Gemotions

The familiar smell of horse and leather filled the stable, yet it brought no comfort. Emily, a show jumper, had been told she was needed to learn dressage instead. Her mind was reeling. She had sacrificed so much to be a jumper, now she had to change everything.

The saddle felt wrong beneath her. Her hands, used to the fast and thrilling demands of jumping, struggled with the precision and delicate movements of the dressage. The smooth rhythm of the trot felt foreign, the controlled pace a betrayal of her fiery spirit.

She watched the other riders, their movements elegant and precise. The image of the jumps, the thrill of the air beneath her, seemed a world away. Her face burned with humiliation after a particularly bad routine. She wanted to run and hide, to erase this day and its agonizing sting.