The Perfect Foal

The woman stalked into the horse market, head held high, with her silky, blonde hair pulled back into a bun so tight you'd be sure it should hurt. She narrowed her eyes, flecks of uncaring emerald roaming the hall as she tried to hide a sneer at most of the selection on offer. There were many breeds up for grabs, but Mrs Asimov wasn't interested in any old horse. Not the Swedish Warmblood, nor the Hanoverian, not even a beautiful Lusitano. No, she had her mind set on a Loshenka and followed the signs through the winding maze that made up the horse market, her heeled boots clacking ominously on the concrete floor as she approached. She had enough money to buy any horse in the hall if not all of them, but she was looking for a new Dressage prospect and none of the mongrels she'd seen so far were up to her standards. Pathetic.

"Mrs Asimov?" a warbling voice called out, the nerves of the horse-seller palpable, "Can I help you with anything?" Mrs Asimov whirled around to face the shorter man, her perfectly plucked brows raised in judgement as she looked down her nose at the man who so dared disturb her. She recognised him having bought several decent Loshenkas from him that were imported from Russia.

"Good morning, Mr Johansson," she smiled, although it was in a way that a snake 'smiles', just opening their mouth readying to kill, "I'm looking for a new Dressage prospect. I heard there were some Loshenka yearlings at this sale, and I'd like to see how they move. I'm sure you'll have something for me, Mr Johansson, you've sold me decent horses before." Mrs Asimov reached down, pressing her hand against the man's back, encouraging him to lead her further towards where she knew the Loshenkas were stalled.

Johansson was nervous, wringing his hands as he walked, trying to will away his anxiety but the sweat beginning to bead on his palms betrayed the front he was trying to put up. Once they reached the Loshenkas, he spoke up, "To the right we have our fully grown horses, imported from Russia. They're already broken to ride English, but they're good horses, easy to retrain. And to the left, we have our yearlings, bred at our property here in Sweden or bought rising a year from our local breeding stables. There's a large selection, feel free to look through them."

"Yes, yes, Johansson, I know how this all works already. Show me to the ones with the most potential, I don't want to be wasting my time here," Mrs Asimov huffed, sneering at the greater room. The man hid a flinch at her tone and gestured for her to follow him, leading her to the end of the row of yearlings. They ended up stood between two stalls, facing them both, "I believe these two are the most promising. The little bay colt has a good temperament, gentle with people and is very light on his feet. A bit of a tendency to prance out in the fields. This filly, though, she's also impressive. We don't know much about her parents' abilities, her dam being mainly for breeding, prized for her coat and her sire was a spur of the moment choice, but her dam did show some flashy movements in her youth and this girl has certainly inherited that."

"Do you have any proof of her potential? Videos, maybe? Or how do you think she would act in a halter?" Asimov questioned, interested in the dunalino filly before her. There was something about this foal in particular that peaked her interest more the colt did. Johansson looked taken aback, not expecting the interrogation, "We have no proof per say, but she is partially headcollar trained. You can take her for a walk and trot down this hallway to see her movements and conformation better if you would like and halter her yourself to see her attitude."

Mrs Asimov agreed to this, taking the headcollar from Johansson and slipping into the stall, being careful not to unbalance her heels on the uneven straw. She reached over to the filly, holding her hand out flat to let the young creature sniff her and acquaint herself with the new presence in her stall. She held the headcollar out, letting the filly sniff that aswell before slipping it over her head. Asimov clipped the leadrope to the d-ring and stood to the side of the filly, walking her out as Johansson re-opened the stall door. The yearling walked out with her placidly, completely unbothered by the fact that she didn't know her handler. Mrs Asimov handed the leadrope to Johansson, "Would you be able to walk her up and down the hall so I can properly see how she moves?"

Johansson complied, walking the filly up and down the hallway, much to the young Loshenka's confusion, but she moved well and had a good form to her and Asimov was impressed. She demanded they trot up and down the hallway after, which they complied with, allowing the filly to show off her prancing. The yearling moved elegantly, golden coat shining under the harsh lights of the hall, her hooves clacking against the ground as she floated along the concrete flooring.

"I'll take her," Mrs Asimov decided, upon Johansson and the filly's return. Johansson clapped, pleased with his sale and handed the leadrope back to his customer, and rushed off to get the horse's papers and the invoices for the sale. Mrs Asimov, now left alone with her new purchase, petted her pinkened and velvety nose, only to be repaid with a snotty breath on her hand. She chuckled, moving to scratch her new steed's withers, contemplating where to start on her training. Just because she wouldn't back the yearling until five didn't mean she couldn't do some other training before-hand. She might see how a lunging harness will go down with this new horse, she seems unafraid, so it might be something to try after she's settled in upon their return to Mountain Dale. When Mr Johansson returned, he handed the papers over to be signed, then stopped, tilting his head at Mrs Asimov.

"I'm assuming you'll be picking her a new name," he stated, "You always do. Have you got any thoughts for her?" Mrs Asimov smiled in return, "Gold as a colour always makes me think of the goddess, Athena. A golden shield and helm to go along with her. Probably something like that, don't you think she looks rather golden under these lights?"

"Athena's a very good name. I wish you both well in whatever you end up doing from here," Johansson replied. Mrs Asimov just thanked him and left to the trailers, Athena prancing at her side.