Sylvies winter training

The midday sun hung low in the winter sky, casting long shadows across the frost-covered paddock. A crisp breeze whispered through the bare branches, sending a shiver down Cyan’s spine as they pulled their coat tighter around themselves. Today was another step in Sylvie’s journey—one more step toward becoming a reliable riding partner. 

The four-year-old Loshenka mare stood quietly at the hitching post, her thick winter coat fluffed against the cold. Her breath curled in soft clouds, and her light eyes watched Cyan with calm curiosity. Wrapped around her finely sculpted face was a hand-braided bosal, snug but gentle. The noseband rested lightly against her muzzle, a new sensation she was still growing accustomed to. 

Cyan ran a hand down her neck, feeling the warmth beneath the thick fur. "Alright, girl," they murmured. "Let’s get to work." 

Leading her to the round pen, Cyan watched her movements closely. Sylvie was still green, still uncertain, but there was an eagerness in her—a willingness to try. The soft crunch of frozen dirt under her hooves was the only sound as Cyan sent her out on the line. She responded well, yielding to the slightest pressure of the mecate reins, her breath steady despite the chill in the air. 

After a few laps at a walk and trot, Cyan stepped closer, rubbing her forehead beneath the bosal’s band. "Good girl," they said softly, the warmth of their voice standing in contrast to the cold around them. 

Today wouldn’t be the day to mount up—not yet. But each session, each careful step, was building a foundation of trust. And as the winter sun climbed higher, glinting off the frost-dusted trees, Cyan knew they were on the right path with Sylvie.