[Freedom!]

Yakut Lodge Challenge
Beginning to make these for/if people take part in the challenge so I am able to just assign them on the 1st of December; Go enter now! Below is the base information you will be given about the horse/dog you end up with, everything else is up to you!

Please do not post on this thread; Fanclub is also open but want to keep these clean encase the winner of this stallion decides to use here as a 'journal' ^^

Owner ;
Yakut Horse
Name:
Gender: Stallion
Colour: Manchado
Quirk: Rarely runs straight

Yakut Laika Dog
Name:
Gender: Female
Quirk: Howls during the night

[Chronometer]

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Bᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠᴇ sᴜᴄᴄᴇss, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴʏ sʏᴍᴘᴀᴛʜʏ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴀʟs ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴇɴᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ᴏғ ᴇxᴄᴜsᴇs ᴇᴍᴘᴛʏ ʜᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ.


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Name: Crespo
Meaning: A name for someone with curly hair.
Nicknames: Po, and much to his horror, "Crespito"
Gender: Stallion
Colour: Bay Manchado
Breed: Yakutian Horse
Build: Southern Type
Height: 15.0 hh
Age: 7
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Sᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ ɪs ᴍᴏsᴛʟʏ ᴀ sᴜᴘᴇʀsᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ. Iᴛ ᴅᴏᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxɪsᴛ ɪɴ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ, ɴᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴍᴇɴ ᴀs ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪᴛ. Aᴠᴏɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ ɪs ɴᴏ sᴀғᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ʀᴜɴ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴏᴜᴛʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴇxᴘᴏsᴜʀᴇ. Lɪғᴇ ɪs ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀ ᴅᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴏʀ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ.



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Personality: Rather reserved and distant, Crespo hides a fiery spark behind his calm eyes. He'll stand serene and quiet, proudly surveying his land, before tearing off in a mad frenzy of bucking and kicking for no other reason than he feels like it. Likeable and gentlemanly at the best of times, and stubborn and impulsive at the worst, Crespo seems to change like the wind. One day, he'll stand patient, pretty as you please, and the next, he'll be throwing a fit over a slightly misshapen snow drift. Little things that are out of his control set off his temper, though he'll usually calm down quite quickly. Always contradicting himself and changing his mind, Crespo is a true horse of opposites.

He's not nervous, though. It can be said he's never even heard of fear before. Crespo is brave, but he's also intelligent. The least costly option in a dangerous situation will always be his path of choice. If that means conflict, then so be it. He trusts his own intelligence, a wise move for a pony in the wild, but slightly troublesome to a rider.

Under Saddle: Straightforward is not a word Crespo understands, both in its literal and actual meanings. He constantly changes his mind about his rider's aids, sometimes cooperating, sometimes not. The trick is to ask with tact. He's quite the little diplomat at times, and reacts well to sugar-coated questions and encouragement. Unfortunately, he can be a little rebel as well. Purposefully, he misinterprets commands, causing him to rarely move in a straight line when required. He finds it gratifying to suddenly swerve to the left or right, simply to show his independence.

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Aɴ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪs ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ. Aɴ ɪɴᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪs ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀɴ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴡʀᴏɴɢʟʏ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ.



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Rider: Ignatius Rutherford Twite

At the tender young age of fifty, Ignatius has years of horsemanship experience behind him. Haute Ecole dressage, jumping, endurance, reining, he's done it all. Though never in his life has he decided to trek across a country on the back of a strange horse. Persuaded to participate in the Yakut Lodge Challenge by some good friends, he's a little apprehensive about the whole thing. He'd like to finish though, and is looking forward to the adventure.

[Chronometer]

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Nᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴅᴏ ɪғ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ.

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Name: Alisa
Meaning: Али́са, the Russian equivalent of 'Alice,' meaning "noble sort."
Nicknames: Lisa
Gender: Female
Colour: Tan Tri-Colour
Breed: Tungus Laika
Height: 50cm

[Chronometer]

THE ARRIVAL TO YAKUT





Crespo's Amble



Things were not going well at all. To begin with, it was cold. Colder than anything Ignatius had ever experienced before, with temperatures falling to unspeakable levels. Secondly, his luggage was gone. The airline had managed to lose it, despite waiting over two hours at the gate to depart. And the flight had been awful. Only his fifth time on an aeroplane, and the bloody thing lost cabin pressure halfway through! On top of that, it was four in the morning, and still dark and miserable. Shaken, distraught and cold, poor Ignatius barely managed to keep himself together on the coach from the airport to the lodge. Holding tightly to the remaining shreds of his dignity, and his rather battered hand luggage, Ignatius somehow managed to make it through to the lodge, where he received the key to his cabin. Upon entering the little wooden house, he promptly collapsed into the nearest chair.



***



Three hours later, he was back in the cold again. Somewhat warmer in a borrowed coat, the brooding Ignatius trudged alongside a quiet ranch hand. From what he'd seen, the ranch was a peaceful, well-run place, where the horses were treated well and loved. It certainly cheered him to be around horses, and made him slightly more willing to forgive the airline for losing his bag. Other participants passed him by, some already aboard their scruffy Yakut ponies that would be their companions for the journey. Anticipation rose inside Ignatius - What would his horse look like? Would they be easy to work with? Or would they be a downright horror?

His questions were to be answered very soon, for the ranch hand remarked in a heavily accented voice that his mount was in a paddock just around the corner. Suppressing the small spark of fear in his chest, Ignatius followed the lady and rounded the bend.

And there he was. His companion for the next ten days, a scruffy, ragged looking pony. He was breathtaking. Morning sunlight danced over his rough coat, contrasting his light and dark patterns. A manchado, strange to see in this part if the world. He must have some other blood in him, thought Ignatius, casting an experienced eye over the small stallion. He was too tall to be a pure Yakut pony, standing at what he guessed to be about fifteen hands. He had long legs, and a slightly less wild mane and tail than those of the other ponies. The little horse turned his head to glance with intelligent eyes at the two people watching him. Eying Ignatius as closely as he had eyed him. And both man and horse knew they were about to go on an adventure.



***



Ignatius didn't need a leg up to get on the little manchado pony. Used to a 17.3 hand Warmblood, he just hopped right on. Finding it rather odd to suddenly have weight on his back, the little stallion walked away. Sighing, Ignatius halted him. An obedient horse was key to winning a competition like this, he assumed. The little pony pawing the ground excitedly told him there would certainly be some obedience lacking here. The aid to walk forward was given, and the pony balked. He would walk on his own terms.

No, he would not. He would walk on the terms of his rider.

Throughout the whole ride, the conversation followed that same tone. An entire argument, without a single word spoken out loud. In the end, a mutual agreement was made. Ignatius was free to dictate gait, tempo and a general direction, while the pony veered left or right to annoy him. Normally, he would never have settled for such disrespect, but the pony was infinitely more responsive than at the beginning of the ride, where he simply pretended not to hear any of his rider's aids. He often slipped into a lateral amble when leg was paired with pressure on the reins, reinforcing Ignatius' speculations that he was some kind of mixed breed. He didn't complain; it was a comfortable and ground-covering gait, useful for the long ride ahead.

As he led the pony through the snow back to his paddock, he was stopped by a rather harried little man with a clipboard.

"Name?" He inquired impatiently. He evidently was under quite a bit of pressure to get something done.

"Ignatius Rutherford Twite" was the dull reply the clipboard man was given. Ignatius had given his name to so many people in the past twelve hours, it was starting to become quite a nuisance. The curt, impolite way the man addressed him did not help either.

"I know your name," he snapped. "I need his name." Gesturing to the little horse, the man grumpily waved his clipboard in Ignatius' face. On it was a form carrying all the details of his new stallion. All except his name in the top right hand corner.

In the back of his mind, Ignatius knew he would have to name the pony. Of course, he had put it off until the last minute. Scolding himself, he was forced to think quickly; the clipboard man before him was turning red from a combination of impatience and cold. Turning to look at the little horse, his mind when blank for a second. What was he to name him? At home, that decision would be given hours, if not days, of thought.

"Crespo." It was out of his mouth before he could even think about it. Pleased, the little man jotted the name down on his form before turning to find more unnamed horses.

Watching him go, Ignatius wondered what had compelled him to give the scruffy pony by his side that name. The Crespo he had heard of was not a very nice fellow, and probably didn't deserve having such a handsome animal named after him. Lost in his musings for a second, Ignatius and Crespo idly watched the clipboard man slip and fall in a patch of ice as he rounded a corner. Papers flying everywhere, he scrambled to his feet, cursing violently.

Ignatius grinned. Served him right for being so rude, he thought. And Crespo nodded his head in agreement, as if he understood his new master's thoughts.

[Chronometer]

THE START

Art is a WIP.

Determined, Crespo launched himself through the snow, veering left and right as he pleased. Ignatius could only holler a fleeting 'Sorry!' at anyone he and his mad horse managed to get in the way of. Complete chaos was really the only way the start could be described. Inexperienced riders clinging tightly to their over - excited horses, and others just galloping off like mad, plowing through the snow without a care in the world. At least three people must have fallen off before the excitement wore off. Thankfully, Ignatius was not one of them.

Everything settled down in the end, as people began to drift off away from each other. Soon, Ignatius and Crespo found themselves isolated, only able to hear the faint whinny or shout from the other scattered competitors. The landscape was peaceful, with rolling mounds of snow that reminded Ignatius of the powerful waves of the ocean. Reminiscing about his past, he gave his pony his head, and let him forge a path through nature's beauty. Crespo had no such fantasies. He was pleased to be on his way, and pleased to be out in the open. Moving off at a brisk and forward trot, he lifted is head and arched his neck, a regal traveller in this fairytale landscape.


Both horse and rider took the moment of solitude to think. Ignatius, fretting about the journey ahead, and little Crespo dreaming up new and exciting ways to outsmart his rider. A dull hush fell over the pair as the other competitors fell silent, now scattered far and wide across the landscape. Not a sound but the crunching of snow under Crespo's feet. A glance at the rising sun on their left told Ignatius he was still heading in the right direction; South. Things were looking up. The airline had returned his baggage (albeit at 4:30 that morning), the temperature was now at a comfortable -8*C, and it was a bright, beautiful day with clear skies. And Crespo appeared to be behaving...




***



The setting sun cast a blood red glow over the white landscape. The fading light left trails of darkness as it slipped silently away. Ignatius, laying flat on his back in the snow, could only laugh. Well, it was funny! How was he supposed to know Crespo could balance on his hind end and caper around like a Lipizzaner? The day had been relatively uneventful, with mile after endless mile of wintry landscape passing by. Crespo had been the perfect little angel, heading more or less in the direction he was asked to go. Of course, Ignatius didn't expect his luck to hold, and the sudden arrival of a tiny 30cm high hare caused all hell to break loose.

Perhaps it just frightened Crespo. The fading light paired with the sudden movement would probably cause even the most unflappable horse to jump. Or perhaps the little devil had tried to get him off on purpose. Either way, he was on the ground, and Crespo was curiously snuffling his hair. Pushing the naughty pony away, Ignatius clambered to his feet, and mounted up again. Vowing not to fall off again, he clicked his tongue and asked Crespo to walk on. At least there was no one around to see him fall, he thought.

[Chronometer]

WHAT IS THAT?!

Early in the morning, Crespo and Ignatius set out into the snow again. Stiff and cold from a sleepless night, the pair trudged dully through the snow, heads hanging. Ignatius led a a greatful Crespo on foot to allow him some time to stretch his muscles and warm up without weight on his back. The going was slow, tiresome, and tedious, but at least they were moving. Ever so gradually, the stiffness faded away, and warmth returned. Now fully awake, Crespo looked happily around him, playfully nibbling at Ignatius's coat every now and then. No such luck for his master. Poor Ignatius felt as if he had run twenty marathons last night, and could only emit a halfhearted grumble as his naughty pony happily ate through his lovely blue coat.

It was a stereotypical lovely morning; clear skies tinged with red, a crisp, light air, and a gentle breeze playing through the branches of the frozen trees. Riders wandered in groups, some having already made friends. Most traveled in at least a group of two, though Ignatius suspected they'd break up and do their own thing sooner or later. As for himself, he was far too shy to actually speak with people. Especially people so different in age, experience, and aspirations than him. Trust was the price to pay for friendship, and Ignatius had lived in an era where trust was not lightly given, nor viewed in a favourable light.

And so, he and Crespo walked alone.



***



Crespo shook his head grumpily. It was cold now. All day, a funny sort of feeling in his ears bothered him, and it certainly didn't help that the man on his back was intent on keeping him going in the exact opposite direction from where he wanted to go. He tossed his head again, and felt a little better after pulling a very dirty stop, though unfortunately his rider didn't fall off. Plowing on, he idly formed his next evil plan. Perhaps a random spook would do his rider some good...



***



Cursing himself, Ignatius steered Crespo through the swirling wall of white. The barometric pressure had been falling all day. It was his fault he didn't prepare for the storm, and he would have to face the consequences. Dismounting, he turned to face nature's fury. It wasn't a bad storm at all, but it was enough to pile up snow and make even Crespo hesitate. Step after step, nothing to see but blinding white, nothing to hear but the raw song of the wind.

The eerie whispers of the wind caused an odd effect. Strange, high - pitched sounds could be heard every now and then. Perhaps the wind was just whistling through some unseen trees. Though wind never really sounded so desperate...

Something was wrong. Even Crespo tensed with worry.

Attempting to follow the sound, Ignatius stumbled blindly through the white. Worried for whatever poor soul was crying for help, he couldn't be bothered to watch his feet, and stumbled violently, losing his grip on Crespo's reins. Cursing, he scrambled to his feet, searching for whatever object had tripped him. A pile of scraggly red fur lay at his feet. With a pitiful whimper, the pile shivered uncontrollably as another gust of wind flew through the air. It was a dog; some poor, lost mongrel that had the misfortune to find herself in a snowstorm. He couldn't just leave her. She'd die a horrible death, slowly freezing and alone. Feeling a sudden sense of homesickness as he remembered his own dogs back home, Ignatius knelt by the shivering bundle of fur, and gathered her gangly figure in his arms. Noting Crespo had decided to stay near him, he settled down in the snow, holding the dog close to him. They would wait out the storm together.



***



Silence was the first thing Ignatius noticed. After the storm had passed, he immediately mounted Crespo and set off, hoping to get to the campsite as soon as possible. With some difficulty, he managed to persuade the dog to balance in front of him. Thankfully, Crespo did not care about the extra weight, and the dog was relaxed, though too weak to fidget and cause problems. Ignatius could not have left her behind; his conscience would never allow it. Instead, he hoped that perhaps someone might adopt her once he found a suitable home. She certainly seemed loving enough to be a family pet.

The dog needed a name. Of course, naming her would make Ignatius even more attached to the canine, but she couldn't just be called 'dog' all the time. That would be strange, now wouldn't it? She was quite the proud little thing, despite being half dead from malnutrition and cold. The little spark in her eye told Ignatius that she was something special, and needed a special name. Something short but beautiful, something that defined her...

After at least ten minutes lost in thought, lulled by the rocking of Crespo's movements underneath him, Ignatius finally arrived at a name. She would be called Alisa. Vaguely remembering something about it having some noble meaning in Russian, he experimentally called the dog by her new name. She looked up at him excitedly, curious about this funny man making noises at her. Wagging her tail, she seemed to give Ignatius a great big doggy grin as if to say "of course, that's my name!"

[Chronometer]

THE COLD NIGHT

It was cold. That was to be expected, most certainly. But not hellish temperatures that sliced through one's clothing and skin, and felt as if it clutched at the heart with icy fingers. Why, even the Norwegian explorer, Roald Amundsen, would never have encountered such bone-chilling cold in his 1911 trip to the South Pole! Well, perhaps Ignatius was exaggerating. But it was certainly cold. Even Crespo seemed to shiver a little as a gust of freezing wind ruffled his scraggly mane. The dog, Alisa, was bundled awkwardly in his blanket, half in his lap, and half under his arm. It was a wonder he kept her. Last night, neither he nor Crespo could get any sleep for her horrid wailing. Hour after endless hour, she only shut up when her still weak body could not handle the stress, and forced her to rest...

Speaking of sleep, it was soon time for the three to set up camp, and attempt to get a night's rest. With the sky darkening fast, and the temperature dropping even more, Ignatius was beginning to worry that they'd have to sleep out in the open, the one definite thing warned against at the start of the journey. He was not going to risk that, however desperate he may be. Either they would find shelter, or they would not sleep at all.



***



Good things come to these who wait. That was for sure true, thought Ignatius. Even with his small measure of luck, fortune seemed to give him a good deal today. The shaft of an abandoned mine loomed like a gaping maw in the small hill in front of him. Of course, he wasn't fool enough to sleep in a mine, but rather he was interested in the little disused shack near it. It seemed fairly intact, with four standing walls and a roof, albeit full of little holes and lacking a door. Just good enough to to keep out the wind for one night. Dismounting Crespo and releasing a squirmy Alisa from his arms, Ignatius approached the little shack with caution.

His previous observations were accurate. The wooden structure did not seem to be about to fall down, despite it's worn appearance. In the fading light, he stepped through the doorframe, and entered. Obviously, he was inside some sort of small - scale storage shed. Rusted equipment littered the floor and adorned the walls; pickaxes, ropes, and even a couple long deteriorated electric lamps. Ignatius had a fair ide as to why the mine was abandoned in the first place. If his geography served to be correct, there was an abundance of raw materials here, but the difficulty in extracting them without strip mining the whole place paired with the harsh weather turned away most treasure - seekers. Lucky for him, they never seemed to tidy up their mess.

Soon, a small fire was lit some ways outside the door, close enough to warm him while sitting in the doorframe and out of the now dying wind. Ignatius was always careful with fire. Never in his wildest dreams would he dare to set something alight indoors, especially surrounded by half - rotten wood. Proud as he was, Crespo had no issues with entering the little shed. In fact, he barged right in before his master could say a word. After Ignatius cleared away the majority of the stuff on the floor, he actually quite liked it, and settled down to munch on his dinner. Despite the erratic shrieking of the wind through the numerous small holes in the shed, it was quite peaceful. Sharing his dinner with the ravenous Alisa, Ignatius felt content. Sometimes, he thought, the company of animals was indeed far better than that of people.