Frida found it nearly impossible to climb onto Little Red for reasons she had conveniently forgotten to share with Laurel, her temporary bestie and, for all intents and purposes, Laz's stepmother.
The early morning air was crisp, laced with the earthy scent of dew-kissed grass and fresh hay from the stables.
A golden sunrise painted the horizon, casting long, warm shadows across the paddock as birds chirped a gentle melody overhead.
The stable hand gave her a final boost, and as she settled into the saddle, she swallowed nervously, her hands gripping the reins like a lifeline.
Laurel, perched confidently on her own horse, Bernie, looked the picture of ease.
"Race you to the finish line?" Laurel said with a teasing grin, her voice light with excitement.
Frida's stomach flipped. "Wait, Laurel, I-"
But it was too late. Laurel gave Bernie a nudge, and the stallion took off in an elegant gallop, kicking up a trail of dirt behind him.
