Shawna finally returns to the show ring for the ride that could change everything. But just as she approaches her most critical maneuver, someone rushes into the arena. What should’ve been her big comeback turns into a viral spectacle — and a heartbreak she never saw coming.
I could feel the tension under Dakota’s skin, like a taut wire ready to snap or sing. This was the moment we’d clawed our way back to.
The arena buzzed with energy. It was the final day of the regional reining Championships, and the crowd was sizable — all eyes on the next competitor. On us.
“Now entering the arena: Shawna and Dakota,” the announcer’s voice cut through the hum.
I perched in the saddle, my face a mask of calm while my shoulders remained tight enough to snap pencils.
My palms were sweating under my gloves. Dakota’s ears flicked back and forth; he was tuned in, but twitchy. Smart enough to know this mattered, sensitive enough to feel my racing heart.
“Easy, boy,” I whispered, patting his neck. “Just like practice.”
We reached the center of the ring, and I drew in a deep breath. Months of struggle, pain, and rebuilding led to this moment. After saluting the judges, I settled into position. Dakota’s muscles bunched beneath me, ready.
I signaled, and we began.
The first maneuvers went beautifully. Our circles were tight and controlled, and our lead changes were crisp and precise.
I remained laser-focused, my world narrowing to the feel of my horse beneath me and the pattern we needed to execute.
“That’s it,” I whispered. “That’s my boy.”
The pattern was going better than I’d dared hope. Each transition felt smooth, each spin tight and controlled. Dakota was with me, present and willing. The crowd faded away. The past faded away. There was only this moment, this connection.
Then it was time for the sliding stop — the maneuver that nearly ended my riding career.