Don't Look Down (Clement)

[Lahja Morgan]

There was a soft smile on Lahja's lips as she ran her fingers through Wiley's forelock, unpicking a small piece of wood shaving that had been missed when he was being groomed earlier. The handsome black gelding stood still and quiet in the indoor riding arena, hind leg resting as he awaited being told what to do. He had been with Lahja since the very beginning of Montadale Carriages, one of the very first horses to arrive officially for the business and he had quickly earned his keep. When paired with Psyren they made a very striking display, and they had always been the most popular pair-up for weddings, proms and birthdays alike. There was nothing but gentle affection as Lahja stroked down his cheek, patiently waiting for Clement to get changed.

In his time working at the farm, Lahja had grown to respect the young boy. Yes he was quiet and shy and it sometimes took real effort to get him out of his shell, but he was astonishingly polite and worked hard, proving to be a very quick learner. He was exactly the kind of student staff any farm would want to keep, and Lahja believed it was high time that his abilities were extended beyond mucking out stalls, grooming horses and cleaning harnesses.

It wasn't often that Wiley was ridden, but his incredibly laid back and willing nature made him ideal for a beginner. He had a very calm nature and endless patience, and out of all the horses at Montadale he was the perfect candidate for Clement's first ever time on horseback. As Lahja saw Clement entering the arena she checked the girth on Wiley's saddle, making sure it was snug enough so the saddle wouldn't slip during the ride. The gelding pricked his ears in the direction of the oncoming boy, giving a soft whicker of greeting. Lahja smiled and rubbed his shoulder. “Hello, Clement. We're just going to take it nice and easy today, let you get used to the feeling of being in the saddle and figure out how the basics work. Does that sound okay to you?”

[Clement Evans]

It wasn't something he'd been expecting. His earliest memories of his father had been the man coming home absolutely bushed from work. Dad hadn't seemed to take much pride or satisfaction from his jobs, just went about them without comment. Of they myriad things he'd done, Clement had never known which jobs he'd preferred or favored, and often didn't know which ones he was holding down at any given time. So he hadn't expected his own working career to be anything but a gigantic (but extremely necessary) pain in the rear.

He hadn't expected to like it. Fortunately, Clement had found a job that played to his strengths - there was no interaction with the public, nothing too cerebral, the horses couldn't judge him or bother him, and he was more than okay with physical labor. He didn't even mind all the poop; it smelled, sure, but after awhile he got used to it. The pitchfork and other tools were taller than he was, and he had to borrow boots and coveralls, but it was all pretty straightforward. Come in, put on the appropriate clothes, get his orders, start. Shovel horseshit, pitch some hay, scrub a brush down the side of a humungous horse till his arms wanted to fall off, or take apart the puzzle that was tack and clean it with brushes and soap.

During his job interview, Ms. Morgan had asked him if he was interested in riding. Clement hadn't known how to answer, he'd never considered it or even thought about it. (And she'd actually had to clarify 'yes, riding a horse'). He wasn't intimidated by the animals' sizes, but it took him awhile to figure out the why of it. The point of him learning how to ride a horse. It's not like it was a life skill, and a horse was more expensive to keep up than a car. It wouldn't get him into college, it wouldn't improve his grades or his power control, it wouldn't make him more socially acceptable or less of a jerk.

Finally he decided to say yes. After a lot of thought and journaling, he'd found three points that could not be denied. One, it kept him away from school, or more precisely, the school's student population, the less of which he made contact with the better. Two, it was something mostly rich kids got to do, and the idea of trailer trash like him having riding lessons appealed greatly to his sense of irony (though he didn't know what irony was). And three, it was time spent with a horse, and the horses never gave him any shit (except literally and in that case if they didn't he'd be out a job). Ms. Morgan didn't really either, though it had taken awhile to get used to her gentle teasing and attempts to socialize.

In his job overalls, new boots, gloves, and helmet bought with his boss's birthday present, Clement chewed his lower lip as he hesitantly made his way to the indoor arena. He wasn't nervous, exactly, but didn't know what to expect. He was familiar with Wiley; the horse was almost like a big dog, calm and unflappable. But that black coat meant any speck of wood or hay stood out like it was highlighted, and Clement would swear he was finished grooming and find another little speck. Frustrating enough to ask that kid who hung out all the time, Connor, how hard it was to bleach a horse.

"Hey," he said back. Walking slowly up to the big black gelding, Clement stood at a respectful distance, but close enough to let Wiley get his scent. He shrugged. "It's fine."

Having watched a lot of people mount a saddle, with Ms. Morgan's help he did so quite gracefully. Once on Wiley's back, he looked down and blinked. "Holy shit," he murmured, and then shot a look to his boss. "Sorry."

He was taller than he'd ever been in his life. Okay, now there were four pluses.

[Lahja Morgan]

Farm work had been a part of Lahja's life since she was born, being raised on a sheep farm as she was, and even though horses hadn't arrived in her life until her early teens, she ow found it exceptionally difficult to imagine a life without them. She could easily sympathise with many of Clement's reasons for liking the work, if he ever decided to voice them. The work was physically tough but it was good for clearing the mind – there was nothing quite so liberating as taking out your frustrations on a bale of hay or a dirty stall. The horses didn't judge and were quick to forgive... and unlike people, they had no sense of betrayal or manipulation. Sure some of them could sometimes have less than amiable personalities, but they were always honest. The same could sadly not be said about people.

Lahja had always been a believer that hard work deserves rewarding, and despite Clement's initial hesitation Lahja was determined to at least give him a chance to see the world from the back of a horse. If he liked it, then she had absolutely no problems with this becoming a regular thing. If not then she would not push it. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel pressured and risk him leaving.

Helping Clement get up into the saddle proved easier than Lahja had expected, and she was silently proud of the effort he had clearly made to familiarise himself with at least that little basic. She gave him a few moments to get settled and for it to sink in that yes, he was sat on the back of a horse. She had learned over the years that it took some people a lot longer to hit that realisation than others, and sometimes the effects of that realisation could be rather dramatic. Looking up at Clement, Lahja chuckled softly at his curse and petted Wiley's shoulder. “It's okay. It feels strange, huh?”

After guiding his feet into the stirrups and showing him how to hold the reins ('from his mouth up through your fingers like a mug handle'), Lahja clipped a long lead line onto the halter that was under Wiley's bridle. It would let her keep control over the horse, freeing up Clement to find his centre of balance and settle into the rhythm of the hoofbeats below him. “Okay Clement. Keep sat up straight, hands nice and low. If you get uncomfortable, the front of the saddle is right there and you can hold on to that.” She wasn't bothered about his position for now – just getting him comfortable and content was the first priority. Refinement could come later.

Once Clement acknowledged that he was okay, Lahja gave a soft click of her tongue. Wiley unrested his hind leg, bringing it under him as he set off at a steady walk in a wide circle around Lahja, who kept hold of the lead line. “How are you feeling up there?”

[Clement Evans]

"...Yeah." It did feel strange, and there was nothing he could compare it to. The closest he could come was that it was like sitting on top of a very narrow mountain that sometimes moved. Clement wasn't used to sitting while straddling something either, and having his legs so far apart was a little unsettling. Arranging the reins the way she instructed in his left hand, he wiggled his bony little butt in the saddle, feeling like he was a little kid on an adult ride. It wasn't hard to sit correctly, he had almost oddly good posture, but doing on something that undulated was new.

Okay, and then Wiley started walking. Clement was not prepared for how much movement there was. Sure, he'd (sort of) seen riders bouncing a little, but he hadn't realized it was the horse that was doing it. Wiley was old hand enough that he made it smoother than it normally would be, though Clement didn't know it. He did his best to balance, and was actually quite good. Not natural, but something close to it. It wasn't bad, riding, not that Clement's face reflected that. He frowned, though in concentration.

"Good," he answered. "Am I doing anything wrong? Or... really wrong?"

[Lahja Morgan]

Lahja would never label herself as a riding instructor, but she was old hand enough to be able to teach people through the basics and get them to a reasonable standard. She didn't teach people very often of course, that would get far too much in the way of her actual line of work, but she did enjoy it when she got the chance. It was especially rewarding when it was a child that had clearly had many difficulties in life, even more so if it helped them to become more confident and more at ease with themselves. “You will get used to it, after a while. It will feel strange until you settle into it. Just remember that Wiley is great; he'll look after you.”

Clement seemed to have an almost instinctively good position in the saddle, and Lahja smiled softly. “Looking good up there, Clement. Your posture is excellent, but if you just lower your heels a little you should find yourself sitting deeper in the saddle, which should make it feel more secure.”

Letting the lead out a little so Wiley could move onto a larger circle, Lahja gave a small shake of her head. “Nope, so far you look like a natural. Just remember to keep your chin up; if you look at the ground, chances are that is where you will end up.”

[Clement Evans]

"'Less I have carrots in my pocket. Then he practically pins me to the wall," he muttered. Wiley was a good horse though. Clement liked him. An all black horse could be pretty stunning to look at, but for Clement, if Wiley got too far away he turned into a big black smear. He certainly never expected to have this particular view, but it wasn't bad.

Ah. Okay. Clement didn't know he'd had his heels up, but she'd know. He relaxed his feet and ankles.

At the next thing, he looked up in alarm and the tips of his ears turned red. There was no reason for him to be embarrassed, but he'd seriously never been this high up and moving at the same time. Mrs. Morgan had no idea how weird/cool this was.

After walking Wiley around a bit, Mrs. Morgan taught Clement how to 'steer', and the little clicking and kissy noises used to signal stopping and starting. Clement caught on quick, but it was difficult for him because his brand of logic said that the side of the head that the reins touched was the direction the horse ought to go, not the opposite. He mixed his signals several times, the horse trying to go one way and Clement's body shifting to go the other.

The lesson was over both too soon and not early enough. It was strangely tiring, riding. Mrs. Morgan had to help him off, and the insides of his thighs... let's just say they were not happy. Clement winced as he walked toward the arena exit.

"Thanks for the lesson," he said, and meant it. He liked it! Just... not the after part. Good Christ.

[FIN?]