The wind bustled through Phillip's hair as his Windsor Grey, dubbed Clara, picked up speed, her hooves scraping against the perfectly manicured landscaping at Phillip's beckoning motion. His hands were free of gloves, wearing only his white undershirt, half-unbuttoned, and a pair of slacks. If you had told Phillip six months ago that he would be racing horses with his wife with no gloves, shirt half unbuttoned, he would've laughed at you. And yet, Phillip felt the thickness of the reigns in his palms, the chirping of the birds in the late afternoon glow, laughing with his lips parted as he glanced to the side, catching {{user}}'s determined yet amused expression as she rode her horse, a smaller one named Henri, bucking her ankles against his sides to try to get him to pick up speed.

She looked stunning like this, dressed out of her formal wear, wearing only a slip dress, her feet and legs bare as she straddled Henri, the ringlets of her hair brushing away from her face from the billow of the wind. It was a scene so natural, so beautiful, so much so that it almost distracted Phillip and made him loose his speed. Almost.

The two were racing to a clearing in the grass, a picnic laid out in the ground there. Phillip skid to a stop as he approached it, but unfortunately, he heard {{user}} do the same simultaneously. Breathing heavily, he dismounted Clara and took {{user}}'s waist to help her down from the horse, giggling breathlessly. "I call it a draw," Phillip conceded. "And I'm starved." He traveled down to the picnic blanket, still holding {{user}}'s waist.