[naumachy]

Good luck, loves <3

[Lady Tuesday]

*fingers crossed*

Username:
The Royal Mirage

"Fascination with horses predated every other single thing I knew... before I knew the facts of life... before I learned to read, I wanted a horse."
- Jane Smiley

Show Name:
His Highness, The Island

"He was trained to race from birth. Not only to race, but to be the best."
- Tessa Dare

Barn Name:
Turtle

The irony of his name did not escape me, but
the sprawling figure over his shoulder gives meaning to the humor.

Gender:
Stallion

"He is pure of air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him."
- William Shakespeare

Personality In Five Words:
Philosopher, whose blood boils easily.

"When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk;
He trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it;
The basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes."
the real slim shady- William Shakespeare

"Do you give the horse his strength or clothe his neck with a flowing mane? Do you make him leap like a locust, striking terror with his proud snorting? He paws fiercely, rejoicing in his strength, and charges into the fray. He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; he does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against his side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground; he cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds."
- Job 39:19-25

In sanctuary, he is alone
He stands away from all the world
Willow withes caress his cheek
To give comfort and company
The lake surrounds him on all sides
Wet grass is soft beneath his hooves
Seafoam breezes fill his lungs
And seafoam eyes drink in the waves
In his sanctuary, he is alone
A lonely island adrift at sea

"Oh, the long lazy mornings
In pastures of green
The sun on your withers
The wind in your mane

Could never prepare you
For what lies ahead
The run for the roses so red

And it's run for the roses
As fast as you can
Your fate is delivered
Your moment's at hand"
- Dan Fogelberg, "Run for the Roses"

Relationships:

Turtle has few friends at his stable, and is only really close with the Jutland mare Wildflower. She's a calming influence on the hot-blooded stallion, being both soft with Turtle in his moments of anxiety, and firm when he's expressing his passionate displeasure.

I was but a yearling when first I arrived at this pleasant place, my eyes full of wonder and legs full of sparks. From birth, my mother had promised me that I would do great things, be great, a champion. Her words stoked my fire, and the rolling pastures and exercise rings fanned my flames. This was the place where I would make my mark. Two humans, a man and a woman, spoke over my withers as I was lead into a crisp barn, all wood and steel and hay and horse. The sights, the smells, the sound of my hooves clipping briskly over the concrete floor, it all smacked of privilege, of pride. An oakwood door with an open top slid to the side, revealing a large box stall with ample flax bedding. The bronze plaque on the door read: "His Highness, The Island" - I didn't realize the significance of those words at the time, not until much later on. I settled into the comfortable box, poking my nose out over the door to inspect my neighbors. A dark mare with a light mane was situated across from me a few stalls over, and across from her, to my right, was a black and white mare with jewels draped across her neck. To my left, over the divider of our stalls, I could see another mare, though she was much larger than any mare I'd ever seen before. She was a bright chestnut hue, with creamy white over her face and neck. Regarding me with soft blue eyes as I in turn assessed her, I notice a feminine blush of pink over her muzzle and round her eyes, adding to the inherent sweetness of her face. She was older than I, perhaps five or six at the time, and seemed to carry in her an unflinching patience.

"Hello," she said, "what's your name?" I blinked, in shock, as her eloquent alto tickled my ears - I didn't realize regular horses could communicate with my kind. I thought it was only the descendants of unicorns that could use the ancient language, not the short-handed jargon the humans spouted on end.

"I-I'm..." I paused, considering; I had never had a name before, and the plaque on the door had made little sense to me at the time. "I don't know."

She grinned, the motion like sunrise o'er a dewy spring pasture, glistening with facets of interest, yet also with a quiet knowingness, as though she had seen this same reaction before. She leaned over the barrier to exchange breaths in privacy, both of us taking note of the dark mare's interest. "My name is Pleasant Meadow, but you can call me Wildflower."

"I like wildflowers, they remind me of home," I piped up, on impulse, though feeling foolish for the outburst almost immediately at the childishness of my statement. Her gentle laughter reddened my own cheeks, and I stood up taller in an attempt to look more grown. "So how do I get a name, then? I asked, impatient at my own youthful ignorance. It seemed something I should have known, yet I was caught unawares. The mirthful snorting of the black and white mare at our side itched at my pride, shoulders twitching in displeasure.

Ms. Wildflower's grin was not malicious though, as she leaned down a moment to snatch some golden hay between her teeth, taking her time as she considered my inquiry. It made me feel as though it weren't so foolish to not have a name, the way in which she made sure to carefully finish her mouthful before responding. Her massive height struck me once again, and I could not help but stare impolitely, against my better teachings, until her own gaze met mine again and I felt ashamed. "Our caretakers will give you one soon - you'll hear them use it around you often. You'll have two of them, like me - one for formal occasions, like shows, and one for the casual use of friends."

Friends, I had thought, looking away to my water trough. My dimmed reflection stared back silently, the quintissential questions of life, identity, flowed through my mind like the rippling water before me.

"What would you call me?" I wondered aloud, one ear flicking in her direction as I watched my mirrored image make the motions of my question.

I heard her reach for another mouthful of hay, my gaze drawn back at the movement, and something in the elegant dip and rise of her neck seemed to quiet my curiosity, the motion soothing in a way.

"It's not my place to say."

Turtle enjoys his training, but can become impatient and unmanageable under the direction of a timid rider...

I recall the day it began, t'was a soggy spring morn, with the heat of the sun's rays mingling with the wet cool breezes; my caretakers had assigned a scrap of a boy for my morning romp in the field. He could not have been much more than a child then, for I've now known both grown and youths - not quite small enough to be a boy, yet not full enough a man. His grip was shaky as he took up my reins, slender hands sending their nervous vibrations straight to my mouth. What a pathetic creature this was, he needed the grins of encouragement that my caretakers sent her way. As he spoke to me, his voice, soft and high like the tittering of a pipit, wove its wavering soprano round my ears irritably. He placed his foot in the stirrup, beginning to mount, and it became obvious how painfully slow he was, entire body quivering as he lifted himself with great care into the saddle. His inconsequential weight, like that of a feather, rested shyly upon my back, shaking hands taking up the reins once again and giving a meek signal to move away into the field. He obviously didn't know what he was doing - so I had to teach him. What rubbish.

I showed the boy what I was meant to do though - not quiet pacing and dainty trotting. The moment his legs made the slightest steady contact, I took off, full striding gallop eating up the ground, marveling as one always does at the wind, created by one's own motions, whistling through the ears. My heart began to pound in time with the thudding of hooves as they struck the ground. Finally I could feel his presence in her seat; long legs desperately gripping my sides, thin arms clutched 'round my neck, and a tiny squeak of terror breaking through the howling wind I'd created. It wasn't much, I took only a small leap into the air, and he was unseated, his grounded figure rolling in my peripherals as I continued across the field.

I thought that would be enough to discourage the boy, most of the new riders who didn't meet my standards quit after lesser performances than that. I had no time for timidness, only strength. But the next day, the day after, and every day since then, the boy has come back...

I didn't learn the boy's name until much later, from my caretakers whom he in turn called 'mom' and 'dad'. James, he was called, though more often Jamie - it seemed humans had formal and informal names as well. He was at my stall almost every morning since our first encounter, lean figure shaking with the effort to open my stall door, flinching back if I so much as laid flat my ears. James did not become less pathetic over those weeks, but his presence became a shade tolerable, if only for the amusement that his overreactions to the slightest threat brought me.

He still insisted on our daily ritual - tack up, mount, hit the ground, in repetition for at least on hour, though sometimes more if he was feeling ambitious. I showed him no mercy, no deviation. If he wished to continue this damned recitation, I would not fail to oblige. For a while I felt insulted just by his presence on my back; my caretakers, this 'mom' and 'dad', had until this point sent only the finest to work with me. Trainers, handlers, all steady and sure and confident in their abilities, had treated me as their worthy pupil, a tutor to a prince, whose respect did not undermine their knowledge. But this creature looked at me with wide eyes, glassy with nervous tears and gentleness, not here to further my training but hoping to make an emotional connection. To be a friend. I didn't have time for this kind of nonsense, I had to become a champion. And to become a champion, I needed the finest training. Not a friend.

The shock of the girth cinching beneath my ribs had startled me from my reverie, ears laid back as I aimed an educational nip to his bony shoulder. A belated cry sounded out, its echo passing through the stable with unexpected volume and making my body tense up - I had not really meant to hurt him, just to... why even had I done it? As I looked at the red mark forming where my teeth had been, I mulled it over - I'd been annoyed, but I had only meant to show him not to tighten my tack so suddenly. But perhaps it was my fault, for not paying attention to him, the shivering leaf returning to his shaking motions as he adjusted my tack. I looked away quickly, seafoam eyes tracing the faces looking out from their stalls at all the commotion, feeling an immeasurable load of guilt and shame as a pair of sky blue orbs met mine. Wildflower was giving me such a look of disappointment, I could hardly fuss as the bit was tentatively offered to me, taking it between my lips without moving my gaze from hers. Perhaps, for Wildflower, I could handle a timid rider.

A few weeks passed with my attempts to be patient. James didn't hit the dirt every day from then on, though occasionally the only way to teach the boy was to give him a not-so-little nudge. He still took on that same slow, shaking quality when he mounted, but his touch at the reins had grown more firm, his legs pressing to my sides with more confidence. The steady, soft sounding of "good boy" in my ear became more bearable, the gentle ringing in my ears sounding out when I followed even the simplest command. It was almost as though he expected I wouldn't follow them, that my only joy in life was to pitch him into the dust. Though the look on his face whenever body met ground was endlessly amusing, my real goal shone out. Become a champion, even if you have to do it with the boy. Even if you have to teach him.

We were trotting in the indoor arena, his steady light weight in the saddle moving in time with my steps. This was another thing the boy insisted on, no matter how often I showed I could start the lesson at a gallop - he always wanted a warm up of walking, trotting, circling and the like. Eventually I'd just given in to accept that he wasn't able to be ready as quickly as I was.

As we turned round the corner of the arena, his grip on the inside rein seemed to change. It wasn't that his tremorous pressure had reappeared, but a slight wavering had come over the rings of the bit. It jiggled over my tongue in a tickling motion, and I moved my head closer to my chest to try and catch it firmly between my teeth. But only empty chomping sounds could be heard, and as his inner leg pressed more firmly to my side, I bent my neck in to round out the edge of our circle.

"Good boy, Turtle! There we go..." I'd flicked my ears back at this, shocked for a moment that his praising reprise had changed, though to be honest I could have forgotten that it was this particular boy who had been on my back. The interesting motions had aroused my curiosity, the lesson was no longer boring. From the corner of my eye I could see mom and dad grinning broadly at James, though I had no idea what had them so pleased. But maybe, just maybe, a timid rider needed only encouragement to become a good rider.

Congrats! Your form was amazing c:

HMs go to Nauma and Isabella45

[naumachy]

c': I didn't have a chance lmao

gonna have to snag a slot though what a pretty babe

[The Royal Mirage]

Had me losing hair over this I was so worried lol, thanks so much Tues! I shall treasure my Turtle for always <3

[-Isabella-]

Congratulations Royal Mirage! Your form was amazing! And thank you for the HM:)

[whisky]

I have never seen someone deserve an adopt more than you. Congratulations! There was so much effort put into your form, I throughly enjoyed reading it all! <33