#chestnut mare

[quillofspirit]

More horses!

It's only fair that Marilyn also gets a horse. Everyone should have a horse! Still slowly making my way through everything @esta-elavaris has written, but this should be the last one for her OCs (until there's more 👀)

A Chestnut Anglo-arabian mare. Hear me out: equine therapy. Marilyn must have heard about it, and maybe at one point she finds a nice looking stable offering day-rides, and maybe she wants to get some fresh air and it’s not that far from her flat and— Anyway, she loved it, she also found that her knee didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. She found herself wanting to go back, loving the warm and calm energy of the horses and their soft noses.

One of her acquaintances noticed her interest and offered to give her informal lessons with her own horse, a retired show-jumping mare. Her friend tried explaining that mares have a reputation for being hormonal and difficult to work with, and that Chestnut horses tended to be more chaos-prone than others.

Hormonal, she could understand, especially if they were surrounded by idiot young stallions when she had been a multiple time national winner. The colour? She was reserving judgment on that one.

When she met Brimstone, she was taken aback by her fiery coat and temperament. Her friend showed her how to brush the mare, and Marilyn hesitated only a little before finding the activity incredibly meditative. As she learned to pick the hoof, she felt a little nip on her butt, and let out a yelp before standing back. She was shocked to see the argument between her friend and the mare, never before thinking there could be such a thing. Although her friend insisted on finishing, Marilyn persevered and managed to not get bitten anymore even as Brimstone kept a upset face.

Over time, she found herself offering to help her friend care for Brimstone, and slowly learning how to ride. She wasn’t planning on starting competitions, but she did like the idea of being able to canter in the forest and jump over fallen trees with her friend by her side. Plus it kept her in shape. She learned that Brimstone was possibly the most inquisitive horse in the stable, always wanting to understand new things, like new boots or new gloves (which she threw across the hall. To test their durability of course). She also didn’t bolt at things, unlike the other horses, she stood her ground and investigated. Marilyn grew to love that mare, and understood exactly why her friend loved her horse.

Eventually, her friend mentioned that she was looking for a new horse with which to enter competitions, but the cost of both horses were just a little over her budget. They decided to split the boarding for Brimstone, so Marilyn would have a leisure horse.

“Hell hath no fury like a chestnut mare"

So this got away from me a little, but I was motivated. It didn't come as easily as the others, since the concept didn't lend itself that well, but like Marilyn, I persevered!

I will be doing more of these when inspiration strikes, worry not, though I will -eventually- start on adding horses to many universes.

Image sources, from top to bottom, left to right:

Carina Maiwald

Carina Maiwald

New York Ballet's A Midsummer Night's Dream, Frederick Ashtons' article

Find the Facebook post here

Yvonne Strahovski in Chuck (S04 E14)

Ron Kimball on KimballStock

Photo by Raphael Schaller on Unsplash

Carina Maiwald

Photo by Mikayla Storms on Unsplash

[hit-the-dirt-and-get-back-on]

She's freaking gorgeous.

[bewarethechestnutmare]

So Lexi and are in the running for Half Steps Photography's Horse of the Year! We have made it all the way through to the finals. And the last round takes place on Instagram!

I'd love it and be forever grateful if anyone could jump over to insta and like and/or comment to vote for us! (Link below)

Boo is always my horse of the year, but it'd be pretty neat christmas gift to win this to boot. We all know how our horses impact our lives. Lexi came into mine as a gangy two year old way back in 2010. We've grown together and have shared some tough times and some awesome times. She's my heart horse. And having these memories was so special. If you've ever been on the fence about getting a shoot done with your horse, I can only say GO FOR IT. Especially if you have someone as amazing as Lexi (Human!) over at Half Steps Photography! (Seriously, check out her socials and website. S T U N N I N G)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Lexi - Sydney Equine Photographer (@halfstepsphotography)

[redmareredemtion]

Eistla von Obertraun

Breed: Iceland Horse

DoB: 30/04/2014

Colour: Chestnut

Breed: Iceland Horse

Dicipline: Allrounder

Gaits: 5

Welcome to this little sideblog about our pony adventures and horse content in general.

[thechocolatechestnutmare]

💕

[nameofamoon]

Testing posting on tumblr with my absolute favorite pixel pon of all time, Fire 🔥❤️🔥 (Ref used)

[0luna123]

POV: ur grass or maybe a treat

[swordofthefang]

[johnnyslittleanimalblog]

Playful Foal by Vicki Johnson Via Flickr: Welsh Mountain pony colt foal doing his best to annoy his Mother.

[folkbreeze]

[horsefriends]

Cabo Polonio, Uruguay by Paz Arando

[meirimerens]

what makes the equestrian au to me is that both peter and his mare got that mare glare. made for each other

[thechocolatechestnutmare]

[badacts]

étoile

When life becomes less busy for the Kings of the Alliance, Damen thought they might finally have some time to enjoy each other’s company. This is not what he envisioned. 

Laurent first sees her running across the cobbled yard in front of the stables, chased by several harried men. It’s love at first sight.

Of course, it requires catching her first. Damen watches as he anchors himself deep in his saddle, snagging a trailing rein in one tight fist and heaving to pull her head around. The move sends a snorting confusion of horseflesh scattering across the courtyard but ends with him still astride, his own horse exchanging breath with a sweating chestnut whose saddle is sitting crooked on her back.

She’s a beauty with a finely fluted face, short strong cannons and pasterns, and a flaxen mane that stands against the dark liver of her coat. While Laurent’s horse, the one Damen gifted him, is always polite, she strikes and squeals, her shoe throwing sparks.

“Your majesty!” The horsemaster leading the charge pulls up, panting. “Apologies! She jumped the rail of the menage.” The limping stableboy behind him paints a picture of them parting company during or shortly prior. 

“No matter,” Laurent says, passing the reins of the mare over. “One of Berenger’s, is she?”

“Yes, sire. A proper wild one, she is. Soon I’ll have run out of boys to put on her if she has her way about it.” The mare, as if to prove her point, pins her ears at the boy as he tentatively takes her bridle. 

“What is she called?” Laurent asks.

Unexpectedly, the horsemaster - a bearded man of fifty with crow’s feet deeper than canyons - blushes. “Star, if it pleases you, sire.”

Laurent doesn’t comment on whether it pleases him or not, dismounting his horse and leading her back into her stable before handing her over to the groom. Damen does the same with his own, patting the stallion’s broad neck and allowing him the apple core he’s been carrying in the fold of his sash. His inquisitive whiskery lips gobble the treat eagerly and search Damen’s clothes for others while he’s there.

The escapee is led back to her own stable, pulling faces at the curious horses peering over their doors at her. 

“Curious to name a horse with a blaze Star,” Laurent comments from where he’s leaning against the barn wall, ankles crossed. He’s watching her go.

“Curious,” Damen agrees without looking at the star pin at the breast of Laurent’s fine jacket, his one nod to the adornments expected of a king. Bright blonde hair and a winning temperament - it’s a wonder they don’t call her Princess.

*

“When I said that now things were quieter, perhaps we could do something together,” Damen says, “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Laurent’s expression says that no king could want for anything more than to be clinging to the side of a green mare like a burr. His eyes say to Damen in particular that he daren’t suggest otherwise. He wordlessly proffers his ankle, knee bent.

“Would you like me to kneel so you can use me as a stepstool instead?” Damen inquires.

“No,” Laurent says. “I need you to keep a hold of her bridle with your other hand.”

Damen has never broken in a horse. He spent his youth riding horses of varying temperament but only the best quality, and has seen a much greater variation in quality since meeting Laurent, all of which has only given him a conviction that it’s better to pay someone knowledgeable to do the job of training horses well than attempt to do it yourself poorly. Of course, Laurent has more experience in the field than Damen. Somehow that’s not a comfort.

“Am I about to see you thrown across the ring like the stableboys who’ve gone before you?” Damen asks, grasping the ankle anyway.

“Possibly,” Laurent allows. “On three?”

“If you die in a riding accident while I hold the reins, I’m going to be accused of treason.”

“...on three?”

“On three.” At least he made the attempt. “One, two -”

Laurent is easily boosted into the saddle, landing lightly astride. The mare, somewhat to Damen’s surprise, stands like a rock.

“Good girl,” Laurent says, stroking her neck. Her ear flickers back to listen to him. “Let her stand.” 

“I’m impressed she is standing. I was of the impression that she flees at the mere threat of being ridden.”

“I suspect she’s cold-backed. Some are reactive to the weight of the saddle or a rider, particularly when they move. Keep a hold of her.” And with that, he puts his heels lightly to her sides to ask her forward.

It’s lucky he warns Damen, because the second the mare steps forward, it becomes clear that her stillness was not that of calm, but that of a large muscular animal prepared to launch. Her head drops between her knees and she explodes, all four feet off the ground. She attempts to plunge across the yard, only Damen’s grip keeping her turning in a tight circle.

She is athletic. Laurent, whose seat is famed across both Vere and Akielos and also several other countries who value blondes who ride well as much as Damen does, sits the first several bucks easily, and then the ones following after that less easily. The saddle, though girthed tight, is not suited for that degree of acrobatic feat, and begins to slip to the right.

Damen, who is strong, is less strong than a horse. The rein is wrenched from his hand and he hears himself make an alarmed sound at the idea of his lover, who happens to be a king, flung across the menage without his say so.

Laurent, in a whip-quick instance, throws a leg over and pushes himself free of the saddle. It’s clearly a planned maneuvre. Damen, whose mind has already seen Laurent hit the ground and roll to disperse the impact, finds himself instead with an arm around Laurent’s waist in a doomed attempt to catch him. 

Some of the motion is arrested, but Laurent, though slighter than Damen, is moving at a tremendous pace and purposefully relaxed rather than stiff-kneed, and Damen is hardly braced appropriately. What would have likely been a skilled show of athletic ability and horsemanship is instead an uncontrolled fall onto the sand of the menage. Damen lands first, on his back: Laurent lands on top of him.

“I employed the right man for the job,” Laurent says in the stillness after the earth has stopped spinning. Damen, who has had the breath driven out of him, says nothing. The mare is still audibly cavorting close by, her desire to jump the fence and return to the stables halted by the cunning edition of an extra pair of railings to add height.

“You don’t pay me,” Damen wheezes, eventually. There’s a hand cautiously testing the integrity of his rib cage and he can’t enjoy it because there’s sand in his chiton. He sits up, swiping his hair from his face. Laurent looks very slightly repentant, though it could be Damen’s imagination. Mostly he looks pink-cheeked and dusty as he crouches on his heels at Damen’s side.

There’s a heave of breath like a sigh from nearby. The mare, given up on the idea of freedom, has wandered back over to investigate them. She looks sweet as honey with her ears pricked and her saddle now markedly crooked.

Laurent looks back at her, head tilted. “I see we have our work cut out for us.”

[charlessmith]

MUSTANGS I’d ADOPT if I ever won the lottery and could just have what ever I wanted (on the search for one specific horse).

2yo faded flaxen girly - via BLM sales site

[whywishesarehorses]

BLM Mustangs for Sale - Diamond HMA Mares

These girls are part of the March 2023 auction; from the Diamond HMA and currently held in Wheatland WY. (Some are not included because the photos were quite bad/out of focus/blurry, and with 700 horses, I am being choosy)

6 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (0017) 15.1hh

8 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (0018) 13.2hh

8 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (0019) 13.2hh

7 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (0021) 13.3hh

4 YEAR OLD ROANRED FEMALE HORSE (0048) 14.1hh

6 YEAR OLD ROANRED FEMALE HORSE (0065) 15hh

5 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (0109) 13.2hh

8 YEAR OLD CHESTNUT FEMALE HORSE (0173) 13.1hh

5 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (0216)15hh

6 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (0304) 14hh

6 YEAR OLD BROWN FEMALE HORSE (0328)

5 YEAR OLD PALOMINO FEMALE HORSE (0335) 14.2hh

7 YEAR OLD PALOMINO FEMALE HORSE (0681) 14hh

6 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (0564) 14.1hh

6 YEAR OLD PINTO FEMALE HORSE (0521) 14.1hh (Clydesdale pony????)

8 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (0458) 13.1hh

6 YEAR OLD BROWN FEMALE HORSE (0432) 14.3hh

6 YEAR OLD SORREL FEMALE HORSE (0369) 14hh

6 YEAR OLD CHESTNUT FEMALE HORSE (0368) 13.2hh

5 YEAR OLD BAY FEMALE HORSE (0367) 14hh

6 YEAR OLD CHESTNUT FEMALE HORSE (0345) 13.1hh