Read Chasing Perfection :: Arrival - Part two

They walked down the long stone path that led from the pristine Walden stables to the main arena, the early afternoon sun casting clean light across manicured hedges and impossibly white fencing. Gravel crunched rhythmically beneath hooves, Azzie’s stride sharp and purposeful while Dakota moved with an easy, swinging confidence that mirrored her rider. Scarlett kept her eyes forward, posture immaculate in the saddle, reins held with quiet authority as though even a casual walk demanded discipline. Behind her, Max adjusted his gloves with unhurried precision, stealing glances at her profile when he thought she wouldn’t notice, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly every time Azzie tossed his head in mild impatience.

When they enter the arena, the space opens wide and immaculate before them—freshly dragged footing lying smooth and untouched, jumps set in crisp lines of white and navy. Scarlett guides Azzie into a collected trot first, testing responsiveness, feeling for suppleness through the reins as she asks for bend and impulsion, while Max allows Dakota a longer frame, warming her gradually before gathering her into a balanced rhythm. Hooves thud softly against the sand as they transition into canter, circling opposite directions yet acutely aware of each other’s presence. There is something electric in the air—not overt, not reckless—but charged with the quiet knowledge that every stride here was both preparation and competition, every adjustment observed, every distance silently compared. Even in warm-up, neither of them ever truly stop riding against the other.

Arasael's strides are powerful, demanding in a way. He traverses the ground in a quick manner. Dakota's strides are more gentle, they flow nicer as she glides around the arena. Scarlett sits up, heels down, calves hugging his belly. Her posture is immaculate, perfect. Max sits a bit loose in the saddle, shoulders slightly hunched, legs relaxed in a way.

Scarlett attempts to ignore him, attention locked on the oxer quickly approaching ahead of Azzie. She pushes her heels down further, squeezing harder, mumbling strides under her breath. The warmblood beneath her shoots up off the ground, sand flying out from behind them. Scarlett jumps forward, leaning slightly on the gelding's muscular neck for support. She pushes off his withers, sitting up as Arasael's front hooves collide with the arena sand once more. They clear the fence with preisicion and perfection- not that Scarlett ever excpected any less, nor would she allow anything short of greatness. Slowing Arasael to a steady, working walk she glances around at the pristine arena, the other riders are clearly nervous. Their hands shake, breaths are ragged and their eyes are wide. Scarlett feels the same way, but doesn't let it show. She breaths in and out slowly, holding her head high with confidence and hands steady around the reins.

A low, woop followed by a chuckle echos across the arena. Scarlett grumbles a few venomous slurs under her breath, glancing over at Max.

Max and Dakota approach a vertical, the poles are white, striped with navy. The equine and rider shoot over the fence, gliding through the air. They clear the obstacle with many inches to spare, seeming as if they're trying to test gravity itself. Scarlett's cold gaze collides with Summers warm, cheerful eyes. He approaches eagerly, grinning.

Max slows Dakota just enough to turn in the saddle and speak, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth.

"If you keep looking at me like that, Warrens, I’m going to start thinking you’re not evaluating my form."

" In your dreams Summers. " Scarlett snaps, grip tightening on the reins.

" Who told you? " Max smirks even bigger, one eye-brow raised.

Scarlett exhales sharply through her nose, guiding Azzie into a collected trot as she throws Max a look sharp enough to cut glass.

"Trust me, Summers," she says coolly, chin lifting just slightly, "if I ever end up in your dreams, it’s only because you’re chasing second place." Scarlett glances over her shoulder as she speaks, now Arasael is in a collected canter, striding away.

Max lets out a low, amused laugh, gathering Dakota into a smooth canter as he turns her neatly toward the next fence, eyes never leaving Scarlett.

"Second place?" he calls back, voice warm with challenge. "Careful, Warrens - if I start chasing you, I don’t plan on stopping at the scoreboard."

Scarlett rolls her eyes, scoffing, she doesn’t miss a stride, but her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on the reins as Azzie surges forward beneath her. She guides him through a seamless rollback before sparing Max a cutting glance over her shoulder, icy blue eyes glinting beneath the sun.

"Then you’d better keep up, Summers," she calls sternly, voice steady despite the heat creeping up her spine. "Because I don’t slow down for anyone - especially not boys who confuse confidence with capability."

Max lets out a soft, dangerous laugh, leaning backward slightly in the saddle as Dakota slows herself to a walk beneath him. His sage-grey eyes lock onto hers across the arena, challenge and amusement flickering together.

"Confidence?" he calls smoothly. "No, Scarlett - if I were relying on confidence, I’d be flirting from a distance. I’m riding this close because I already know I can handle you."

" Mhm, keep lying to yourself. Try not to knock any poles while you're at it. " Scarlett sneers, slowing her own equine to a relaxed walk. Yet she still holds herself with confidence, acting as if even a simple walk to cool down needs perfection and instruction.

By the time they eased their horses down to a walk, the sharp edge of competition had softened into something warmer, less combative and far more gentle. Azzie’s sides rose and fell beneath Scarlett as she loosened her reins slightly, allowing the gelding to stretch his neck forward while she reached down to stroke the damp crest of his mane. Beside her, Max had dropped Dakota’s contact as well, the mare lowering her head with a satisfied snort as the tension of collected work melted into a long, swinging stride. The arena was quieter now, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the freshly disturbed sand, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden light.

"You overrode that last line," Max remarked casually, though his tone carried no bite, only observation.

Scarlett arched a brow without looking at him. "And you trusted your mare to fix your distance instead of adjusting it yourself."

He smiled at that, unbothered. "She likes the freedom."

"So do you," she replied, finally glancing over.

Their horses walked close enough that Azzie’s dark shoulder nearly brushed Dakota’s spotted one, the easy rhythm of cooling down replacing the earlier tension. Conversation flowed more naturally now—less like a duel, more like a shared language only riders truly understood. They debated stride choices, footing, the way Walden’s arena rode differently in the afternoon heat. Max teased lightly, Scarlett countered sharply, but the undercurrent had shifted; it wasn’t about winning the exchange anymore. It was about staying in it. When they finally turned toward the path that led back to the barns, neither rushed ahead. Hooves crunched in unison over gravel, their shoulders almost aligned, the quiet between them no longer strained—but charged in a way that felt deliberate, chosen.