Naturalist - Day 1

The brisk winter sun danced off the flowers like a light show. It twinkled from every drop of dew lining the sage, and it shimmered from parts of the stone path - only the parts that had not already started to dry, of course. It was pretty, sure, but annoying as well. Basil’s red eyes provided little protection from the rays. She squinted, moving once again to stand in her horse’s shadow as they waited for their turn in the event. The sunlight shone poorly on her stallion as well. Darwin probably didn’t care about the light, he might have even enjoyed the warmth soaking through his thick fur… but it did point out that his fur was not quite as thick as it could be. Rex fur was supposed to be thick, plush, so dense and tightly packed that the hair could do nothing but stand straight up, like people in a crowded metro. Light didn’t quite reflect off that fur, the way it would from normal horse hair. Instead of bouncing back, making shiny highlights and contours, the light would get buried between the strands of hair like Vantablack. Or at least… on a good loshenka it would. Darwin was never a show horse. He had been a rescue, from questionable breeding at best. And he was black, which only made it more obvious. While the soft dawn-gold reflections might look pretty on another breed of horse, it made Basil a bit self-conscious, standing there with her old sabino amongst all the velvety, matte show horses. In-hand classes were never her cup of tea anyway. She wanted to be adventuring, exploring, feeling the strength of her horse beneath her as they galloped along the countryside. 

Instead, she was stuck waiting in line in an itchy suit and plagued by the scent of Show Sheen. 

There was one good thing about this competition at least: it would make her dad happy. Horses were one of the few things they could bond over. And where Basil might enjoy the danger and risk of bushwacking on her mount, her father was a more cautious sort. He preferred to look at the horses over riding them. He thought that in-hand shows and conformation and pedigrees were the diamond in the rough of keeping horses. Waiting there in her horse’s shadow, Basil pictured just how proud her father would be that she dressed herself up for once, and shared in his favorite event. She wouldn’t win, of course. Darwin was only here to calm down her dad’s prissy horse during the travels. But since he was here, and she was here, she couldn’t find a good reason not to compete. 

Darwin’s whinny took her out of her daydream. She stepped aside, out of the horse’s shadow, and peered down the trail. 

Her father. Alongside her father, strode her father’s horse. She could see the nerves in the tobiano’s step. His long tail, so nicely groomed, swished back and forth, and he strained to lift his head as high as he could to get a better look at Darwin. His feet danced on the unfamiliar path, shoes clicking with every step, legs just as white as when they stepped out of the drying stall. Yet another contrast to Darwin… Basil’s sabino already had a bit of dirt darkening his pasterns, and the hooves looked like they had been polished a lifetime ago, not just an hour or so prior.

“Basil!” Her father smiled. Even after years of practice, the expression seemed alien on his face. She almost preferred the father she knew from many years ago, the one who didn’t try to smile at all. 

For a moment, she almost thought that he was going to hug her. That would’ve been a surprise. But instead, the hand that reached out grabbed the edge of her blazer instead, brushing off a bit of dust. Basil was almost disappointed, which was strange. She was never disappointed. Maybe the nerves of the show were getting to her more than she expected.

“How did it go?” Basil asked, watching her dad’s horse calm down. Darwin greeted the taller horse with a playful push of his nose, and the sabino’s presence seemed to quiet the show stallion down almost instantly. Only now could the tobiano actually look around and take in the setting - the beautiful (edible? Basil imagined that that was the horse’s real question) flowers, the distant spruce, still wearing most of winter’s snow, the purple-tinged range of mountains in the back. 

“It went well. Laz did wonderfully,” her father started. Basil wasn’t so sure about that. Her father had a very loose definition of wonderful, and anything his precious horse did was, by that definition, wonderful. She would have to wait until the scorecards came out (of course her father would want her to read them with him) to see the truth. “He was really showing off his tail today. The judges would be fools to not give him merit.” 

Just as her father said that, a pair of Fjellhov staff passed by, speaking to each other in Norwegian. Basil hoped that they didn’t catch that comment, for her dad’s sake… Or at least that they weren’t the judges. Laz shied away from them, trying to angle himself to put Darwin between him and the strangers. Basil almost felt sad that their reunion would only last a few minutes, before she had to go show off her old boy to the judge panel. 

Her father seemed aware of his slip of the tongue at least. He lowered his ears, waiting until the staff were out of earshot before continuing to speak, instead using that time to stroke Laz’s white, arched neck. 

“Good luck out there, Basil-” Her father leaned down. His smile seemed a touch more genuine this time as he put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll do great. I’m sure your mom would be proud. I know that I’ll be proud.” 

The comment stung. Basil knew it wasn’t his intention but… Her father didn’t really know how to parent. Even if he was trying to be supportive, bringing up her dead mother right before she had to go compete was just… Just…

Basil sighed. “Thanks, Dad.” She leaned over to give Laz a quick pat on the shoulder, before nudging the lead and urging Darwin down the path. Laz called out as she led Darwin away, but Basil didn’t look back. She didn’t want to worry about her father’s horse getting lonely, on top of everything else. 

By the time the pair arrived at the judging area, the judges were already ready. Three judges sat, just off the edge of the path, and the nearest judge - the youngest looking one, as well - waved her forward. A few spectators watched from the sidelines, half of them shaded by a gazebo. But in the scheme of things… Not that many spectators. Most of the chairs beside the gazebo sat empty, some of them with a token bag on them to claim the seat. Darwin was a “boring” horse, by their definitions, the first “boring” horse after a string of fancy show stock like Laz. Basil figured that the crowd probably took this chance to step away and get a coffee, or use the bathroom, so if they missed a horse, they wouldn’t miss much. 

“Alright, good morning young lady.” That youngest judge looked down at his clipboard. Basil did her best to give him a polite smile back, but she couldn’t help but feel that her smile must’ve looked as awkward as her father’s. “This is Naturalist, being handled by Basil Yarnes, and co-owned by Ezekiel Yarnes and Basil Yarnes.” It was only then that Basil realized the man was speaking more to the other judges than to her. The judge’s next comment was obviously addressed to her though: “Can you take him back and forth at a walk?”

Basil nodded, clicking her tongue as she urged Darwin onwards. The horse complied. He always did, as far as Basil knew him. Years ago, according to her father, he had been a stubborn horse, who would dig his feet in and refuse to move, but age and kindness had softened him, just like it had done to her father. Darwin walked. Then, at the judge’s command, he trotted. It wasn’t the showy, floating trot of her father’s horse, but it was a steady, enthusiastic trot that left Basil feeling proud of her horse and then, by proxy, proud of herself. She wished her father could be here to see her, but he would still be putting Laz away, and Laz was too much of a spoiled brat to stand by and watch them. Not it would have helped, anyway… Having his noisy stallmate in the sidelines would have only distracted Darwin, and he probably wouldn’t have cooperated as well as he did. 

“Alright,” the judge spoke as he stood up. The other two judges followed shortly after. “You want to have him stand square?” Basil nodded, stepping to the front of her horse to give them a better view. At least one good thing about having an older horse - he was already used to most things, and he had learned how to stand nice and square back when her father used to show him. She didn’t have to prod or urge for the sabino stallion to give his best angle. 

As she stood, the judges circled around the horse like vultures. They leaned forward, the three of them conversing in quiet Norwegian as they examined an old scar on Darwin’s leg. They ran their hands through his fur, squeezing their fingers together to feel the density of his coat. Or lack thereof, at least. The three regarded the sabino pattern on the sides of his barrel, before finally reaching his tail. Such a distinctive feature of the loshenkas, they took their time examining it. They ran their hands over the tailbone, feeling the shape and carriage of the tailbone itself, unhidden by the thick hair. And then, they felt the hair. Unlike her father’s horse, Darwin had a regular tail, and despite all of Basil’s attempts to brush it out, it never managed to be as smooth or tangle free as Laz’s. Basil watched the judging, the curiosity about how the three worked so routinely almost pushing away her nerves and annoyance. 

One of the judges realized she was watching. That same younger judge that spoke the first time. “Right now, we’re just checking the density of the tail fur-” he explained. Basil had never heard a judge explain before. “The more hairs per square inch, the more full the tail will look. But, pure density isn’t the only thing that matters - you want uniformity, as well. If the tail is dense at the base, but loses most of the density before the strands are even a foot long - that would look stringy anyway. Uniformity of the density is what shows that the horse has strong, resilient hair, and also a tail carriage that allows the hair to remain in good condition.” 

Basil nodded, not sure if she was allowed to respond or not. She was curious, and a bit relieved that the talking broke the silence, but most of all she wanted to be respectful. The judge responded to her silence with a smile - a more honest smile than hers or her father’s - before the three of them stepped away. They discussed over their clipboards for a bit, before sitting down, and waving Basil away. 

She found her father at their rented stalls. Laz’s nickering greeted the pair, and at the noise her father looked up, standing just in front of the stall door and filling out some of the paperwork attached to it. 

“Basil!” He set down the pen, stepping forward. This time, he did actually hug her, much to Basil’s surprise. Basil took it in for a moment, before hugging her father back, lead rope still in hand. It was a tight hug. Her father was strong, but Basil was no wimp. She was grinning when he let her go. “How was it?”

“It was… Good. Darwin did great.”

“I’m glad.”

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

Basil could feel a creeping anticipation of the lecture her father was about to give, though this time instead of dreading the lecture, she looked forward to it. She had heard her father talk about horse conformation many times, but she was curious, this time, of how what her father explained would line up with what the judge explained. And she knew her father would be more than happy to talk about it… To have his precious daughter actually show interest in something he could answer. “How do people learn how to judge horses?”