Short story competition winners!

Our farm in Blackmore was always noisy in the mornings. The ducks were quacking outside our makeshift pond, the donkeys were neighing loudly asking for breakfast, and our sausage dogs bolted straight through my legs as I carried my harness out to the stables. Over the fence from us lived our shy pet zebra watched on twitching his ears as I began to tack up my favourite horse in the entire world. Tink!!

Tink is a piebald mare with huge white feathers round her hooves and the sweetest face. We do carriage driving competitions together. To match my red helmet, she wore her sparkly red ear coverings this morning. I flicked through the traces to make sure they were nice and neat. Clicked my safety buckle fast and climbed into the carriage box. “Walk on Tink!” I whispered She moved forward eagerly, and we started our journey down the well-trodden country lanes. My plan was to practice sharp turns around cones, as we always do, but Tink pulled up short just outside the village. Her ears were aimed straight at one dark secret looking dirt track that disappeared into the bushes. Rows and rows of thick blackberry bushes hiding what looked like an ancient woodland path that nobody had walked along for years. “Come on, Tink, let’s go see where this leads!” I nudged.

Gentle squeeze on the reins and we went ducking underneath the trees. The path was cool and shady, and the carriage sprung gently over pine needles and crunchy twigs. Then Tink stopped again. Where the path ended, a weathered wooden footbridge lay sprawled across it, having given way. But underneath all of the big leaves of that fallen tree was a tiny muntjac deer. It was kicking its legs out and looked like it was absolutely petrified. I needed to help it but first I had to drive Tink right between two enormous oak trees to get close enough. There was hardly any gap at all and I didn’t think my carriage wheels would fit. "Steady, Tink," I whispered, keeping my hands level on the reins just like in a competition. Tink listened to every word. She took tiny, careful steps, watching where her hooves landed. Scrape, roll, squeeze - the carriage glided through the trees without even touching the bark! I grabbed a spare rope from the back, looped it around the fallen log, and clicked to Tink. She dug her big hooves into the soft mud and pulled with all her strength. With a loud creak, the branch shifted away.

The deer blinked its huge eyes, kicked its legs, and scurried off into the woods. By the time we turned the carriage around, the sun was glowing orange through the trees. Tink moved into a bouncy trot, her hooves clopping happily on the road back home. As the ducks, pigs, and barking sausage dogs greeted us in the yard, I gave Tink a big juicy apple and unhitched the cart. We might win rosettes at shows, but out on the trails, she really is the best partner an Essex driver could have.

The Long Way Home

Boris knew the way home. This was useful, because by half past four I wasn’t completely sure I did. He stood at the junction of three muddy tracks with his ears pointing towards Skylands and looked back at me as if this was exactly the sort of thing he had been expecting. I looked at the tracks again. One went downhill, one disappeared between two hedges and the third curved around the edge of a field before vanishing into a wood. “I know,” I told him. Boris sighed. There are few things more irritating than being judged by a pony who, only twenty minutes earlier, had refused to walk past a wheelie bin.

I took my phone from my pocket. It still had plenty of battery, but there was hardly any signal. Before we left, Mum and I had gone over the route and she had it on her phone too. I knew roughly where I was. I just couldn’t quite work out which of the three tracks in front of me was the one I wanted. Boris tried to turn left. “Wait.” He stopped. I looked left, then right, then at Boris. He tried left again. Sometimes Boris has very strong opinions. The annoying thing is that occasionally he is right.

The whole thing had started that morning when I decided Boris and I needed an adventure. Not a massive adventure. I wasn’t planning to cross Wales or sleep underneath a hedge. I just wanted to go somewhere we hadn’t been for a while and take the long route home. Summer was nearly over and everything was changing. The grass at Skylands had finally started turning green again after spending most of the summer looking like Weetabix. The mornings were cooler. Blackberries were appearing in the hedges and swallows were gathering on the wires. In my bedroom there were new school things in bags and labels sewn into clothes and piles which Mum called “getting organised” and I called “things I don’t want to think about yet.” Today was still mine. And Boris’s. Mostly mine.

I went to catch him just after breakfast. He was underneath the oak tree with one back leg resting and his eyes half closed, looking like a pony who had cleared his diary for the day. “Boris.” Nothing. “Boris.” One eye opened. I held up the headcollar. The eye closed again. Boris is very good at communicating without wasting energy. I walked across and put the headcollar on. “You’re coming out.” He followed me towards the yard without enthusiasm, but Boris doesn’t really believe in unnecessary enthusiasm. That is one of the things I like about him.

Skylands is best early in the morning, before the day has properly decided what it is going to do. Horses call from the fields, chickens complain about things nobody else understands, buckets are filled and gates open and shut. It is never completely silent, but it is peaceful. The place has been a farm for so long that sometimes I think it knows the jobs better than we do. Leave something in the wrong place and sooner or later Skylands will punish you for it. A gate will be awkward, a wheelbarrow will be exactly where you need to drive, or the thing you didn’t put away will disappear underneath something enormous. Mum says old places train the people who live in them. I think she might be right.

Boris had somehow got mud behind one ear despite the fact there had hardly been enough rain to make mud. I brushed him, picked out his feet and checked his legs. He watched me with the patient expression of someone waiting for breakfast in a badly run hotel. I was driving rather than riding, so I fetched his harness piece by piece. I like harness because everything has a job. Nothing is there just because it looks nice. Collar, saddle, breeching, traces, reins. Every part connects to something else and if you rush one bit you normally regret it later.

I checked the carriage too: wheels, tyres, shafts and fittings. Most of the time there is nothing wrong, which can make checking things seem boring. The trouble is that the one time you don’t check will probably be the one time something has worked loose. Driving is like that. When you ride, the pony is underneath you. When you drive, he is several feet in front and the carriage is behind him, which means you can’t suddenly change your mind about where you are going. You have to notice the corner before you reach it. You have to notice the ground, the traffic, the pony, the carriage and whatever might happen next. Mum says driving teaches you to think three steps ahead. Boris generally requires five.

Before I put him to, I checked the route with Mum. Most of it was lanes we knew, with a couple of tracks where we knew carriages were allowed. There was one section we hadn’t used recently, so we checked that too. Mum looked at me. “Don’t decide to explore random tracks.” “I won’t.” She kept looking at me. “I won’t.” Then came the usual questions. Phone? Charged. Location on? Yes. Water? In the carriage. Hoof pick? In the carriage. Headcollar and rope? In the carriage. Hi-vis? On me. “Brain?” she asked. I paused. “Probably.” “That would be useful.” Boris flicked an ear backwards.

I climbed onto the carriage, gathered the reins and asked him to walk on. At the end of the track, the quickest way to the top field was to the right. I turned left. Boris stopped. He knew perfectly well where the top field was and apparently felt I had made a navigational error before we had even left home. “Walk on.” Nothing. “Boris.” He turned his head slightly. “We’re going the long way.” Apparently this was not sufficient explanation. “Walk on.” He went, but slowly enough to register his objection.

The lane from Skylands runs between high hedges and in places they almost meet above your head. During summer it becomes a green tunnel. Now there were hips and haws amongst the leaves, hazelnuts underneath the trees and blackberries hanging over the banks. Every so often there was a gap in the hedge and the whole countryside appeared at once: fields falling away into the distance, patches of woodland, roofs, church towers and farms tucked into the folds of the hills. That is what I like about our countryside. It doesn’t show you everything at once. You have to keep going.

Once Boris realised we genuinely were going somewhere, his walk changed. His ears came forward and he started marching. The wheels made a steady crunch along the lane. We passed the cottage where a little terrier always charges at the gate and barks as though we are the first horse-drawn vehicle he has ever seen. Boris ignored him. We passed the field where an enormous grey horse always gallops over to stare at us. Boris ignored him too. Then a pheasant exploded out of the hedge. Boris jumped sideways and the carriage lurched. “BORIS!” He stopped a few strides later and stood completely still while the pheasant disappeared over the hedge. I sat there for a second. Boris flicked one ear backwards. “You are ridiculous. You’ve just walked past a galloping horse without blinking.” He walked on. Apparently the matter was closed.

The lane began to climb. Boris slowed. He is perfectly capable of going up hills, but he likes everyone involved to acknowledge that he is doing it. “Good boy.” He immediately walked faster. At the top I let him stand for a moment. Behind us, I could just see the roofs of Skylands. Ahead, the countryside rolled away in patches of green, brown and the first gold of autumn. Sheep looked like tiny white stones on the opposite hill. A tractor crawled across a distant field and a flock of rooks lifted from the stubble and turned together in the sky.

If you go everywhere in a car, you miss things. Cars are too fast. With a pony you notice which gateways stay muddy. You notice where a hedge has been cut, where cattle have moved fields, which streams are low and which houses have dogs. You learn where the blackberries ripen first and which patches of lane stay icy in winter. You begin to know the countryside not as scenery but as hundreds of small pieces of information. Boris knows them too. Probably better than I do.

We went down the hill towards the ford. It isn’t an impressive ford. Nobody has ever needed rescuing from it and there are definitely no waterfalls. We knew it well, and we had checked before setting out that the route was still open. Most of the year the water barely reaches Boris’s fetlocks, but he stopped at the edge anyway. “It’s water.” Boris stared at it. “You’ve seen water before.” He lowered his nose. A leaf floated past and Boris stepped backwards. This was particularly unreasonable because he will put his feet in his water trough and splash it everywhere if given the opportunity. Apparently water in a bucket is harmless but water moving independently through the countryside requires investigation.

I waited. Sometimes the quickest way to do something with a pony is not to hurry. Eventually Boris stretched his neck down, looked properly and walked forward when I asked him. One foot went in, then another. Halfway across he discovered that splashing was actually quite entertaining and came out on the other side much faster than he had gone in. “Very brave,” I told him. His ears went forward.

Beyond the ford the lane became one of the old tracks we were allowed to drive. The trees closed over us and the temperature dropped immediately. The ground smelled of damp leaves and earth, and sunlight came through the branches in narrow strips. Somewhere high above us a pigeon clattered out of a tree. Boris jumped about six inches, remembered he was attached to a carriage and immediately pretended nothing had happened.

The track through the wood looked ancient. The banks on either side were higher than the carriage wheels and tree roots twisted through them. I wondered how many horses had travelled along it before Boris. Farm horses pulling carts. People going to market. Horses taking people to church or carrying things between farms. Before engines, almost every journey through these lanes must have involved a horse somewhere. It is strange to think that something we do for fun was once completely ordinary.

At the end of the wood the countryside opened again and we came out beside a field of sheep. They had been lying in the sunshine until they saw Boris, when they all stood up together. Boris stopped. The sheep stared at Boris. Boris stared at the sheep. “Please don’t.” One sheep started running and the others followed. Boris grew approximately three inches taller. “They’re sheep.” He snorted. An old ewe stopped beside the fence and looked at him. Boris looked back. Neither seemed impressed. Eventually we continued.

A little further on I saw something bright beside the hedge. At first I thought it was rubbish. When we got closer I realised it was a length of blue baler twine caught well off the track in a branch. Normally I would have picked it up, but there was nowhere safe to stop the carriage, so I remembered where it was instead. I could tell Mum when I got home and we could collect it later. Doing the right thing doesn’t always mean doing it immediately. Sometimes the right thing is knowing when not to.

By lunchtime we were far enough from home for it to feel like somewhere else. We reached the stopping place we had planned, a wide safe area off the route with plenty of room. I halted Boris and checked him before having my lunch. My sandwich was cheese. Again. I had packed it myself, so there was nobody else to blame. Boris watched every mouthful. “You have your own food.” He looked at my sandwich. “You don’t even like cheese.” He continued looking until I gave him the carrot I had brought for him.

We stayed there for a while. A few weeks earlier the fields had been dusty and hard. Now tiny green shoots were appearing everywhere. Nothing dramatic had happened. There had been no announcement that the drought was over. The countryside had simply started again. I thought about school, then deliberately thought about something else. Somewhere behind us a church bell rang. A buzzard circled over the valley. For a little while there was nowhere else I needed to be.

Eventually it was time to move on. Boris looked disappointed that lunch had finished, but we set off again. The route ran along the side of the hill with a view right across the valley. We passed an old stone barn with half its roof missing and an orchard where apples had fallen into the grass. Boris tried to steer towards them. “No.” He stretched his neck. “No.” He gave me a look suggesting that if I insisted on taking ridiculously long routes, the least I could do was provide refreshments.

Around the next corner stood a tractor. It was parked beside a gateway with a trailer attached and there was plenty of room for us to pass. Boris had seen hundreds of tractors. This tractor, however, had a yellow bucket sitting on it. He stopped. I looked at the tractor, then at Boris. “You cannot be serious.” The yellow bucket remained completely still. Boris snorted.

A man appeared from behind the hedge carrying a fence post. “Morning!” “Hello.” He looked at Boris. “Will he go past?” “Yes.” Boris heard this. Now he had to. I gave him time to look, kept him straight and asked him forward. Two suspicious steps. The bucket did nothing. Another step. “Good boy.” He walked past. I thanked the man and, as soon as the tractor was behind us, Boris marched away as though there had never been a problem. Pony logic.

Not long afterwards the weather began to change. The blue disappeared from the sky and the wind started moving the tops of the trees. I checked the time. We were still fine, but there was no reason to hang around. Then we reached the part of the route we hadn’t used recently. At first everything looked normal. Then we turned a corner and found a large branch down across the track.

I stopped well back. Boris stood quietly while I looked at it. It wasn’t enormous, but it was far too large to drive over and there wasn’t enough safe room to manoeuvre around it. For a moment I was annoyed. We were having such a good drive. Then I could almost hear Mum saying, Don’t turn a small problem into a big one. I wasn’t going to get down and start dragging branches about while Boris was put to. I wasn’t going to squeeze the carriage through a gap just because it looked nearly wide enough, and I definitely wasn’t going to try anything clever.

There was another permitted route at the previous junction. It would take longer. That was all. I carefully turned where there was enough room and retraced our route. Boris was delighted. He clearly believed the entire expedition had finally been cancelled. “Don’t get excited. We’re still going the long way.” His ears went backwards.

When we reached the alternative track, I checked the route again. This was where the afternoon became slightly more complicated. The map was clear. The actual countryside was not. There were three tracks where I had expected two. One dropped downhill, one went between the hedges and the third curved towards the wood. I knew where I was, roughly. I just wasn’t certain which track connected with the lane we wanted.

Boris immediately tried to turn left. “Wait.” He stopped. I checked my phone. Hardly any signal, but plenty of battery. Mum knew where I was. There was no emergency. Boris was comfortable, the carriage was fine and we had plenty of daylight. So I thought instead of panicking.

I looked back towards the hill we had crossed earlier and found the church tower. Beyond that was the ridge above Skylands. I looked at the map again, then at the tracks. The left one made sense. Boris tried left again. “You knew, didn’t you?” His ears went forward.

I chose left.

Within ten minutes we came through a gap in the hedge and I knew exactly where we were. The church tower stood across the valley and beyond it, almost hidden by trees, was the ridge above Skylands. I laughed. Boris trotted. “Steady!”

From there everything began to become familiar again: the old oak beside the lane, the cottage with the stone wall, the field where the grey horse lived and then the ford. By the time we reached the last hill, the first spots of rain had started. Boris was marching now. He knew exactly where he was going.

The rain became steadier as we reached the final lane. Water darkened Boris’s coat and drops collected on my gloves. Then we turned the corner and there it was: Skylands.

Home looks different when you have been away from it all day. The same gates were there, the same buildings and the same trees, but the lights were beginning to come on around the yard and everything looked smaller and warmer than it had that morning. Mum was standing near the gate. She didn’t look worried. This meant either she had complete faith in me or she had been checking my location for the last hour. I suspected the second.

“Top field?” she asked.

“Eventually.”

She looked at the mud on the carriage, the wet pony and me. “Nice drive?”

“Very.”

“Any problems?”

I thought about the branch, the tractor, the yellow bucket and the three tracks. “Not really.”

Mum smiled in a way that suggested she knew perfectly well this wasn’t the whole story.

I drove Boris into the yard. The drive wasn’t finished just because we were home. I checked him first, then we unharnessed properly, sorted the carriage and put everything away. Boris was damp from the rain but comfortable and very pleased with himself. His tea was waiting. Of course that was the part of the entire expedition he was most impressed by.

I stood beside him for a while as he ate. Outside, the rain drummed against the roof and water began running down the yard. I could hear people finishing the evening jobs, a door banging somewhere and another horse calling from across the yard. Boris lifted his head and looked at me with hay sticking out of his mouth.

“You did know, didn’t you?”

He chewed.

“At the tracks. You knew which way.”

Nothing.

I scratched the place underneath his mane that he likes.

When I had left that morning, I had thought exploring meant finding places you had never seen before. I had imagined hidden tracks, old woods and something exciting enough to tell people about afterwards. But perhaps exploring is partly about learning how things connect. A track joins a lane. A lane crosses a hill. A stream runs towards a village. A church tower tells you where you are. A pony remembers a road.

And somehow, after travelling far enough away from somewhere, you understand home differently too.

I could have told Mum that, but she would probably have made a big thing of it, so I didn’t.

The next morning I went to turn Boris out. We reached the end of the yard and he stopped. His field was to the right. The lane was to the left.

Boris looked left.

Then he looked at me.

I stared at him.

“Absolutely not.”

He took one hopeful step towards the lane.

“You had your chance yesterday.”

He stood there for another moment with his ears pricked towards the road and the whole enormous world beyond it.

Then I turned him towards the field.

We would go again.

Just not today.

It was a mild and hazy morning up at the yard when Sophie arrived. A thin layer of mist still rested over the fields, and the early morning sun was just beginning to push its way through the clouds, making the wet grass sparkle. The familiar sounds of the yard surrounded her: horses softly munching on their breakfast, the gentle creak of stable doors opening and closing, and the occasional call from one horse to another across the yard.

Normally, Sophie loved the peaceful mornings at the yard, but today felt different. Today wasn’t just any ordinary day of mucking out, grooming, or riding lessons. Today was the dressage test she had trained all year for.

She was buzzing with excitement.

Sophie walked through the yard with a huge smile on her face, carrying her grooming kit in one hand and her riding hat in the other. She had spent months preparing for this moment, spending hours practising every movement, every transition, and every tiny detail that could help her and Butterscotch achieve their best score.

Sophie rode Butterscotch, the riding school cob she had completely fallen in love with. Butterscotch was a skewbald gelding with a beautiful mixture of white and chestnut patches across his body. At 17 years young, he may have been older than some of the other horses at the yard, but he still had plenty of energy and personality. He was the type of horse who could make anyone smile, whether he was cheekily pulling faces over the stable door or gently nudging Sophie’s pockets looking for treats.

Sophie, who was 14 years old and had been riding for as long as she could remember, had first met Butterscotch when she was younger. He had been a favourite at Greenhill Equestrian Centre, where he was used for riding lessons. Sophie instantly connected with him. She loved how patient and kind he was, especially when helping nervous riders gain confidence.

When Butterscotch was 12 years old, Sophie finally got the chance she had always dreamed of — she bought him.

Since then, the pair had grown together. They had spent countless hours hacking around the countryside, schooling in the arena, attending lessons, and building a bond that Sophie knew was special.

This was their first competition of the year, and Sophie was determined to make it one they would never forget.

As Sophie reached Butterscotch’s stable, he immediately lifted his head from his hay net. His ears flicked forward as soon as he recognised her footsteps.

A loud, excited whinny echoed around the yard.

“Hey buddy,” Sophie said with a laugh as she opened the stable door. “Are you ready for today?”

Butterscotch lowered his head towards her, searching for attention as Sophie walked inside.

She smiled and tossed some hay into his net.

“Today we are going to a dressage competition, boy,” she told him while stroking his neck. “It’s Prelim this time, so we need to work extra hard. No messing around!”

Butterscotch blinked and nodded his head slightly, almost as if he understood every word Sophie was saying.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Sophie joked.

She grabbed her grooming kit and began brushing him down. The familiar routine helped calm her nerves. She carefully worked through his coat until it shone, making sure every patch of white was clean and every piece of straw was removed.

Today was important, and Butterscotch needed to look his absolute best.

Once he was spotless, Sophie began plaiting his mane. She had practised his plaits many times before competitions, wanting them to be neat and smart. Although they were never perfect in her eyes, Butterscotch always seemed to make them look better.

After finishing his grooming, Sophie quickly mucked out his stable. She worked as efficiently as she could, knowing there was still a lot to do before they could leave.

Her mum stood nearby, watching everything carefully.

“Sophie, have you packed the horse box properly?” her mum asked.

“Yes, Mum,” Sophie replied, continuing to sweep.

“Have you got your boots?”

“Yes.”

“Your hat?”

“Yes.”

“Your gloves?”

“Yes, Mum!”

Her mum laughed. “I’m only checking. I don’t want us getting halfway there and realising we’ve forgotten something important.”

Sophie smiled. She knew her mum was only trying to help, even if she did sometimes worry a little too much.

After finishing the last bits of work, Sophie answered a few questions from the yard manager about where they were going and what time they expected to be back. Finally, after what felt like a hundred last-minute checks, they were ready.

It was time to load Butterscotch.

Sophie led him towards the horse box, expecting the usual hesitation that sometimes came with loading. But Butterscotch surprised her by calmly walking straight up the ramp.

“Good boy,” Sophie praised, giving him a pat.

Inside the box, he stood quietly, happily eating his hay net while Sophie’s mum checked the time.

“Sophie! Hurry up!” her mum called. “I’ve paid a lot of money for this class and we could miss it if you don’t get a move on!”

“Sorry, Mum!” Sophie replied, trying not to laugh.

She knew exactly why they were running late.

She had spent far too long giving Butterscotch his pre-show apples.

But could anyone blame her? He deserved a little treat before such an important day.

Finally, Sophie secured the back of the horse box, checked everything one last time, and climbed into the car.

As they pulled away from the yard, Sophie looked back at the place that had become such an important part of her life.

Today was their day.

Nothing was going to ruin it.

Or at least, that was what Sophie thought.

About an hour into their journey towards the Edgeway Prelim Dressage Championships, Sophie sat quietly in the passenger seat, imagining the test in her head. She pictured riding down the centre line, giving a perfect halt, and hearing the judge’s bell.

She was so focused that she almost didn’t notice the strange noise coming from the car.

Then suddenly—

BANG!

The loud sound made both Sophie and her mum jump.

“What was that?” Sophie asked.

Smoke began rising from the engine.

Her mum immediately pulled over safely to the side of the road.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Sophie’s heart sank.

They both knew this was not good.

The next few minutes were filled with worry as they carefully unloaded Butterscotch and made sure he was safe. He stood calmly beside them, completely unaware of the panic happening around him.

Sophie stroked his neck, trying to stay positive.

“It’s okay, boy,” she whispered. “We’ll figure this out.”

But as the minutes passed, her hope started to disappear.

Forty-five minutes went by before they finally managed to get hold of someone who could help. Even then, the news wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

The mechanic couldn’t arrive for another two hours.

Sophie felt her stomach drop.

Her competition was in less than that.

“I’m sorry, Soph,” her mum said gently.

Those words hurt more than Sophie expected.

She had trained so hard for this. Every early morning, every lesson, every time she had practised the same movements over and over again had all been leading up to today.

And now it looked like it was over before it had even started.

Sophie stood beside Butterscotch, trying her best not to cry. She hated feeling disappointed, especially when she had worked so hard for something. She had spent the entire winter preparing for this competition, riding through cold mornings, dark evenings, and days when she would have rather stayed warm at home.

She had practised her circles until they were perfectly round. She had worked on her transitions until they became smooth and effortless. She had listened carefully to her instructor, taking on every piece of advice and trying to improve each time she rode.

And now, because of a broken-down vehicle, it felt like all that work was about to disappear.

Butterscotch nudged her shoulder gently, almost as if he knew she was upset.

“I know, buddy,” Sophie whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m upset too.”

Her mum sighed, looking between Sophie and the horse box.

“I really thought today was going to be special,” she said.

“It still can be,” Sophie replied quietly, although even she wasn’t sure if she believed it.

Just then, a vehicle pulling a horse trailer slowed down nearby.

At first, Sophie didn’t think anything of it. She assumed they were just another horse rider passing by on their way to a competition.

Then a familiar voice called out.

“Quick, get Butterscotch loaded!”

Sophie turned around in confusion.

Standing by the passing trailer was Terry, the yard manager from Greenhill Equestrian Centre.

For a moment, Sophie couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Terry?” she said.

He smiled. “I heard what happened. You didn’t think I was going to let you miss your first competition of the year, did you?”

Sophie’s face instantly lit up.

Relief washed over her so quickly that she nearly cried again, but this time they were happy tears.

“I don’t even know what to say,” Sophie said.

“Save the talking for after your test,” Terry laughed. “Right now, we’ve got a competition to get to.”

Suddenly, everything became a rush of movement.

Sophie quickly loaded Butterscotch into Terry’s trailer, making sure he was comfortable and had his hay net. She grabbed his tack, grooming kit, and anything else they would need before climbing into the passenger seat.

Her mum smiled through the stress of the morning.

“I’ll stay here and wait for the mechanics,” she said. “Remember, heels down and ride like you know how.”

Sophie nodded. “Thanks, Mum. Hopefully I’ll see you on the way back.” 

“You better,” her mum replied with a smile.

As the trailer pulled away, Sophie looked back through the window. She felt a mixture of nerves and excitement building inside her.

They were running late.

Extremely late. 

But they were still going. Nothing was going to stop them now.

The journey seemed to pass in a blur. Sophie checked the time constantly, her mind racing through every possible scenario.

What if they arrived too late? What if she missed her time? What if she forgot the test? She tried to push those thoughts away. She had worked too hard to let panic take over.

Instead, she focused on Butterscotch. She knew him. He knew her. They had done this together hundreds of times at home. A competition arena was just another place to ride.

Finally, after what felt like the longest journey ever, they pulled into the venue.

Sophie looked out of the window and saw rows of horse boxes, riders walking around in smart competition outfits, and horses being led towards the warm-up arenas.

Her nerves returned immediately. There was only 30 minutes until her test.

“Okay,” Terry said calmly. “No rushing. We know what we need to do.” Sophie nodded and jumped out of the vehicle.

The venue was busy, but she tried not to let it overwhelm her. Everyone around her seemed prepared and organised, while she felt like she had arrived in the middle of chaos.

Terry quickly headed inside to sign Sophie in while she prepared Butterscotch.

She groomed him one final time, checking his plaits and making sure he looked perfect. Even after the stressful journey, Butterscotch seemed completely relaxed.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Sophie whispered. Butterscotch softly breathed against her hand. Sophie smiled. That was exactly what she needed.

Once he was tacked up, Sophie mounted and rode carefully towards the warm-up arena. The moment she entered, everything else disappeared. The noise of the venue faded away. The other riders disappeared. It was just Sophie and Butterscotch.

They started with some simple movements, allowing Butterscotch to stretch and relax after travelling. Sophie focused on staying calm and giving him confidence.

“Come on, boy,” she whispered. “We’ve got this.”

She practised parts of the test, checking their transitions and making sure Butterscotch was listening.

He felt amazing.

Every step reminded Sophie why she loved him so much. Then came the reminder she had been waiting for. “Number 37, Sophie, you are in next,” called the steward. Sophie’s heart jumped. This was it.

She took a deep breath and cantered Butterscotch around the warm-up arena one final time. She checked her position carefully.

Heels down.

Shoulders back.

Hands steady.

All the things she had practised. As she walked towards the entrance of the arena, she watched the rider before her finish. The girl trotted out, smiling after completing her test.

Suddenly, Sophie felt a wave of nerves. What if she forgot? What if her mind went blank? What if all the preparation disappeared the second she entered?

For a moment, doubt crept in.

But then Butterscotch turned his head slightly towards her. Sophie looked at him. The horse who had carried nervous beginners around lessons. The horse who had helped her grow as a rider. The horse who had spent months preparing for this moment with her. She took a deep breath. “No matter what happens,” she whispered, “we’re doing this together.”

The steward opened the gate. It was time. Sophie quietly walked Butterscotch into the arena. The atmosphere changed instantly.

The familiar feeling of training at home was replaced by the pressure of judges watching, spectators sitting nearby, and the knowledge that every movement counted.

But Sophie didn’t let fear take over. She saluted the judge. And then they began. The pair moved smoothly down the centre line. Butterscotch listened to every aid Sophie gave him.

Their first halt was balanced and accurate. Their transitions were soft. Their circles were controlled. Sophie focused on every detail, remembering all the hours they had spent practising. The walk work felt relaxed. The trot work felt powerful.

When it was time for their canter movements, Sophie felt a huge smile appear on her face. They were doing it. They were actually doing it. She stopped thinking about the broken-down car. She stopped worrying about being late. She stopped thinking about the other competitors.

There was only her and Butterscotch. As they completed the final movement, Sophie guided Butterscotch back to the centre line. She gave her final salute. The test was over.

For a few seconds, Sophie just sat there, taking it all in. Then she patted Butterscotch’s neck. “Good boy,” she whispered. The biggest smile spread across her face.

Whatever happened with the score, she already knew one thing. She was proud of them.

As Sophie walked Butterscotch out of the arena, she could hardly believe what had just happened.

Only an hour earlier, she had been standing on the side of the road thinking their whole day was ruined. She had thought all the hours of training, all the lessons, and all the effort they had put in would mean nothing because they had never even made it to the competition. But somehow, they were here. And they had done it.

Sophie loosened Butterscotch’s girth slightly and walked him around, allowing him to cool down after the test. She could feel the adrenaline still rushing through her body. “How did that even happen?” she laughed quietly to herself.

Butterscotch flicked his ears back towards her voice, calmly walking beside her as if competing at a championship was just another normal day.

That was one of the things Sophie loved most about him. No matter how big the occasion was, Butterscotch always stayed the same.

Calm.

Kind.

Reliable.

Terry came over with a huge smile on his face. “I knew you two could do it,” he said.

Sophie grinned. “I honestly thought we weren’t going to make it.” 

“Well, you did,” Terry replied. “And that was a lovely test. You should be proud.” Sophie looked over at Butterscotch. “I am.”

While waiting for the results, Sophie untacked Butterscotch and gave him another thorough groom. She checked him carefully, making sure he was comfortable after his busy morning.

Of course, Butterscotch had other ideas.

The second Sophie finished grooming him, he stretched his neck over her shoulder and searched for treats.

“You’re unbelievable,” Sophie laughed. After everything he had done for her that day, she couldn’t say no. She reached into her pocket and gave him a small treat. “Only because you were amazing.”

The competition atmosphere around them continued. Riders walked past with their horses, some looking nervous while others celebrated their scores. Sophie watched them all, realising that everyone there had worked hard to get to that moment.

It reminded her how lucky she was. She didn’t just have a competition horse. She had Butterscotch.

The loudspeaker suddenly crackled. Sophie froze. The results were being announced. She felt her heart start racing again. “Prelim Dressage Championship results,” the announcer began.

Sophie held her breath. “Third place goes to…” A name was called. Then second place. Another rider stepped forward.

Sophie tried not to get her hopes up. She had already achieved something she was proud of. After the stressful morning they had experienced, simply completing the test felt like a victory. 

But deep down, there was still a tiny part of her hoping. The announcer paused. “And first place, with a score of 70.14%…”

Sophie’s eyes widened. She knew that score. It was hers. “Number 37, Sophie and Butterscotch!” For a second, Sophie didn’t move. She just stood there. Then everything sank in. They had won. They had actually won.

“Oh my goodness,” Sophie whispered. Terry laughed as Sophie covered her mouth in shock. “Go on then,” he said. “That’s your moment.” Sophie walked forward to collect her rosette and trophy, still struggling to believe it.

First place.

The best score she had ever achieved. 70.14%. All those months of training had paid off.When she returned to Butterscotch, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You did it,” she whispered. “We did it.”

Butterscotch stood quietly, enjoying the attention and the extra treats that came with his success. Sophie’s mum arrived later after the mechanics had finally sorted everything out. As soon as she saw Sophie’s face, she knew something good had happened. “You won, didn’t you?” she asked.

Sophie smiled. “First place.”

Her mum’s face lit up. “I knew you could do it.”Sophie hugged her tightly. The morning had started with excitement, turned into disappointment, and somehow ended with the best result they could have imagined. It was a day Sophie would never forget.

When they finally arrived back at the yard that evening, the sun was beginning to set. The yard was peaceful again, almost exactly like it had been that morning. But Sophie felt different. She had learned something important. Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. Sometimes everything seems like it is falling apart.

But if you keep going, trust yourself, and have the right people — and the right horse — beside you, amazing things can happen.

Sophie led Butterscotch back into his stable and removed his tack. After such a long day, he deserved the biggest reward she could give him.

She prepared him the most delicious feed she could imagine, adding all his favourite treats. Butterscotch immediately tucked in, clearly very pleased with himself.

“You know you’re pretty special, don’t you?” Sophie said while watching him eat. Butterscotch continued munching, completely focused on his dinner. Sophie laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

The yard became quiet as the evening went on. The other horses settled down, the lights around the stable block slowly switched off, and the busy competition day finally came to an end.

Sophie sat down beside Butterscotch’s stable door, feeling exhausted but happy. She thought about the morning. The panic. The broken-down car. The rush to get there. The nerves before entering the arena. And then the moment they crossed the finish line of their test. It felt like a dream.

Eventually, the tiredness caught up with her. She rested her head against the stable wall, listening to Butterscotch quietly eating his hay. Before she knew it, Sophie had fallen asleep.

Curled up beside the horse who had made her dreams come true, she dreamed about all the adventures they still had ahead. Because this was only the beginning. There were more competitions to enter. More memories to make. And more journeys waiting for Sophie and Butterscotch. Together.