Gold Trophy Life

When Athena first arrived at Mountain Dale, she was excited about all the new smells and new horses. Everything was a first time experience, never seen before. She was given some time to settle in before Mrs Asimov started with her basic training. The other horses were intrigued as she was the new youngest at the stables that weren't in the breeder's wing.

The older mares took her under their wings, gentle, whitening faces pressed up against hers not yet grown. Athena loved them and they cared for her, the herd folding her in like one of their own, but there was something off. They looked too old for their ages, exhausted from simply living. She was glad they had a nice big pasture to play in, allowing her to galavant around her new companions, prancing under the northern sun.

Her friends felt younger around her now, feeding off her energy, the bouncy puppy feeling rubbed off on them. Their care, in turn, rubbed off on her, allowing her a kind environment to grow up in.

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There was a lot of work in her headcollar to start with, getting her more familiar with being worked with in-hand. When she got older, the training went from every so often to much more regular. Her schedule became militaristic in regiment, Mrs Asimov introducing Athena to work on a lunge-line, building up the basics one by one. It was interesting, learning new things and exercising so often.

Being saddled for the first time was uncomfortable, but Athena put up with it, hoping to impress her mistress. Mrs Asimov was never pleased though, nothing was ever good enough. Athena needed to do more, be more, achieve more. Asimov seemed to forget that Athena was just a horse, she pushed and pushed, Athena bowing before her but never low enough.

Their first ride was better, her prior experience from all the groundwork and multiple lunges under saddle with weights occasionally, making it easy to get used to very quickly. Her original bridle was soft, the leather supple and the bit gentle but that quickly changed.

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Her first few competitions were fun, the sand under her hooves and the lights surrounding her reminding her of her home at Mountain Dale. The attention of the crowd was always on her, the sounds of camera flashes clicking every time she entered an arena once she became known for her skills.

They competed often, winning medals and trophies that adorned the shelves of their tack room back home. Mrs Asimov was never quite happy, hiding away Athena's old bronze or silver medals, only displaying the gold and pushing, pushing, pushing for her to be better, do better. Athena was only too happy to comply, willing to jump through any hoops Mrs Asimov demanded of her.

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The competitions were taking their toll and people were talking behind Mrs Asimov's back. They'd look at Athena, walk over to her and coo over her looks but when walking away from her, they would mutter under their breath and throw deathly glares at Mrs Asimov. Other people would watch her in the arena, staring at her tack with a furrowed brow, obviously displeased but switch to a smile if they caught Athena looking at them back.

She didn't understand why people didn't like her owner or her tack but seemed to love her. The differing attitudes confused her but she shook it off and continued the way she was going. As they reached the entrance of the arena, Athena dipped into a bow much to the amusement of the crowd then raised up to trot into the centre, all the lights trained on her.

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Athena was tired, she'd been carted to another competition again, having not been home to rest for more than a week before leaving. It was interesting at first, learning new moves and prancing around arenas but her lower legs were starting to ache from flicking her toes every time she stepped. She'd do anything for her person though, so she powered through; the cheers of the crowd and meeting other, lovely horses helping too.

She hung her head over the door of her stall, waiting for Mrs Asimov to return, confused about why the stable-hands kept throwing her pitying looks. Occasionally someone would stop and rub her nose gently, telling her how beautiful she looked but with an air of sadness that just didn't leave.

She perked up when Mrs Asimov returned, ears locked on to her, listening intently. Mrs Asimov fussed around, grabbing Athena's bridle, the bits clanking together as she raised it, slipping it over her head. Time to go, she supposed.