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Prince - Royal Zakharov

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:iconhorseart-rpg:

WE PLACED FIRST [link]!!

K guys, anybody got a replacement right hand? Mine died :B

:la: but I am insanely pleased with the outcome of this piece. The remedy for not allowing yourself to draw anything but prize art for 5 days? Drawing for...*counts* 6 hours straight.

Horse: Principal Boy
Rider: Scott Taylor:
Competition: Royal Zakharov Two Day Event
Class: CCI***
Number: 104

Previous:

---

"Nananananananana, nananananananana, Ru-ssia!" Ellie crowed with laughter, as the plane bounced along the runway. "They know we have horses in the back, right?"

"They're putting us at a disadvantage, mekkin' them a' disoriented before we get 'em off." Scott replied drily, as the tannoy told the flight passengers to remain seated with their belts on until the seatbelt light switched off. He looked past Ellie's head at the airport, watching another plane take off in the distance. It was a clear, cool day, the voice telling them the temperature was currently -5 degrees Celsius with a calm wind. The seatbelt sign switched off and he jumped up, pleased to be able to stretch his legs. "Come on, I said we'd be there for the unloading a' the horses." Scott said, pulling their hand luggage down from the overhead compartment and beginning to queue for the exit.

Since they'd left Oak Hollow, Ellie had seen a whole new side to Scott. They'd left without any paps waiting, which was new - obviously the news of his competing in Russia hadn't been leaked, which seemed to be the norm. There was always one, she mused, hanging around. The other day, she and Laura had stumbled across two girls hanging around the outdoor arena.

"Hey, can we help?" Laura had asked, spade in hand. She'd been mucking out with Ellie.

The girls glanced at each other. Both were dressed in immaculate riding outfits, Barbour coats over Caldene breeches and Ariat riding boots. "Uh...no, we're OK...we're just waiting..." One had mumbled, twirling her platinum-blonde hair around one finger uncomfortably.

Just then, Marcus had bounded down the veranda steps out of the house, muttering, "Not again..." He brushed past Laura and Ellie, "Look, girls, Scott Taylor is riding here, no he isn't doing interviews, no he isn't doing lessons, he is employed, and he's too busy to talk to you. Now unless you have a real reason to be here you are trespassing and Mr Morris keeps thirteen well-oiled guns in his gun cabinet." The girls rolled their eyes - the blonde winking at Marcus, before sighing and sloping off down the driveway.

Ellie exhaled, raising her eyebrows in surprise. "They were
never!"

"Yes they were." Marcus said glumly, kicking a stone.

"Why I...stupid...needy..." Laura brandished her shovel, as if to march after them, but Marcus grabbed the back of her hoodie.

Away from the spotlight, Scott was a pretty average guy. He hardly showed a glimpse of the Laura-baiting, childish side he so often exhibited back home. He was pretty knowledgable, and he was as nervous as Ellie about riding his first overseas CCI on Prince.

"I've done 'em before, but it suddenly seems a lot mair concentrated." He had said to Ellie on the flight over. "The paps aren' here but the pressure's still on."

"I know how you feel." She replied, thinking about the mahogany bay stallion in the freight compartment. Aesop had been going well in schooling, but they had barely gotten any cross-country practice on account of the rock-hard ground. Temperatures had rarely risen about 3 degrees Celsius in the last few weeks. She loved winter - especially Christmas - but she longed for the soft ground of spring and summer, and the days she didn't have to wear long johns under her jods. So un-sexy.

Hours later they had arrived at the Royal Zakharov Stables. The house was breathtaking - Ellie loved period architecture and it was more of a palace than a mansion. She offered to run inside and register while Scott stayed back with the horses, taking in the grand foyer and high ceiling, and trying to look a little more cultured and a little less touristy as she signed the registration and insurance forms.

*

The first day of competition dawned, and Scott wasn't nervous. He knew the Dressage test like the back of his hand and the jumping course looked like a piece of cake for him and Princey-Poos...as Ellie had taken to calling Prince.

"Don't listen tae her, boy. Yer a big manly stallion."

"A big manly stallion who's about to go dance some ballet!" Ellie said, hugging Prince's long face. The Dutch warmblood exhaled, as if in exasperation, sending clouds of steam up into the winter sky.

Scott clasped his hands over Prince's ears, shunting Ellie out of the way. "If yer quite finished demoralisin' my horse, I'd like to go warm up." He stood Prince alongside an open door of the horsebox and mounted, using the height difference between box and ground as a mounting block.

The jumping went smoothly as expected, Prince perhaps a little friskier than usual because of the cold air. Not that it was all that different to back home, but there were all sorts of different smells. To pass the time before competing the next day, he and Ellie bought a bottle of Russian vodka and played Shot Pig til the small hours of the morning.

Day Two dawned fresher and stiller than the previous day, which only seemed to accent their slight headaches. The horses stood well for them though, Ellie joking that they suffered sympathy hangovers, then dismissing the idea when she remembered the cross-country rounds they had yet to ride. She sent Prince out with a slap on the hindquarters and a shout of "Luck!", and Scott felt his knees knocking against the knee rolls of his saddle.

By the time their entry came, Scott was chilled to the bone, though whether through fear or the actual freezing temperatures he did not know. But as he turned onto the course and came face-to-face with the massive jumps, his fears melted away. This was his job, he kept thinking, he was paid to ride a perfectly able horse over jumps well within his ability in a beautiful foreign country. How could he not enjoy every single minute? He listened to foreign bird calls and the snaps of the papparazzi, the "oohs" of the dedicated, and presumably frostbitten crowd as he surged around the course, Prince eating the ground up with formidable speed. When they galloped through the finishing gates it was to rapturous applause, and Scott jumped off Prince whilst he was still in trot, running up his stirrups and throwing the heavy saddle over his arm, jogging towards the horsebox and his cooler rug. Even as Prince rubbed his great, handsome head all over Scott, leaving trails of mouth foam on his blue cross-country sweater, the smile didn't leave his face.


Next:

A better story than usual I think. I think Scott gets more Scottish as it goes on, Gran's down from The Homeland :lmao:, so I listen intently to pick up all the accent!

Prince & Scott & Oak Hollow (c) :iconkittysawrus:
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© 2010 - 2024 oakhollowd
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deeohtee's avatar
this is awesome!
beautiful piece.... XD