A cold gust of wind travelled down the breezeway and entangled with the heated breath of two youngsters, standing within the grooming bays. Neither horse were tied, their leadropes slung loosely over the arms of their grooms, who set about fitting all their gear in a well-practised manner. Contrary to initial thought, the horses were not untied because they could be trusted, but rather the opposite; the duo were an explosive pair, and it wasn't a matter of if they would explode, but when. "I don't have the greatest feeling about this combination," stable owner, Connie, looked on from her casual leaning position against the stalls. Only to be greeted by the amused laugh of Leo from beside Mild Manic's dappled grey shoulder, "I think you'll have plenty of fun watching."

Perhaps as if it were entirely on cue, there was a chest-reverberating snort, the clanging of undone girths and the resulting symphony of three people humming some variation of "Whoaaaaa," as though it were a natural reflex when horses momentarily lost their marbles. Having hasd been standing in front of the two juveniles, Connie now stood a little wide-eyed with her arms in the air, in an endeavour not to be run over. Hemingway had started that one, and Mild Manic had reacted to him; exactly how Connie suspected the entirety of their workout would unfold. Sam ran a hand soothingly down the sooty dappled neck of Hemingway, always the cool-hand-luke when it came to horse handling.

There was a mutual exhale, as both human and horse attempted to recover from the sudden forward-spring of the youngsters, and then a lightly tossed around smile. "You have to laugh, or you'll cry," Connie snickered, leaning back agaisnt the stall doors with a deep inhale. Meanwhile, the grey daughter of Arlequinn continue to snort warily as Leo reversed her back into the grooming chamber. "What on earth did you do to the Princess, Sam?" the red-head mused with an imaginary, pointed finger. "You're kidding right? This thing doesn't need a reason to bounce off the walls, and you know that as well as I do!" Unfased by the ordeal, the middle-aged man's heartbeat probably hadn't increased in the least. "You sure you don't want to take over the excersize work of this kid, Connie?" - She responded with a firm headshake - "I hear this colt was all your idea anyway, Samuel." In reality, Sam probably wouldn't give Hemi up if he was asked to; as painful as the colt could be, he was a seriously thrilling ride.

The dappled duo were guided down the breezeway, with Connie leading the way so she could open and close gates as needed. There was a constant tension about the two almost-juveniles, and she couldn't help but feel as though she were holding her breath around them. That was probably why she'd never be a good fit to work either of them; horses like this would pick up on her anxiousness in a heartbeat. Sam was perfect for Hemingway because he was naturally quite soft; a trait that could turn a bad horse into a nightmare, but a misunderstood horse into a dream. He had a way of ignoring silliness that had a soothing effect on most wound-up youngsters, and despite his muscled build (no matter how short he may be!) a gentle touch that would contest even that of a young childs fingertips. Leo however, although as bomb-proof as his elder, had the kind of spirited passion only a redhead seemed to know how to wear. He had a way of getting the best out of every horse, and though he would conform to his ride to a degree, there was nothing quite like watching Leo and a horse just as rebelious battle it out on the track. Training was not a fine art for Leo, but a calculated game at the best of times. He loved to train, and he was darn good at it; and yet, it truly felt like he'd never been serious about a single thing in his life.