It was early afternoon by the time Celia and Ichabod had reached the stables she'd found with the Google, thanks to an uneventful ferry ride to the island followed by a similarly-uneventful (but still exciting for the two of them) cab ride.
They'd taken a fair amount of time to select a horse that they'd be able to take out on the trail -- it being Celia's first time, she'd declined the opportunity to pick out her own horse. (There may have been ulterior motives at work, but she wasn't going to come right out and admit it.)
She'd borrowed a pair of jeans from Eleanor for the occasion, since skirts didn't seem very conducive to horseback-riding. She'd had to magically shrink them by a few inches (and had felt more than a little ridiculous about it -- as always, she felt like a little gnome or something in comparison to her statuesque friend), along with a
short-sleeved red shirt, which had a rather scandalous history, though Celia was more concerned with the fact that she was going to emerge from this summer with more freckles than she'd know what to do with.
She didn't really care, though (and in fact, secretly liked her new freckles.) At the moment, her mind was on petting the big mare they'd be riding on her nose, and casting doubtful looks towards Ichabod. "Do you feel comfortable guiding us on a trail?" she asked. "We could just stay...in the yard."
Not that she didn't trust him. She just was sort of an indoor person and had no idea how this 'trail' thing worked.
[for the boy!]