No one has ever accused Charles of being an unenthusiastic horse. Anything else is fair game, however.
Helena holds in a sigh as she watches Myka attempt to half-halt the rushing gelding, her torso nearly rigid in her resistance against Charles' tendencies to lean on his rider's hands. She quirks a brow when the pair pass where she's leaning against the 'C' plate mounted on the short side of the arena, catching Myka's eye for a split second before Charles is dropping back onto his forehand and dragging Myka with him.
The second time they pass, Helena pointedly looks at Myka's clenched hands. Myka relaxes, and allows her hands to follow the movement of Charles' mouth, a steady oscillation that looks more like a civil conversation - however fraught with leftover resentment - than the earlier push-and-pull bickering. Almost immediately, the tension gathering in Charles' neck dissipates and he begins to gather himself beneath his rider - his spine rising into alignment and his powerful hind end pushing him lightly into her hands.
Helena can barely hide her smile when she sees the half-delighted disbelief on Myka's lovely face at Charles' sudden display of self-carriage. As unsuited as Charles is to upper level dressage, Helena would have been remiss if she hadn't ushered Charles to the limits of his potential. He's no Christina, but he's been trained thoroughly enough to satisfy Helena. It's apparent by Myka's sheepish, almost apologetic glance at Helena that Myka has realized this.
After several looping serpentines across the entirety of the arena, Myka finally asks - politely, with none of the stiff impatience she responded with to Charles' own impatience before - for a downward transition, Charles obliges. He's given a perfunctory pat on the neck and when Helena glances back at the barn - Tesla and Mini-Tesla are in separate paddocks today, and probably screaming for each other - Myka sneaks a scratch on Charles' high withers. It's a good note to end on.
When Myka lets the reins slip through loose fingers, Charles takes it as a cue to make a beeline for his favorite person. Myka doesn't object. It's probably her favorite person, too. Her post-ride high won't allow her to deny it to herself.
Helena laughs as her horse noses at her shoulder, leaving streaks of foam and snot on her pristine white shirtsleeve.
"My darling," she says to Charles, the bay horse already munching happily on the treat she had slipped him.
Her eyes lift to Myka's, pride edging along her lips, and suddenly, she realizes Helena isn't referring to Charles at all.
"You were brilliant."
—-
Later, after Charles has been hosed down, coat scraped of loose water, and let out into the paddock to dry (read: roll), Myka lingers and watches the gelding. He's truly nothing special to look at, nor will he ever achieve any exceptional movements. He's a go-nowhere horse with an owner who is going places. She used to think that all that tethered Helena to him was sentiment, that she kept him as a momento of sorts.
But she sees now that there's more to Charles, as well as Helena's reasons. She would never have seen it if Helena had not let her. It makes her feel—
Charles eases to the ground and rolls onto his back, his legs flailing in the air, and all the while grunts as he wriggles to soothe an itch.
Lucky.