frost.

frozen down to the core

Frost's violet gaze shifted away from his own two children and towards the ring in front of him. The young boy within the ring now was no older than Micah, his little bay gelding perhaps a touch smaller then Micah and Isabella's mounts and yet- it jumped well. The little boy was trying hard. His technique was a little....off and yet, Frost supposed, such a thing was forgivable in a five year old. To some degree. Nadya was always insisting he need not be too...hard on the children. Both of them, after all, stove desperately to do as he asked. Even if in vastly different ways. Isabella was as headstrong as her chestnut pony mare. Both of them were bold. Isabella was the kind of child to act first and ask questions later. Her enthusiasm was encouraging and yet she often forgot to listen. The young girl often realised too late that she had gotten too far ahead of herself and forgotten the course, jumped the wrong jump or knocked down a pole in her recklessness. Isabella never ceased to continue on however. The girl was eternally determined and fiercely competitive. She would make an excellent competition rider in her time if only she could remember to ease back on occasion and yet, Isabella always, always completed those courses with the fastest time.. Micah was near entirely the opposite of his sister. He was cautious, often overly so. He was hesitant to try unless he failed and yet- he rarely ever did. Micah listened intently and learned quickly. He had natural timing and natural talent. He never forgot a course, he rarely knocked a pole, he was soft with his pony and a careful, good jumper. He was simply often...to slow, finishing that course over time- even if he achieved a clear round.

Frost's attention turned away from the child in the ring and back to Isabella who was near bursting with excitement for her turn, the small girl waved enthusiastically to her Mother and Grandmother in the crowd before Frost helped her climb onto the pony's back and handed her the reins. His own fingers worked diligently to tighten the girth strap before Isabella nudged the pony forward and to that starting gate.

"Gangi þér vel."

That Icelandic 'good luck' prompted a wide grin to the girl's features as she boldly trotted into that ring- remembering to keep her heels down all the same. Finally. It was the sudden, soft sound of Micah's voice however that prompted Frost's gaze downward to the small boy beside him. Micah clutched his ponies reins to his chest. The quiet black mare stood ever faithfully beside her small master as Micah queried just what would happen if he messed up. His violet gaze turned downward to eye the small boy then. How...unfortunate that he was beginning to look more and more like Tobias every day. Then again, he supposed Tobias was hardly a....poorly looking individual. Micah would have no trouble getting girls in the least. The idea, in that moment, prompted a faint simper to Frost's lips.

"If you mess it up, then you mess it up, it does not matter. There will always be another try."

That hint of a simper tugged at his lips again as Isabella finished her round to the applause of the crowd, several of those nearby competitors competing on the speed and boldness of her round. Isabella, despite one knocked rail, was already a secured spot for the next round. Micah, however, with a clear round, would have ever chance of joining her. Frost moved to help the small boy into the saddle before handing him the reins.

"You can do it. Be a good boy and give your Mother a heart attack."

That jest, in the least, prompted a grin to the boy's lips as he slowly guided his pony onto the arena.