~ Delicate's Inspection

The inspection grounds were already shimmering under the weight of the summer sun, and it wasn't even midmorning yet. The heat clung to everything; skin, leather, steel, rising in slow, visible waves from the trampled dirt as sweat beaded on brows and trickled down the backs of necks, dampening shirt collars and plastering hair to temples, the smell of sunscreen mingling with fly spray and freshly oiled tack in the air. A bunch of trucks and trailers sat baking along the edge of the open field, their metal sides radiating heat like overworked ovens. Canvas awnings flapped lazily in the rare breeze, offering slim shade to grooms fanning themselves with clipboards and riders gulping water from insulated bottles, with tack gleaming on portable racks, their polished leather softening slightly in the sun as somewhere nearby, a distant whinny cut through the air, answered by another, more impatient and shrill.

Despite the heat, the grounds buzzed with the quiet tension of an inspection-morning. All of the cobs, now gleaming with sweat and grooming oils, shifted on their hooves, flicking their tails at lazy flies. Their handlers jogged beside them, practiced and poised, trying not to lose composure under the heat and the scrutiny as every move of theirs was calculated, every eye watched. Taylor stood just outside the main lane, the sun already pressing down on her shoulders like a weighted blanket as a bead of sweat rolled from her temple, disappearing into the curve of her jaw, which she ignored. One hand loosely gripped the purple lead rope; the other rested against the warm, solid presence of the mare beside her. The blue roan's flank rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her coat shimmering in shades of iron and slate beneath the unrelenting sun.

Delicate.

The mare looked every bit the star even in the sweltering heat, her head high, her teddy-ears forward, her muscles taut and gleaming. If anything, the heat only seemed to add to her drama. The tall blue roan mare shifted her weight with a toss of her head, her mane fluttering like smoke in the breeze; no, she wasn't sweating from nerves, she was practically shining. Taylor leaned in, brushing a strand of blonde hair off her sticky forehead, "Try not to melt before your turn, drama queen.”, she murmured. Delicate flicked an ear and arched her neck like a ballerina striking her mark, because of course, the heat didn't bother her. She'd perform no matter what. The blonde remembered how the mare's name had caused no shortage of skeptical snorts when Taylor had first registered her, but anyone who'd seen the mare fly through a jumper course knew better. She was fire wrapped in silk, power behind grace, the kind of cob that left a wake of dropped jaws and whispered awe wherever she went.

She was also a nightmare when she didn't get her way. "Okay, superstar.", Taylor mumbled, smoothing the roan's long mane, freshly brushed and glinting like smoke in sunlight, "Let's pretend we like people for the next twenty minutes. Think you can manage that?" Delicate turned her head slightly and offered a pointed snort that ruffled the front of the woman's jacket. So, it was going to be one of those days. Their appointment was scheduled for precisely 9:15 in the morning, and Taylor was already watching the second hand on her watch tick toward the mark. Around them, other horses were being inspected; moved through their paces, judged on conformation, obedience, attitude. Some pranced, some balked, others seemed completely unfazed. Delicate had her ears swiveling in every direction; every shift in the wind, every rustle of a paper or squeak of a halter drew her attention. She wasn't spooked - no, no, this mare didn't spook. She evaluated, she sized up - and worst of all, she planned.

Taylor reached into her pocket and pulled out a soft cloth, dabbing at a smear of dust on the mare's shoulder. Not that Delicate needed help looking perfect - she practically glowed. Finally, a steward in a navy windbreaker approached, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable, "Taylor and Don't Blame Me?"

"That's us.", the blonde answered, glancing sideways at her mare before flashing the steward a nervous smile.

The steward nodded once, barely glancing up from his clipboard, "You're up. Please proceed to the presentation ring."

Taylor tightened her hold on the lead, gave Delicate a gentle cue, and stepped forward. The mare followed instantly, but not without flair. She lifted her legs just a bit higher than necessary, hooves tapping the ground with the deliberateness of a runway model. Her tail arched slightly, her neck stretched proud and long. She knew. Of course she knew.

The presentation ring was framed with white rails, nothing too extravagant, but enough to mark the space. Three judges (one of which was a veterinarian) stood at the far end, each with a different expression: one stern, one quietly observant, and one who looked like she might be fighting a smirk already. Taylor led Delicate to the center and halted, squaring the mare up as she'd practiced a dozen times. The mare settled into her stance with unbothered ease, her front legs straight, her back legs balanced just so, her ears forward, and of cousre, her head high. She might as well have winked at the judges. The observers then began their circuit. One walked slowly around the mare, eyes trailing across muscle, posture, coat, while another jotted down notes. The third murmured something Taylor couldn't quite catch. The blonde just kept her eyes forward, her posture straight.

The judge closest to her stepped in, running a hand gently down Delicate's neck, her shoulder, her side. The mare sighed. Not a gentle, relaxed sigh, but a dramatic, world-weary sigh, as if to say, Ugh, if I must be touched, get it over with quickly. Taylor's lips twitched. Behave, she thought, for once in your life.

The judge glanced up at her, a smirk on his face, "Bit of a personality on this one, huh?"

Taylor chuckled softly, "You have no idea."

As the judge stepped away, the other passed in front of Delicate's face. For reasons known only to her, the mare immediately turned her head in the opposite direction and stared at nothing in particular, clearly avoiding eye contact with the utmost precision. "Oh no-", Taylor muttered, "Don't start."

The third judge, the one who'd looked amused from the start, quite obviously the vet, tilted her head slightly, "What is she doing? Is she... pouting?"

The blonde hesitated. "Yes.", Taylor sighed, "She um... doesn't like it when people scrutinize her without a compliment or two, at least."

"Noted.", the judge said, and scribbled something on her clipboard; and whether it was about conformation or dramatics, Taylor would never know. They completed the physical inspection, and Taylor led Delicate into the small trotting lane. A nod from the steward, and they began. The woman jogged, her boots thudding rhythmically against the packed dirt as Delicate moved besides her in perfect unison, each step an effortless extension of her strength and grace. Her mane fluttered, her legs slicing through the air like music. At the turn, Taylor slowed, pivoted, and headed back, and the mare matched her again, never breaking form. She didn't just trot; she performed, as every muscle, every movement was deliberate, calculated to show her at her best, and even her ears seemed posed.

The duo finally halted. Taylor stood tall, trying to suppress her racing heart as she felt Delicate shift beside her, striking her stance again with that same prideful elegance. Then came the long wait as the judges conferred, notes were passed, and murmurs traded. One of them looked up and briefly locked eyes with Taylor. When the steward finally waved her out of the ring, Taylor exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. They walked back towards the trailer, Delicate's head still high, her ears always forward. She knew she'd done well, and that same confident prance had returned to her step; a victory strut, whether or not the scores confirmed it. The woman glanced sideways at her and smiled, "You were incredible. As always."

Delicate flared her nostrils, clearly agreeing. Once back at the trailer, Taylor looped the lead rope loosely over the tie ring and dug into her bag. Treats weren't allowed before inspection, but now? Now the queen deserved her tribute. She unwrapped a soft peppermint and held it out. Delicate sniffed it, then plucked it daintily from her palm. "We'll find out whether you got the certificate or not.", Taylor said, stroking the mare's neck, "But either way, you were the star." Delicate didn't even blink, it was like she knew. And ugh - if she didn't receive her certificate? Taylor was already mentally preparing for the sighs, the side-eye, and a week of diva-level emotional withdrawal. But for now, the morning sun warmed them both, the breeze dancing through her mane, with the inspection being done and the queen having made her entrance. Hopefully it'd been good enough.