Notes:

I tried to keep things pretty simple for non-horse people, but here are a few explanations in case you're confused! Sixteen-two: horses are measured in "hands," or four-inch marks. Basically, a sixteen-two hand horse is big.
Mare: adult female horse
Gelding: adult neutered male horse
Canter: English term for run, not a sprint. I myself prefer Western, though I ride English, so no prejudices to either one here.


When they entered the freshly swept barn, Cain told himself it couldn't be that bad. Sure, it smelled, and the chickens lining the edge of the hay loft were shooting him suspicious glances, but animals were animals, and there was no way some grass-eating giraffe wannabe was going to get the best of him.

Then Abel, halter in hand, opened the first stall door. "Cain, I want you to meet Esprit," he said with a smile, standing beside a black, sixteen-two mare with a long mane and four white socks.

Cain stopped at the stall door, staring uneasily but trying to work up a scowl. "That is not a pony. That is a- a thing. A big thing."

Abel blinked and looked back. "Of course she's not a pony. She's a shire-quarter horse mix," he explained, slipping the red halter around the mare's head.

Cain worked his mouth a bit, eyes narrowed. "A what? What does that even mean? And why am I getting stuck with a girl?"

Abel sighed. "It means she's big, yes, but she has a great personality, and she's patient with new riders. And there's nothing wrong with mares." He patted Esprit on the neck, still standing in the stall. "Do you want to say hello?"

"There's shit in there. There is literally shit in there." Cain crossed his arms and stepped back. "No, I don't."

Abel closed his eyes briefly before sighing and leading Esprit out. He tied the lead rope to the stall bars before grabbing a tack bucket, talking as he worked. "Okay, lesson number one; you never need to fear horses, but you should always have respect for them; respect for their size, their strength, and their unpredictability. They're not malicious animals, but you can get hurt if you're not careful." He looked up, and when Cain nodded, arms still crossed and looking more uncertain, Abel offered a gentle smile. "Here," he said, offering a brush. "You should always brush before riding, get rid of any dirt and such."

Cain took the brush and stepped up to Esprit, raising one cautious hand to her shoulder. "I just- brush?"

"Yeah, in the direction of the hair."

Cain ran the bristles across Esprit's thick neck and shoulder, watching as small puffs of dust left her dark coat. As he brushed, she twisted one ear and turned her head to watch Cain, brown eyes curious. "What?" he asked brusquely, staring her down as he kept brushing. When she continued to stare, Cain cautiously stuck a hand toward her face, and when she lipped his fingers, he smiled. "Like a big, ugly dog," he remarked. "What're you- ow!" he jerked his hand away before quickly popping her on the nose. "Bitch! She bit me."

"Don't hit her," Abel admonished him. "You shouldn't stick your fingers by her mouth."

Cain glared. "Oh, so this is my fault?" He rubbed his fingers and gave Esprit a dirty look, which she acknowledged through pinned ears.

"How about you two start over? Brush her other side," Abel suggested, sighing a little. When Cain began to walk behind her, Abel tugged his arm. "Oh, wait. You shouldn't walk behind her like that. She could kick. Best to walk a few feet away."

Cain looked almost disbelieving. "She kicks too? I thought you said she was friendly!"

"She is, I promise. And I'm not saying that she will kick, only that she could. It's like… Horses are very nervous animals, it's in their genetics. So say one of the chickens jumped down from the hay loft; she could get startled and kick, without really intending on kicking you. Make sense?"

Cain's disbelieving look only grew worse. "So they're dangerous and retarded?"

Abel rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, Cain, and don't say that. Just brush."

"Whatever," he grumbled, moving to the other side.

While Cain worked, Abel went to another stall and retrieved another horse, a bay thoroughbred with a quick, eager step. Abel tied him off next to Esprit and inspected Cain's work. "Great," he said. "Now you need to pick her hooves… On second thought, I'll take care of that."

Cain shrugged, having no idea what "picking hooves" entailed, but he was fine with leaving Abel to deal with these long-faced freaks. "What's that one's name?" he asked, pointing to the bay.

Abel lifted one of Esprit's front legs. "Combat," he replied.

Cain smirked. "Indicative of her personality?"

Abel laughed as he finished the first hoof. "Yeah, and Combat's a he."

Cain frowned and leaned over, looking under. "Damn," he whistled. "That is impressive."

Abel paused as he picked up Esprit's back foot. "Cain, please don't get weird."

"Right."

After both horses were groomed, Abel hoisted a saddle and blanket on Esprit's back. Cain, who had begun hedging bets on which chicken had nearly pooped on his head, nearly choked when he looked over. "Whoa, stop. What is that?"

"The girth strap?" Abel asked, said strap in hand.

"No," Cain answered, "that. On her back. That's not a saddle."

Abel fought a smile, trying to take Cain seriously. "Yes, it is."

"Don't lie to me. I've seen cowboy movies. A saddle has lots of sexy leather and buckles and a knob at the front."

Abel laughed, cheeks slightly pink. "Um, that's a Western saddle. This is an English saddle. I'll be riding with the same."

Cain looked at the saddle with suspicion. "That's not much," he said at last. "Doesn't look very sturdy."

"You're not going to be gallivanting into war, silly. You'll be following me, and we'll walk."

Cain snorted, crossing his arms again and giving the saddle another glance. "Gallivant… you… can't believe…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

After both horses were fully tacked and ready, Abel stood to one side of Esprit and pointed to the stirrups. "Okay, time to mount. Left foot there."

"Mount?" Cain grinned. "It's called mounting?"

"Um, yeah. Don't make this weird. You said you wouldn't."

Still grinning, Cain only nodded and lifted his left foot to the stirrup. Following Abel's instructions, he swung up and sat back in the saddle. "Now what?"

"Now just hold on to the reins while I get on Combat. Remember, never let go of the reins; they're your tool for control besides your weight and your legs."

As Abel mounted his own gelding, Cain leaned forward to peer into Esprit's right eye. "I don't like this idea any more than you probably like hauling my ass around. So just- don't go crazy." He gave her an awkward pat on the neck, hoping the horse gods had heard and would respect his desire to live.

Seated and looking comfortable, Abel nudged Combat forward. "You look great! Just relax and remember- kicking or applying pressure with your legs will make her go faster. Pulling back will make her slow or stop."

"Simple enough," Cain replied, looking down at the reins in his hands.

Abel nodded. "There's a lot more to it than that, but we'll stick with the basics for now. Okay, follow me!" He leg yielded around Esprit and sent Combat on, glancing over his shoulder to watch Cain, who gave a little kick to Esprit's side. When the mare started forward, he gave a full, happy smile.

However, after only a few feet, Esprit stopped. Cain kicked her a second time, and once again she took a few steps before slowing to a halt. "What's up with her?" he asked with a frown.

Abel circled back around with Combat. "You're sitting too heavily. You have to move in motion with the horse, keep rhythm," he explained. "Especially with her. Better too slow than too fast for beginners."

Cain only scowled. "What do you mean, rhythm?"

"Like this," Abel said, clicking his tongue to get Combat to walk, then rocking his hips forward as the horse moved.

Cain stared incredulously before laughing. "You're shitting me, right? It looks like your fucking the saddle. And you don't want me to be weird about this?" He laughed again, which made Esprit pin her ears.

Abel felt himself blush, but he just shrugged. "Yeah, it's how you're supposed to ride though."

"Should've just said so, princess." Cain nudged Esprit to walk again, this time thrusting his hips. "Fucking's easy."

Abel shook his head but didn't say anything to that, walking Combat ahead, who pulled at the bridle in his eagerness to speed up.

Cain watched with curiosity, appreciating the way Abel's ass sat in the saddle, the way his hips gently rocked and his posture stayed straight. It was a nice view, but then his attention was drawn to Combat, and he looked from one horse to the other as he compared the two. "You know," he said to Esprit, finally starting to relax in the saddle. "You're much more badass than he is." Esprit snorted, and Cain pretended it was in agreement rather than from the dust she had kicked up.

When Abel got too far ahead, he pulled Combat to a halt and smiled patiently, watching as Cain maneuvered his mare forward. Then, like watching a car accident in slow motion, Abel saw it; the sudden smirk on his mouth, the eager light in his eyes, the way he tightened his legs and hunched his shoulders. And then, the cliché; the old Western "yee-haw" and snap of reins that sent Esprit flying. "Cain, no!"

But it was too late, and Esprit sprinted well past Abel and Combat, nose out and tail streaming.

Cain let out a victorious whoop before he realized they were nearing the fence. "Okay, pull back means slow down. Slow down. Slow down!" he yelled, yanking on the reins as hard as he could, but squeezing with his legs as he tried to keep his balance, Esprit's eyes wide as she barreled toward the fence with mixed signals.

Finally, being the horse that she was, she dropped her hindquarters and came to an abrupt stop in front of the fence, causing Cain to lose his seat and topple over her head. He landed on his back with a distinct oomph, which earned a curious ear twitch from his mare before she proceeded to graze indifferently.

Abel cantered over and dismounted quickly, looking alarmed. "Cain! Oh my God, are you okay?" He knelt beside him, gingerly lifting Cain up to a sitting position. "Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"That…"

"Yeah?"

Cain sat up and coughed, sucking in a shaky breath before laughing. "That was the best! Did you see? Did you fucking see? We were flying! Holy shit! That was a rush."

Abel let out a relieved chuckle. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. But maybe we'll work up to that in the future."

"I love horses," Cain gasped with a grin, still trying to catch his breath.

"I'm glad. Because now we need to catch ours," Abel said, watching as Esprit and Combat trotted away toward higher grass.

"I do," Cain assured him.

Abel patted him on the shoulder. "Okay."