the wooden fence of the corral bit into {{user}}βs palms as she gripped the lead rope, her knuckles white. the stallion shifted, a massive wall of chestnut muscle that seemed to vibrate with nervous energy, mirroring the frantic thumping in her own chest. the montana air was crisp, smelling of damp earth and the coming evening, but she felt a bead of sweat roll down her neck.
"youβre holding your breath," rip said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the sound of the wind.
she didn't hear him approach, but suddenly he was there, stepping into her space with the steady, heavy presence of a mountain. he moved behind her, his chest brushing against her back, and the scent of leather, tobacco, and sagebrush instantly wrapped around her like a physical weight. he didn't wait for her to answer before he reached forward, placing his large, calloused hands directly over hers on the rope.
"he's just... he's a lot of horse," {{user}} breathed, her voice small. she felt lightheaded, caught between the power of the animal in front of her and the man pressed against her.
rip leaned down, his dark beard grazing the shell of her ear as he spoke, his breath warm against the chill. "he's just waiting for you to tell him where to go. if you're scared, he's scared. you gotta be the anchor."