kit + “ you’re my person. you’ll always be the one i go to. ” 🥺👉👈
You’re sitting in on Kit’s lesson for the afternoon and it’s… intense. Alexander Mannor isn’t known for his kindness, but you somehow didn’t think he would be this bad.
“Katherine, how many times do I need to tell you to sit up before the fence? With posture like that it’s no wonder you couldn’t cut it in the equitation classes,” he yells through his megaphone.
You can see Kit’s full-body wince at his tone and shoot him a glare he either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care to see. She mumbles out an apology and readies Babs for the next line of fences. This triple combination has been eluding her all morning, and you’re scared of what Alexander might say next if she knocks another rail.
“Come on, Kit,” you murmur under your breath from your spot at the rail.
Babs canters on with her usual spirit, fighting to push the pace. For a moment you’re afraid they’ll rush the line again, until you see Kit square her shoulders, take a deep breath, and sit back.
Like magic, Babs relaxes into the controlled pace Alexander has been screaming about for the past 45 minutes and they glide into the combination with ease. The fences set just about a meter high suddenly seem small, and the racy dappled grey handles them with scope to spare.
When Kit finishes her courtesy circle afterwards she wastes no time trotting up to where you stand, waving her over with a huge grin on your face. Her cheeks are rosy with triumph and exertion and her smile is achingly wide.
“Did you see that shit?” she asks breathlessly.
“I sure did,” you grin up at her. “This show season is about to be all yours!”
“Finally an acceptable effort,” Alexander interrupts. “Be done with that and remember the feel for your next lesson. And make sure you cool out outside of my arena - I have paying clients next.”
Kit rolls her eyes just for you to see before turning and thanking him for the lesson. You walk with her out of the arena and start taking the long way back to the barn, Kit’s reins let loose to the buckle to let Babs stretch down into her walk.
“Sorry,” you say. “I should’ve let you talk with him first.”
Kit scrunches her nose. “Don’t be. As good a coach as he can be, Alexander Mannor is an ass. You’re the person I want to share my successes with, not him.”
“Oh. Well,” you bluster, not sure how to adequately express the same sentiment, “good.”
She ruffles your hair with a snicker. “Good.”











