy trade-off for those additional moments spent.

"Alright, Bea," she murmured affectionately, her gloved hand caressing the muscular neck with a gentle pat. The mare responded with a head shake and an eager snort, moving forward with purposeful strides.

The morning air was crisp but welcomingly mild. A veil of dew lingered on the grass from last night's reprieve while stray leaves painted the lane with sporadic flashes of color. They lay untouched by groundskeepers for now; Diana inhaled deeply, cherishing the earthy fragrance that heralded her most treasured season. Already, horses that roamed during the night were being ushered in, each step mirroring their caretakers' anticipation of the morning feed. Beatrix would partake in hers after exercise—riding on a full stomach was fraught with hazards for horses, and Diana's packed schedule prevented any indulgence in afternoon leisure at the barn.

This day was dedicated to Dressage—a discipline they had not performed competitively but which remained integral to their regimen. Reserving jumping for team practices or necessity, Diana invested in Dressage's finesse and precision as educational bedrock. Understanding its foundational impact led her to nurture second-level proficiency through private coaching. Besides, leaps were a finite resource; Beatrix had already signaled clear limits to enduring strenuous exertions without risking further damage to delicate ligaments.

Flatwork might border on monotony at times but witnessing Beatrix evolve into an embodiment of grace—maneuvering effortlessly with each cue—instilled Diana with unwavering satisfaction each ride. The trot's cadence, canter's sway, and seamless lead change at merely a hint of direction; such harmony fostered genuine pride in Diana as she recalled building this partnership from scratch during adolescence.

As Beatrix circumvented the arena's perimeter—her rhythm synchronized with Diana's cues—the rider allowed her gaze to drift leisurely across the stable's expanse; each movement shared between horse and rider was an unspoken conversation laden with years of tacit understanding.

Scattered riders began to emerge from the stable, leading their horses out for a morning jaunt. Despite Diana typically being an early arriver and the first to commence her equestrian activities over the weekend, it wasn't long before the area buzzed with the presence of fellow enthusiasts.

In their midst was Cellie, who had apparently wrapped up her stable duties, as evidenced by her guiding a petite chestnut pony towards the practice arena. Clad in the same worn t-shirt from earlier and now donning riding breeches, she had secured a black helmet upon her head. Diana's gaze was frequently drawn to Cellie as she trotted around the ring, noticing how Cellie's brunette hair cascaded down her back in a neatly tied ponytail. Diana let Beatrix fall into a harmonious working trot, observing intently as Cellie swung open the gate to Diana's chosen arena and introduced the pony to its sandy expanse.

The arena was public and universally accessible, but it intrigued Diana why Cellie had chosen this particular one since it lay at the greatest remove from the stable complex. Perhaps the other arenas were full, and it made sense for Cellie to share space with another rider — why not with Diana? As Beatrix transitioned to a walk, Diana offered minor corrections with her fingers when Beatrix joyously tossed her head towards the new arrivals.

"Mind if I join you?" inquired Cellie, halting her pony—a charming creature with a mismatched white marking on its nose and spirited eyes—while casting an inquisitive look upwards at Diana. "I'll keep clear of your path."

Diana gave a brief nod but remained silent as she permitted Beatrix a relaxing stroll.

The gear on Cellie's pony caught Diana's attention: A traditional English-style bridle sans bit, with reins affixed to rings on either side of the muzzle band. An old stirrup leather seemed repurposed as a neckband against the pony's unruly mane. The saddle positioned atop was petite; stirrups dangled down loosely, almost brushing against the pony's shoulders.

As Diana stood observing, Cellie seized hold of the mare's neck strap and abruptly mounted from standing ground with ease—her mare barely reacting aside from a slight head raise.

Diana's brow quirked skeptically—should she attempt such a feat with Beatrix, it'd likely result in nothing more than an unwelcome collision and mutual agitation between horse and rider.

Continuing her regimented ride and striving to keep focused on refining Beatrix's flexibility and reactivity, Diana found herself repeatedly captivated by Cellie's antics. The younger rider and her mount kept respectfully distant but were clearly visible dashing across the arena lengths. The display escalated as Cellie executed acrobatic feats: leaping off at full gallop only to match pace by sprinting alongside before athletically bounding back into position atop her mount without diminishing their speed—notwithstanding an occasional mishap that she swiftly recognized and adjusted for seamlessly.

To say she was breathtaking in her athleticism would be an understatement. The girl exuded a quiet strength; her breathing remained even and steady, her leg muscles defined and flexing smoothly under her trousers.

"Diana! Over here!" Hannah's voice rang cheerily as she waved from the entrance of the practice ring. Diana acknowledged with a brief but warm gesture, guiding Beatrix into a calming walk to ease off after the exercise, and approached the gate where her companions awaited. Beside Hannah stood Barbara, ever-present, while Belle and Cello waited patiently with their human partners.

Barbara's gaze fixed on Cellie, who had slowed her pony down to a saunter and was lavishing it with enthusiastic pats and cheers. The chestnut mare seemed restless, bobbing her head and prancing on the spot, poised for more action.

Diana simply shook her head in response to Barbara's disapproving look, gently releasing the reins to grant Bea more freedom as she and her fellow teammates ushered their horses into the arena. "She's all good," Diana reassured.

"Oi, Cellie!" Hannah bellowed, deftly hoisting herself into Cello's saddle amidst the commotion. Barbara mirrored the action, albeit with a bit more effort as Belle demonstrated her inexperience by hesitating slightly before trailing after Hannah towards Cellie.

Perking up at the summons, Cellie leaned back in her saddle, relaxed her feet out of the stirrups, and guided her pony over with an easy tug on the dark reins.

"Move it," Barbara said bluntly as Cellie drew close, gesturing toward the now open gate. "We're using this ring."

The confusion was unmistakable in Cellie's furrowed brow as she looked among them. "There's enough space for us all," she insisted, bringing her mare to a standstill. "Plus, I got here first."

"Nope," Hannah interjected swiftly with a tilt of her head towards Diana. "It's ours now—Hunt Team privilege. You'll need to leave."

Cellie's eyes rolled dismissively; usually such demands from the Hunt Team were met without question—a side effect of their uninterrupted victories at past championships that lent them an air of unspoken authority at Stargate Equestrian. Yet defiance sparked within Cellie today.

"This arena is for everyone," she retorted sharply as she whipped her mare around with a reiner's precision and broke into a spirited gallop—a dance of powerful bounds rather than linear sprints—as she tossed a challenging glance back at them.

Suppressing a grin behind her hand, Diana dismounted from Beatrix, taking an unhurried moment to secure the gate behind her. She refrained from suggesting another location to train to Hannah or Barbara. In truth, Cellie had made a valid point—they really should just deal with it. It was refreshing to witness someone return their bravado with a bit of cheekiness; Diana had long advised them about extending more courtesy. Conceivably, Cellie was embodying that overdue consequence they'd been warned about.

And indeed—Diana couldn't mask the amusement that danced in her eyes when Cellie disembarked from her mare only to cheekily gesture at them while sprinting alongside and then effortlessly hurl herself back into the saddle—all without breaking stride.