[Potato.]

username; Obsessed
name; All In A Day's Work // Chris
gender; Stallion
eye color: pink/purple Heterochromatic
dam: -
sire: -
offspring:
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[summer.]

res <3

[defiance.]

username; bolton
name; dearly devoted druid // druid
gender; stallion
halter color; something inspired by druids
personality in 7 words; wise-intelligent-collected-calm-sophisticated-regal-fair
story;
There were people here he didn't recognize. A woman with long, mahogany colored hair and grey eyes. A man too, wearing dark ovals over his eyes with the top two buttons his shirt sloppily open. The summer was air was stifling, Druid could barely see the pair through the heat waves. They were talking with two stable hands, both young girls that Druid knew well. He was three years old, and had been handled plenty by humans. However, today would be different. The strange man and woman retrieved him from his paddock and he went willingly. For a stallion his age, he was relatively calm and agreeable, he had no reason to act out. First they lunged him in the outdoor ring, and he got his kicks and bucks out- not that there were many of those to begin with. After, they groomed him and took his halter on and off a few times, testing him for face shyness he was pretty sure. He's had a saddle on him before as well, and the girth done up. He was even familiar with the bridle. The thing these people were here for today were riding him. He was good, calm and collected when the woman mounted him. For the next twenty minutes, they did very little. She spoke gently and touched him softly, urging him forward with her heels pressed to his sides, and having him slow down when she tugged on the bit. His taming process went on for months, and day by day he got better. He had only a few minor freak-outs here and there, throwing both the man and woman a grand total of four times. For a green horse that was not gelded, both tamers were incredibly impressed with the way he handled himself. Druid found it not only enlightening to the way of a horse and rider, but also fun, especially with these experienced, calm riders that knew what they were doing. They were as calm as he was about the whole ordeal, and he was glad for that. Even if everything did take some getting used to, he was glad he was broken in and could now be safely ridden. It took away a part of his youth and freedom, the acceptance of a human on his back, but opened up new doors of opportunity for love and companionship. And as Druid would soon learn, there was no stronger bond than that between a horse and their rider.

[ShadyBro]

Username; ShadyBro
Name; In The Mason Jars /// Mase
Gender; Stallion
Halter Color; Surprise Me
Personality; Calm, Eager to Please, Lovable, Energetic, Rascally
Story; Mase arrived at the farm late one summer afternoon. I had been told weeks in advance about him. An unruly, aggressive stallion who wouldnt let anyone close, who struck fear into the hearts of even the most experienced men. They wanted to be rid of him, having given up. But he was in pretty bad shape health wise, and I knew no one would take him on at this point. I begrudgingly accepted to have him brought here, and promised I would try my best to break him. As a black truck pulled into the driveway, gravel crunching underneath and the steady sound of a dying engine humming through my chest, I hopped uo off the porch and walked down the steps. A stout latino man jumped down out of the truck and lazily shook my hand, sparing me his voice for the most part. I walked around and peered through the side panel at my new boy. He was an awful looking thing, wounds all over his body, dirt caked onto his legs, his ribs poking through faintly. I sighed and undid the back latch, peeling the door back slowly. The man rushed over and yapped at me, assuring me that the stallion would need to be released out of the trailer into a ring or pasture using gates and whips and hell knows what else, but I just shushed him and shooed him away. I clicked softly and watched the horse turn his head lazily toward the door, suddenly realizing freedom was on the other side. He limped over at a pitiful attempt to charge me, but I just stood, watching him with a stone cold glare. Just as I thought he would, he slid to a stop inches from me. He wasnt as aggressive as they had said. Just scared, alone, unsure of it all. I shushed him softly, cooing and speaking as quietly as I could as I ran my finger tips over his muzzle. He tensed at first, ears pinned on my every movement, eyes wide. Yet he relaxed after a while, and as I became more confident in my trust of him, relaxed as well. I asked the man to hand me a halter I had laying over the balcony, and I gripped the nose piece as I settled it in front of Mase. He sniffed it warily at first, but seemed other wise uncaring. I ran my hands over his head roughly, making sure he felt comfortable with the touch. I settled the halter on his nose, leaving it there as he tested the texture and shape. After a moment I slipped it farther up until it was over his head, and other than a sharp jerk when I brushed my hand over an old wound, he seemed to be fine with the halter. Buckling it together and clipping a lead rope onto it, I slowly led him out of the trailer. He seemed nervous, restless almost, and I didnt blame him considering the length of the ride here. I brought him to the inner ring and clipped him into the lunge line, letting him relax and check out his surroundings as I waved the delivery man goodbye. Mase pranced and trotted about, already warming up to the place rather quickly. I gave him a click and walked forward, edging him to trot out farther. Once we were a good distance apart, I snapped the line and turned again, calling him into a slow canter. He was calm and level headed the whole time we worked, proving to me that no one had even attempting being civil with him. I doubted he was even a true wild horse, perhaps just a neglected pasture companion or something. I sighed, and began working Mase into joining up with me. He trotted over in record time, resting his head on my shoulder. I nuzzled his neck and unclipped his lead, having decided that this was all we would do for the day.

[vincent,]

username; blazen,
name; when you can't sleep at night | connor
gender; stallion
halter color; something with azure and white
personality in 7 words; stubborn, unpredictable, restless, carefree, intelligent, brave, protective
story;

[monochrome.]

Simply do not have the time, although, I would really really love this darling. Dropping out, but best of luck to all entrants <33

[ImogenEquine]

username; ImogenEquine
name; No Work, Just Play // Sunday
gender; Mare
halter color; light pink to mint gradient
personality in 7 words;
story;

WIP!

[Captain Chomp]

username;
Champion.
name;
Oh Comet Come Down // Kamikaze
gender;
Stallion
halter color;
Black with red splatters [cherry red]
personality in 7 words;
Daring-Cunning-Brave-Dangerous-Biter-Independent-Troublesome
story;
WIP

[GallopingHowl]

username; GallopingHowl
name; Young Volcano // Kazan
gender; Stallion
halter color; this, but the nose strap colored the blue in his eyes
personality in 7 words;
Spontaneous, troublemaker, intelligent, ostentatious, volcanic frustration, vocal
story; 1015 words Oops..
Kazan was a little firecracker from the start, but that was only what we were told. He had come as a two year old from a dressage stable close by. We were warned that he was like a volcano. The trainer had warned us, "He has the body of angel, but the mind of a demon. He can be calm one moment, but completely erupt the next." No one believed her though. The stallion looked gentle and kind, but had some sort of spark in his eyes. His lava-red and ocean-blue eyes almost told his story. He could be as cool as the ocean, but there was a skinny line between that and boiling red fury. His body was as grey as smoke and ashes, which sent shivers down my spine. He was a daydream with the personality of a child's nightmare. Something we were too blind to notice. He carefully and calmly stepped of the trailer. Kazan had the manners of a ten year old and barely reacted when his trainer handed him to us. Before we had time to react, we heard the squealing of tires and saw mud fly. The trailer and trainer were already gone. I gazed up at the stallion, but he didn't gaze back at me. He gazed at nothing. Actually, he did nothing at all. His feet stood square and still and his ears were perfectly perked. The sky is always calmest before the storm. I felt pain from my hand and I yelped. My hand wore the burns from the leather lead rope. My mind was blank and I stared at the space on the ground were once four hooves stood. Now only two did. His hooves flared up in the air with the lead rope dangling down from his head. My hands couldn't react out fast enough though. He was still again. Perfectly still, but this time I could see and hear the sizzling noise of his frustration and hot, deep breaths smoking from his flaring nostrils.

The stallion, who we had named Kazan for his volcanic attitude, stood in a stall for two days after we got him. I was told he had been saddled and sat upon, but they mentioned nothing about "riding". "It would be a shame to let such a gorgeous horse be confined to a stall his whole life. He's only two, he may grow out of it." I told my friend as we stared at the stallion's eyes. "Grow out of this? This is him. He is too intelligent for his own good. Honestly, even the volcanoes eaten by the waves who have sunk down beneath the cold water posses lava." My friend said. Maybe she was right, and quite-frankly I should have listened. I wasn't the kind of girl to listen to that though. I could see it in his eyes.

My friend rolled her eyes and sighed, "Your digging your own grave. Good luck with that." She watched Kazan's every move and would flinch whenever his foot stomped and tail swished. I, on the other hand, happy but cautiously tacked him up. He was an angel in the cross tie, barely moving or dancing around at all. We lunged him on a lung line for a few minutes and decided he barely had enough energy to begin with, so we let him trot around and stretch out. "Ok, I'm gonna hike this mountain and hopefully when I get to the top it won't be a volcano. I can only tell if it's a volcano if I get on it though, so here I go."

I led Kazan into the ring, lightly pulling the double reins to keep him walking. I mounted up and tested my breaks by tapping him forward and stopping him. I was extremely impressed and pleased by his dramatic movements and head position as we lightly walked around the ring. His head was curled gracefully and his feet nicely picked up with each step. After walking around, my friend actually looked relived a little bit. I thought it was ok. I thought he was perfect.

I thought.

I urged him into a slow trot, keeping the reins fairly tight on his mouth in case anything happened. Instead of feeling his long, floating stride, I tasted a mouthful of hair. He reared up and slammed my face into his neck and mane. I yelped in surprise and held onto his neck for support. He continued rearing up and kicking out his back legs with ease and glanced back at me with a devious glint in his eyes. He let out a loud, spine tingling neigh loud enough to echo in the arena. My friend rushed into the arena and watched in horror. "Shhh.. you're ok." I wished to Kazan and stroked his neck. "Luke, stay back." I said, trying not to sound nervous. Horses could always sense nervous emotions, and that's what I was worried about. After the explosion of bucks and rears, he finally calmed down and looked back at me. I could taste a hint of blood from my nose, which had been slammed into his neck when he reared, but I didn't care. His eyes had a different glint in them this time. They simply said ok. He trusted me. It was a test, but how many more till I passed? I tapped him forehead into a steady trot, slowly working up to a extended trot. We did this once both directions before I finally built up my confidence. I tapped again with my outside leg and allowed him to pick up the correct lead. He bucked once, but that was all. For now. He did play with his head a bit and get very flashy whenever he saw a mare out the window being lead by, but Kazan was extremely relaxed and calm. Kazan had a smooth canter with a long fluid stride, but kept his head centered and ears focused forward.

Maybe when I hiked up the volcano that scared the whole town, it turned out just to be a mountain.

[Obsessed]

username; Obsessed
name; All In A Day's Work // Chris
gender; Stallion
halter color; Snowflakes
personality in 7 words; Overeager active free-spirited high-strung playful wild child
story;

Chris loves to please. It's actually considered a fault by those who really know him, and it was what started his training to pull, as he was thought to be a perfect carriage working horse because of his high energy and friendly tolerance. Chris, for his part, was delighted at something new, and of course overeager in pleasing. At the time, he was already broken to riding. It took nearly half an hour to get the tack on, for the simple reason that Chris could not hold still, would not stop sniffing and nibbling at the leather, and shouldn't have been trying to dash forward every four seconds.

Afterwards, they thought it would be a little easier. His trainers (who have since quit) walked him around in nothing but his halter and the big black harness. Chris seemed to be quite proud of himself, prancing with long steps and looking the very epitome of a show horse right there. Until he decided that he was tired of being lunged and dragged three people down the barn as he cantered away, still with his head held high, and a look of true bafflement when stopped and scolded.

Getting him used to the carriage and sleigh was not a problem. However, getting him to behave once attached to said carriage was much harder. Chris would trot obediently, dead set on doing his job, and then begin tearing down the trail. The carriage occupants were rattled, shaken, nearly tipped out, and Chris would continue oblivious of anything.

It was rather frustrating. For ten months Chris was taught discipline. Most importantly was working into him the importance of not choosing while he was working to decide to make a stake for his independence. So it was that exactly one year after the undertaking of training Chris, in the middle of December, one could find him prancing down a snow covered park trail pulling a red sled, affectionately responding to people's petting when they came up and every now and then turning to look at his driver with a wild mischievous gleam in his eyes that made said driver nervous, very nervous indeed.