#part bred cob

[jadevine]

Medieval Warhorses, Repost + additions!

Since people loved my "Preindustrial travel times" post so much, I decided to repost my "Realistic warhorses" info separately from the original link, where it was a response to "how to get the feel of realistic combat."

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The original link is here.

The "Warhorse" post on my blog, plus a recent addition, is here.

And here's the text for people who want to go down my "grown up horse-girl" rabbit hole right away!

Medieval Warhorses:

First of all: DESTRIERS WERE NOT DRAFT HORSES. Horse/military historians are begging people to stop putting their fantasy knights on Shires, Belgians, and other massive, chunky farm-horses! The best known instance of “a knight needs to get lifted onto their 18-hand draft horse” is a SATIRE (A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, if I remember right), but somehow laymen decided to take it seriously.

Hell, I think the film’s historians knew that this was extremely inaccurate and begged the director not to do it.

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For the purposes of this post, I will not get into the different TYPES OF WARHORSES. That is a hyper-fixation for another day, lol.

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First problem with “Draft horses as warhorses:”

The bulk of modern-day “breeds” are far too recent for a medieval or medieval-fantasy story. Modern horse “breeds” began around the 1700s-1800s, so that’s in the EXTREMELY late-medieval/early-modern period. Before that, most medieval horses were referred to by “TYPE/PURPOSE” and maybe a “Country/Region.” “Spanish/Iberian horses” (the ancestors of modern-day Andalusians, Carthusians, and Lusitanos) were overwhelmingly popular for combat, and other baroque horses were also esteemed.

Destriers are physically average-height at 15 hands high (about 5 feet tall at the shoulder/withers), but the important part is that they are STACKED at 1200-1300lbs when most 15-hand horses are only 900-1000lbs, so that’s a quarter to a third more weight in muscle.

And remember, muscle will not make a given horse look “chubby!” Good ways to get across a warhorse’s muscles in writing is 1) how ROCK SOLID they are when you touch them, 2) their chiseled shoulders, necks, and butts, and 2) when they get into motion, especially for a fight, their muscles will flex and get REALLY defined. The three regions I mentioned are usually the most visible if they’ve got horse tack or a rider on them.

Think of the difference between “regular horse” and “destrier” as “regular Tom Hardy, who looks fit but normal,” versus “Tom Hardy playing Bane, where he put on thirty pounds and his torso and arms look like a fucking tree-trunk.”

Warhorses had nerves of steel, and the best-trained warhorses used could sprint and turn on a dime–they’ve been called “the sports cars of the medieval world.” This is a far cry from huge, sweet, and lumbering draft horses.

Besides Spanish horses, modern-day candidates for destriers would be European cobs (heavier all-purpose horses, large Welsh cobs are the best-known modern breed), and Foundation Quarter Horses (working/stock horses that can herd cattle and race and actually USE their muscles, not the bloated halter-horses who are mostly bred to look “good” to judges).

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But if the destrier was supposed to be the horse equivalent of “Tom Hardy as Bane” and not “The Mountain from Game of Thrones,” then how could they carry a knight’s armor as well as their own?

First of all, human combat armor is different from JOUSTING armor and it is easily half the weight for better mobility. Warhorses from proper medieval times aren’t shown wearing much horse-armor, even in jousting. The stuff you see in museums is also frequently the custom-made armor for wealthy nobles, who either 1) wore it once or twice a year for public celebrations, which is also why the armor’s in pristine condition instead of dented and bloody like combat armor would be, or 2) wore it because they were rich enough to not want themselves OR their expensive horses to die too soon in combat.

Assuming that all destriers needed to carry 150lbs for an adult armored man, PLUS another 150lbs of the horse’s riding tack and armor, is like people from the years 2500-3000 assuming that everyone with a “car” must have a Lamborghini or a Ferrari that takes up a lot of maintenance (if you want to keep it looking nice, at least) and can go 200 miles per hour.

So the vast majority of realistic warhorses/destriers didn’t get much if any armor, because 1) horse-armor is for princes and dukes, not Count Whoever’s third son or his nephew that he tossed out on adulthood with barely any money, and 2) horse-armor is going to weigh down your FAST and NIMBLE warhorse. (Remember: Knights wanted sports cars, not tanks!) Take a look at the horses and knights of the website called “Destrier!” Most horses there aren’t notably tall, and they mostly wear head-armor and fancy but not heavy horse-tack like capes, instead of full barding.

Another reason average/short warhorses were preferred is for medieval safety issues: You wanted to mount your horse from the ground without help. The famous knight Jean Le Maingre was so dedicated to fighting that he could VAULT onto his horse in armor, without touching the stirrups. His instructions are, essentially, “put on your armor, find your horse, put your hands on the horse’s back/saddle, and FUCKING JUMP.”

Unless you’re seven feet tall or a gymnast, you’re not jumping onto an 18-hand draft horse.

So all those Red Dead Redemption animations where you get to alley-oop your way onto your loyal steed? POSSIBLE, IF YOU ARE CRAZY/ANGRY ENOUGH.

Quick note: In ancient Ireland, they refer to a “steed-leap” that nobles, warriors, and other “people rich enough to own RIDING horses” were trained to use–with the important distinction that Gaelic nobles often took pride in either using saddles without stirrups, or NOT USING SADDLES TO PUT ANY STIRRUPS ON. So the bulk of Gaelic Irish nobles could theoretically go Red Dead Redemption on your ass.

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And the third reason most combat-ready warhorses didn’t get armor is because infantry (the vast majority of most medieval armies) just had a low chance of hitting them in the first place.

First of all, most horses are already faster than people. Destriers were EXCEPTIONALLY fast as the cream of the crop. For the horse to need armor, someone needs a good chance of hitting the horse.

Second, most horses are hard to kill physically because horses don’t tend to like getting stabbed or shot at, so they will likely try to kill YOU, which means that a knight and his horse are TWO fighters who are both very angry and very protective of each other. Most people love their horses, and many combatants share intense bonds! IMAGINE IF YOUR HORSE IS ALSO YOUR SQUAD-MATE!

And last of all, most horses are hard to kill mentally because when you want to use cavalry, you ALSO want the other side’s infantry to get consumed by panic and bolt for their lives, away from their companions and AWAY FROM THE CHARGING HORSES. (Which routinely leads to a slaughter, often called a “rout” in period literature, or a “curb-stomp battle” on TV Tropes.) While most knights could dish out one-on-one duels against EACH OTHER, a knight against a foot-soldier is going to have a huge and explicitly unfair advantage if the soldier is not specifically trained and equipped to take them on.

See, when you get a herd of knights on their steeds, the noise and the wave of horseflesh charging at you is going to make your reptile-brain instincts scream “NOPE NOPE NOPE, WE GOTTA GO!!!”

That instinct is so strong that infantry ACTORS in movies–who know that this is not a real war, and the riders don’t actually want to kill them–still routinely break formation and run.

It was possible to stop cavalry with infantry and end up slaughtering them instead of getting routed–it was just extremely notable.

Also, unless you’re specifically going for blood: You don’t WANT to slaughter a whole formation of knights! That means you’ve just pissed away a WHOLE lot of money that the knights represent!

You killed the horses that you could have used for your own side, and possibly bred for more high-end horses! You ruined the armor that you could have used for your own side, or at least melted down for high-quality, already-mined metal! You killed the knights that you could have sweetened up and used for your own side–or more likely, told their families to pay you if they wanted them home intact.

Barely anyone remembers that knights were as good for HOSTAGES as they were for actually fighting. (Except for Game of Thrones, and it’s still only plot-relevant for Jaime Lannister and Theon Greyjoy, and they explicitly did NOT get the protection a noble hostage should have.) It’s noted that Agincourt was a GREAT ending for England because capturing all those French nobles earned them TWENTY YEARS’ WORTH of regular income in ransoms. If they hadn’t won and gotten all that sweet, sweet French money, they would have been bankrupted and depopulated instead.

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Two more strikes I’d feel are appropriate for “not wanting draft-type horses in combat:”

-Logistics 1: Too much food, too much hassle. Horses are already notorious for eating a lot, and a DRAFT horse that’s 2000lbs instead of 1200lbs will eat twice as much. No army wants to use their fodder for only half the number of horses they’d expect.

-Logistics 2: Too much hair, too much hassle. Shires and other British horses often have feathering on their legs, and anyone with long hair knows that loose hair/fur is a fucking PAIN. You can braid a horse’s mane and tail, but if you’re one of the many average/poor knights who DON’T have servants to take care of your horse for you, do you want to spend extra time cleaning and combing out your horse’s LEGS instead of necessary things? Like feeding them, grooming them, and checking for wounds? Nope, you’ll probably shave the feathering off or just pick a horse that doesn’t have it.

-Extra note on Friesian horses, who are RIDICULOUSLY common in “medieval” movies: Friesian horses are technically baroque horses in body form (Strong-boned! Big necks and butts!), but they’re also over-used in general, so most horse folks are sick of seeing them in movies. And if you don’t have the right kind of MODERN Friesian, you’ll probably be a laughingstock in addition to an eye-roll.

Some strains of modern Friesians are from carriage-horse lines, often referred to as “big movers.” This means “fun to LOOK AT, but terrible to RIDE.” Because, you know, those strains of Friesians weren’t meant for riding, but for PULLING CARRIAGES. Their movements are big, dramatic, and flashy… and their trot is notorious for bouncing people out of the saddle with every step. Not something you want for a knight who fills his opponents with terror.

A good riding horse’s movements are usually smooth and low to the ground, often described as “floating” and “effortless.”

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A horse-note that I can’t figure out where to put: Many Western cultures love the idea of fiery stallions (intact male horses) for their noble knights and kings to ride into battle on, but realistically, stallions are only half of a given horse population. Many Western stallions are also gelded if they’re not the cream of the crop (which is probably at least the bottom half of the male horse population). So mares can be used by at least half of a realistic formation who just wants a warhorse, and doesn’t care about aesthetics or masculinity.

Also, mares can be ruthless and stallions can be nervous wrecks! Horses are living creatures, with personalities and feelings!

Horses also aren’t very sexually dimorphic, so a 1200lb war mare is DEFINITELY a match for a 1300lb war stallion. And remember how Loras Tyrell used a mare in heat to distract The Mountain’s stallion? That happens with a lot of stallions… almost like they’re living creatures, with instincts that they can’t always control! So if you know when your girl is ready to go every month, you can play dirty in a joust, too!

Just remember that you’re taking an equal risk, since your mare will possibly try to let a stallion mount her instead of fighting. You will either need to bail when she starts making googly-eyes, or you need to know you have ABSOLUTE loyalty from her, and she will listen to YOU instead of “the hot dude I just met five minutes ago!” HORSES ARE LIVING CREATURES, WITH INSTINCTS THAT THEY CAN’T ALWAYS CONTROL.

Then geldings will be used by at least another quarter of “the knights who cannot afford a horse good enough to keep his testicles,” so that leaves “a quarter or less” of knights who can realistically be mounted on stallions.

WORSE NEWS: If you geld a stallion too late (usually once they’re MOSTLY physically mature at 4-5 years old), that risk may never go away–so you’ve got a gelding who’s not breeding quality, but he’s still chasing mares in heat and fighting other stallions in turf battles, without understanding that he can no longer make babies!

On the other hand, some cultures don’t geld stallions because they view it as unnecessary or outright unnatural… but they also don’t want half the horse population distracted by pretty mares, or fighting with other stallions who walk by the pasture, so those cultures breed them to be sweet and easily managed (outside of battle, at least).

In short: ALL HORSES HAVE POTENTIAL TO BE WARHORSES, WHETHER THEY HAVE BALLS OR NOT.

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Update, Feb 2 – Another day to expand on that “Different types of warhorses” mention!

Much like the common misconception of “all knights must be at least 6 feet tall and have 200 pounds of muscle” varied in real life due to genetics, cultural values, and logistics problems, the assumption that “all knights MUST have top-quality destriers that cost seven times the price of a normal horse” was not the case for the vast majority of “knights.”

Knights would have either “the best horse they could AFFORD” or “the best horse FOR THEIR SPECIALTY.”

A poor knight, or one of the early Middle Ages, would have “one horse that they’re with all the time;” that horse may not be pretty or come from fancy breeding lines, but they would get the job done and most definitely be taken care of. A wealthy knight of the later Middle Ages, when everything got more expensive and status more codified and finicky, would have two or three horses–one horse for warfare and one for regular riding, with the really wealthy knights having a third packhorse to carry all their stuff. (Moreover, they would have at least one servant to help take care of three horses.)

A muscled sprinter like a destrier is better in tight quarters and for short bursts of speed; to bring in the modern example of a classic/Foundation Quarter Horse, who are ideally “short-legged and low to the ground,” these dudes can literally hit the ground running and reach top speed in a few steps/seconds, so compare that to a sports-car going from zero to sixty miles. The tradeoffs?

1) You need to be able to hang the fuck on… and to avoid getting pitched into a wall/enemy WHEN THEY STOP.

2) That full-throttle gallop will really wear out your horse. A good commander will not bring out their heavy cavalry right away, because you also have to figure out how to get them back from the enemy’s side of the field.

In very simplistic terms, this is one of several problems that the battle of Agincourt had for the French; you had a bunch of hoity-toity noblemen with no proper battle experience who all wanted to do things their own way… and how do medieval noblemen usually want to fight a war? JUST FLOOR IT AND HIT THINGS AS HARD AS YOU CAN.

That went so badly that the recorded death-toll for the French side of Agincourt has been commented as “a roll call for French nobles.”

A destrier would not be suitable for a scout or light-cavalry; they’d need lighter and ground-covering horses to cover rough terrain, and to chase down the enemy for long stretches–akin to a modern-day Thoroughbred. For period pieces they might resemble an Akhal-Teke or “Turkmene” horse. A modern-day Thoroughbred horse can “only” reach forty miles per hour at a gallop, but they can keep that up for a whole mile or longer. So now your knight’s problem is “Hanging on for two or three whole minutes,” and anyone in performing or athletics will explain how long and agonizing a few minutes would feel on a rampaging horse. Have you seen how stacked a racing jockey is? The general consensus I’ve seen from equestrians is that barely anyone in any other horse-discipline is that built.

Meanwhile, an ideal light-cavalry horse would need longer legs for a ground-covering stride, and they may or may not be taller as well; as seen in the Akhal-Teke article, many endurance horses tend to show a lot more ribs and bones than other breeds, due to how lean they are. But think of them less as a dainty riding horse and more like a hunting greyhound/sighthound–all muscle, no fat!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

EDIT Feb 4, 2024: My post got cut off, so here's the rest of it!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

A period-accurate scout's horse was known as the Irish hobby, ridden by their eponymous hobelar troops. These little dudes were VERY little and about 12-14 hands high (48-54 inches, or 4 feet tall to bit under five feet tall). They were known to cover 60-70 miles a day in their raids, which my "preindustrial traveling" post notes is the EXTREME upper end of mounted distance travel. Their modern descendant is likely to be the Irish Connemara Pony.

Very wealthy and/or lucky European horsemen could probably manage to buy/steal an Arabian horse, as they remain exceptional endurance horses to this day. However, excessively cold/wet climates will need a lot of upkeep for a desert-bred horse to stay healthy.

While Arabians are known for their adorable "dished faces," this is not actually required! Many well-bred native lines have a regular face (ie, a "straight nose/profile") but they are from well-bred parents and have the capabilities of other Arabians. To the other extreme, you have some modern show/halter lines with REALLY exaggerated heads that hit a lot of people's "Uncanny valley" buttons, and they find it creepy/weird instead of refined. This kind of "seahorse face" would NOT be seen in a period piece.

Notice how the smaller a horse gets, the more ground it can cover? This is partly because size only matters TO AN EXTENT for "how long a horse goes," and partly because of physics! Less weight for a horse to drag around on its own body means more energy for putting miles behind them!

[track2hack]

✨ Pinned post ✨

Last updated 26.02.2024

I’m Emily, 24 and she/they pronouns! I’m a horse girl based in the south island of New Zealand and live with my three horses; Ed, Pixie, and Molly; and my mum’s horse Gem. I’m part of the Belfast Pony Club as part of their adult riders/HorseMasters group after being in the youth section for a year, and also enjoy the endurance/RTT/CTR circuit when time and funds allow! I’ve qualified up to 24kms CTR and hope to go up to placing in the 30kms or completing my first 40km 🤞 I used to be competitive in the show jumping circuit but I don’t enjoy it as much as I used to so mainly it’s just pony club and whatever else I feel like during the year!

I used to work for a harness racing trainer for 2 years and then moved on to working for the local SPCA branch as a farmyard attendant/vet assistant and dabbled in the cats & dogs units, right now I’m taking a mental breather before jumping back into finding my passion 🥰

Previously I retrained and sold project horses and standardbreds off the track as a side hustle, I was also an escort/full service sex worker by choice for 3 years and am an advocate for decriminalisation worldwide.

I have diagnosed BPD type 2 and depression/anxiety issues and my inbox is always open to talk!

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Dr Kananga - Ed

Ed is my very first heart horse, I got him on 05.06.2021 straight off the track as a 3yo but I’ve known him since he was 2yrs! He’s a 6yo (DOB 10.12.2017) 16.1hh bay standardbred gelding by Live Or Die out of an Elsu mare called Ariana Angel. He raced 5 times as a 3yo pacer and couldn’t beat his own shadow home 🙈 He’s my absolute best man and will be with me til one of us dies, he’s my weekend happy hacker and pony club extraordinaire as well as being a super endurance horse! He no longer enjoys competition so much but in the past I’ve show jumped him to 55cm and he’s done an eventing round of 45cm. He has the softest puppy dog eyes and golden retriever personality and loves his wonky donkey ear scratched or tickle his chin and he’ll be your best friend 🥺😭💕

My confidence with Ed has gone up and down quite a bit over the last 6 months so he’s gone back on lease to Waimak Horse Treks as part of their trekking string until I feel better again! He’s a lovely wee boy and he’ll always be my heart horse but he enjoys trekking and adventuring in the slow lane much more than pony club or eventing so I’m listening to my head and giving us both the best chance to do what we love - and hopefully we’ll come together again as a riding duo when I get this competition bug out of my skin! 🤭

He’ll never be sold but his lease is long term and will potentially be renewed in January 2025.

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Ouruhia Gem - Gem

Gem is a 6yo(ish) 15.1hh bay pinto mare by Shebeau (Irish cob x TB x PGP stationbred) out of the thoroughbred mare Ruby Ashley, by Raise The Flag. I got her as a foster from the SPCA in early September 2022. She came to one of the West Coast centres as an inspector seizure/neglect case, was fed up and loved on, and then sent down to my centre on a surgery recommendation for her umbilical hernia (which she didn’t actually end up needing) and I adopted her in December 2022! Both myself and my mum fell in love with her (oops 🙈) and I gifted her to mum as a Xmas present ❤️

I backed her myself in summer 2023 and I’ve really enjoyed playing around with her! She went to a professional schooling yard to get some buttons installed during April 2023 and mum has been having a blast riding her in pony club rallies and forest hacking! She’s a nosey little tart and loves getting her own way but she’s a very sweet and very genuine little horse with a lot of try - in November she had her first eventing start at 45cm and absolutely smoked the cross country, as well as having her first endurance ride around a 12km lagoon track which she loved! Recently she’s also placed 5th in her first 24km endurance ride but there’s no doubt she’s bred to jump, the little tart loves it!

Currently she’s happily competing in pony club team events at 45-55cm but has a whole lot of scope to go higher! She scores consistently in the low 60%+ in dressage but that’s more because I have no idea what I’m doing, not her lack of talent 🤷‍♀️

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NZPHS Pixie’s Dream Girl - Pixie

Pixie is a 10yo chestnut pinto miniature horse of unknown breeding and stands approx 36” tall. I got her on 02.09.2023 as an ESA/therapy horse in training but mainly as my little running friend to motivate me to get out of bed every day! I’m aiming to do some endurance with her and potentially some inhand showing too. She’s registered with the New Zealand Pinto Horse Society and has really enjoyed being fussed over and loved on by tween girls as a party pony for my friend’s lesson kids!

Eventually once I get my ass into gear I’ll break her to harness and 🤞hopefully🤞 do some pony scurries with her too!

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Khant Catch Her - Molly

Molly is a 6yo (DOB 16.11.2017) 16hh dark bay thoroughbred mare by Mongolian Khan out of the Iffraaj mare Jenuwin. I got her on 07.03.2024 as my next pony club mount and so far she’s the sweetest wee girl I’ve ever met! She raced 12 times for only 4 placings and never came better than 3rd, and retired off the track in 2022.

Prior to coming to me Molly’s been showing and won Champion Inhand and Res. Champion Ridden Hack, been to pony club rallies, and done plenty of jumping and beach days.

She’s a lot like Gem in the personality department but lacks some of the zing that madam has (thank god 😅) and definitely wants to be your friend, which is exactly what I was looking for in a horse. She’s a real darling and I’m super excited to keep working with her!

[essayofthoughts]

I have a question of vital importance for you:

Rich nobles tend to have horses. Ergo, the de Rolos (both the original family and the squad we might see this week) likely had/have a stable with some fine mounts.

Any thoughts as to any de Rolo's favorite horses?

(My aunt has a fairly high-end barn so I chatted with her about the subject during my chaotic weekend, so it’s been on my mind a lil!)

So... based on the kind of setting Exandria is, there probably wouldn't be much by way of distinct modern horse breeds. Instead you're dealing with much more broad types - ponies, carthorses and cobs, ploughhorses (also called draught/draft horses), hot-blooded coursers, destriers (warhorses), rounceys and palfreys.

For the most part, I think Whitestone, given it's isolation and utility, tends towards cobby carthorses - cobs are solidly, at times stockily built and usually pretty well-equipped for colder climes - and draft horses as a matter of necessity. While I imagine that a few Whitestone nobles in the past might have imported a destrier or two, those probably got diluted and bred into the cart and draft horse lines (some draft horses today likely have some old warhorse blood in them; carrying an armoured up knight isn't easy). Coursers would be possible for couriers, but lighter, faster horses tend to not be so well-equipped for the cold; it's quite possible they just have a stock of speedy cobs they use for that. Also, coursers would be trained for battle at times, used as warhorses by those unable to afford a destrier - they might have been popular with a few lords, but I doubt they had many purpose-bred coursers and quite likely they were bred with local cobs to be better equipped for the climate.

Palfreys are... well traditionally, a lady's horse. Medium size, mild-mannered, smooth-gaited. Still potentially useful in other ways, but meant for casual, domestic riding and I imagine most of the de Rolo women rode palfreys. There'd always be exceptions - I imagine the terrifying Lady Melanie de Rolo probably rode a cob - but for the most part, a palfrey is meant for casual riding by people of middling experience.

The men probably rode courser-cobs or rounceys - rounceys are more all-rounder horses, used for work but possible to train for war. I imagine the Grey Hunt, if it were ever large enough to have stables of it's own, would probably primarily have rounceys, there to ride, carry, and hunt.

As for horses preferred by specific known de Rolos... well that depends a lot on your own characterisation. I think Cassandra probably started out with palfreys but after the occupation likes a mild-mannered courser. Easy to command but also able to go fast when required. I think the children all learn to ride on palfreys, just because it's safest. I think Julius liked to show off with high-spirited horses, but didn't mind riding whatever was available. I think Percy preferred not to ride much, but was a capable enough rider to manage with whatever horse he was given.

I think the de Rolo parents had a pair of palfreys, for riding down to town or the surrounding farms, not quite matched but certainly complementing each other.

[longingandheartacheandlust]

Roach is a Hereditary Title

Okay, so, I was thinking about Roach, as I do frequently.

Do any of y’all remember that scene in Lord of the Rings where Aragorn’s almost unconscious and his horse, Brego, lies down next to him to help him mount?  Given that Geralt spends a lot of time getting himself severely injured while alone, it makes a lot of sense for Roach to be trained to do something along those lines, also.  (That sorta thing is absolutely done IRL.  I knew a lady, for instance, who was 5 feet tall but rode a draft horse who was more than 6 feet tall at the shoulder.  She trained her horse to lower his head so she could hop on his neck and the horse would then lift his head back up so she’d slide down his neck to his back.)

And then I was thinking about what other training a Witcher’s horse would require.

(I have another huge point as well about Roach and Geralt and world-building that is what I’m actually working towards in this very long post.  The hint is in the big text up there.  Also, there are some fun gifs below you might wanna check out even if you don’t read the post.)

The most obvious is a ground tie, which we actually see used in the show.  That’s where a horse is trained to act as though they’re tied to something when they’re not - for instance, you might take a lead rope, let it dangle it down to the ground, and train the horse that they should act as though the lead rope is tied to the ground.  Cowboys use it to keep their horses still while they’re dealing with obstacles, working with cattle on foot, etcetera, when they’re out in the middle of a prairie with nothing to tie onto.  This would keep Roach put if Geralt needs to do something and there’s nothing to tie to, but also is great to keep her out of danger - she can be trained that if she’s actually being attacked she should GTFO.

Here she is, in fact, doing just that: she had been ground tied, but when the kikimora got closer, she calmly backed up out of range.  That calm backing, btw, is 100% a trained behavior.  If she were getting out of there of her own accord she’d be spinning around and going both forwards and much faster.

(From this post by @highevre​.)

Horses can be trained to track - their sense of smell is almost as good as a dog’s, and Mounted Search and Rescue using horses as trackers is a thing.  Not necessarily needed given Geralt’s own enhanced senses, but it might come in handy sometimes.

She’d probably want to be trained in extreme terrain, and you’d be amazed what horses can do with that.  Here’s a clip of part of the standard training for US Cavalry from around 1930:

(From here.)

A good trail horse can shift their own weight to keep an inexperienced, exhausted, or, in this case, injured rider in the saddle, so she’d definitely want to know that.

It’s unlikely, but she might even be trained in active combat.  Horses have in the past been trained not only to carry their riders into battle, but even to fight themselves.  Here’s a gif of one tactic:

That’s a pretty good way to get a drowner off your tail!  (It can absolutely be done with a rider on, I just didn’t find any nice gifs for that.)

This one could come in pretty handy too:

Even if she’s not kicking forward with those front hooves - which is, actually, an established move, it’s called “mezair” - if I were a monster I’d be a lot less eager to attack with a twelve foot tall wall of muscle coming at me.

(Look up videos of “haute ecole” or “airs above the ground” and you’ll see a whole lot of breathtaking stuff that Roach could do.)

There are some random fun tricks that might be useful, like picking things up and handing them to her rider.

The absolute number one thing, though, is that she would have to be completely, 100% bombproof, and that’s where I get to my main point.

(Please note for the rest of this post, in case you’re unaware, the name “Roach” refers to several horses, as horses aren’t generally immortal.  Geralt names all his horses Roach.)

I used to breed horses, and specifically the emerging breed Drum Horses.  They were originally bred to (and are still used to) carry kettle drums in parades.  Now, for that you need to be big, since the drums and gear can weigh more than 450lb.  But, most importantly, you need to be completely, entirely unshakeable, to a degree that shouldn’t frankly be possible in a prey animal.  You’ve got not only the insanity of a parade going on but also a huge loud noise right next to your head, the constant vibration from the drums, AND since the rider’s hands are busy playing the drums the horse is steered using only the feet.

So how the heck do you get a prey animal that’s specialized for millenia in Running the Fuck Away to do that?  Well, centuries of selective breeding.  Drums are derived from the Irish Cob, which was (and is) used by nomadic people in Europe to pull caravans.  They have to be steady, able to deal with kids running around their feet while they work, since the caravans were mobile homes they're very noisy, and, long story short, Irish Cobs spent centuries being bred to be bombproof.  The Drum Horses, then, were derived from that breed but with an even stronger focus on being 100% reliable and not-prey-like.

They’re also trained literally from birth; parade horses, police horses, and the like generally are.  Within minutes of birth, you start handling them, rubbing them all over so they’re never startled by a touch.  You put radios in their stalls playing rock music so they get used to sudden loud noises.  You tie brightly colored streamers in their pastures to wave in the wind, pop open umbrellas, toss beach balls at them.  Spray perfume and waft popcorn smell.  Rub them all over with any equipment you might use, including tack but also things like weapons (mounted target shooting is a sport still done today).  Have the equipment make whatever noise it’s gonna make.  (Clanging, firing, whatever.)

The POINT being, that for Roach to be able to handle dealing with a new terrifying monster every week, she’d pretty much have to be specifically bred for it.

Well... where do you get horses bred to handle monsters, you ask?  They might have had a small breeding operation at Kaer Morhen, but that doesn’t exactly help now.

My conclusion: Geralt must be breeding his own horses.

Roach is always a mare, after all.  Maybe that’s not just sentimentality.  Every so often, he finds a good, steady stallion - the very best on the Continent, of course, nothing else would do for his perfect girl.  She’d be able to keep working most of the 11 months of pregnancy, and then for the last few he’d let her rest, either leaving her with someone he trusts until she’s due or staying with her and only doing day trips on foot.

And when the foal’s born, he starts doing all that training above from birth.

Half of those foals are going to be boys, of course.  And he only uses mares as Roach.  So what about the colts?  Well, he sells them, once they’re old enough to leave their mother.  And those horses, damn, they’re bred and trained so incredibly carefully, they must be the most valuable, sought-after cavalry mounts on the Continent.  Kings and Queens bid for Roach’s sons to be their noble steeds.  Geralt wouldn’t need to take jobs for years after selling one of Roach’s foals, if he didn’t want to.

Sometimes bad things happen, so he’d need to have a spare Roach or two always around just in case his girl retires earlier than planned.  (She got a mild injury that keeps her from doing all that stuff above, she didn’t die, I promise!)  So there are always a few Roaches around the country on a sort of lease, not allowed to be taken into combat but still being the amazing, perfect horses they are until their Witcher comes back to get them.

Final Conclusion:

All of the most famous horses on the Continent are Roach’s descendants.   Royalty riding a horse that wasn’t from her is barely even worth being called royalty at all.  And Geralt has raised his girl, and her mother, and her mother’s mother, and her mother’s mother’s mother, and on back, from birth, the first face they ever see and the first hand in their manes.

(Source: me!  That’s one of my babies.)

[avatarvyakara]

Strands of Webbing

A Spiderverse Fanfic

Prompts 169-180

“Others in the Cluster, Part II”

169. Designation

Peter looks out upon the assembled Peters, and sighs.

“Okay. Let’s get started. I’m Peter B. Parker and you can call me Peter, B, Peter B, Peter B Goode, or The Amazing Parkerino.”

“...yeah, we’re not calling you that,” says Ham.

“Philistines.”

“Anyway. My name is Peter Benjamin Parker. One of my best friends calls me Noir. The other calls me Gray. You boys can stick with Detective. Or Peter.”

“My name is Peter Pauker—Pay-tuh, not Pee-ter—and I am the Cob. For some reason people call me Buccaneer, or just Buck. Both are acceptable. Also Peter—pronounced properly.”

“My name is Peter Porker. Call me Ham. Or Porker. Or Peter. Call me Porkchop and I will eat you. Don’t tempt me.”

“My name is Peter Ross, and...I guess you can call me Black Spider. Or Spartus, that was my code name in at Cadmus, God knows why. Or Pete. I don’t mind being the only Pete in the room.”

“I’faith, my name be Peter Parquagh, the Spider in the Web. Spider is a name I may keep, or Peter. Parquagh, should you wish it.”

“How do you feel about Shakespeare?”

“Um...the man is my master and playwright, so...perhaps not?”

“Ooh, what’s your most popular role?”

“...Viola. In Twelfth Night. But my favoured role is Puck, so...perhaps that.”

"My name is Peter Parker. I used to be Spider-Man, now I'm retired. I guess you can call me…May, honey, this is weird."

"Dad, there's another version of me who is literally a baby. I feel you."

"You can call me Mayday's Dad."

"Aww…"

"Shut it, Amazing Parkerino, you're not one to talk."

"Eh? Eh? Doesn't it work?"

"No."

“My name is Peter Parker. I’m the Iron Spider. So...maybe Iron? Or Peter. ‘Cables’ works too.”

"Sure, I'm Peter Parker, born and bred in New York, Texas. Call me the Web-Slinger. Or Outlaw."

“My name is Peter Parker. I’m the Hobgoblin. ...long story. Please, for the love of all that is sacred, don’t call me Green. Or Goblin. Or Hobby. Only one person gets to call me Hobby. Bombshell works.”

“We’re not calling you Bombshell.”

“Speak for yourself, I might.”

“Right," says Peter B., clapping his hands together. "And now that that’s all sorted out...pizza calls.”

“What is pizza?”

“Viola, my boy, you are in for a treat.”

170. Hardcore

“...until ultimate termination.”

Peni blinks.

“Are you sure we’re the same person?”

Other Peni rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. Even if your SP//dr is a bit...”

“A bit what?”

“You know...impractical? For fighting bad guys?”

Peni frowns. “Mostly kaiju, actually.”

“You sit in a glass cockpit and punch giant monsters and somehow you’ve survived as SP//dr for...how long now?”

“Three years. How about you?”

“Two. ...oh, no, there is no way you’re older than me. You look twelve!”

“Uh...I’m sixteen.”

“Ah, Peni! I see you’ve met Peni?” says Ham, striding through the workshop with a sandwich and out the other side. “Have fun!”

“I guess,” mutters Other Peni.

“...Dad’s death still bothering you?”

“What? No, that was ages ago.” Other Peni sighs, which helps Peni feel less like yelling at her dismissive tone (which would be counterproductive). “Mostly it’s just the job. It...kinda grinds down on you after a while.”

“...I guess I can relate to that.”

Other Peni coughs. “So...you like listening to music while you work?”

Peni lights up. “Do I? Come on, let’s get the sound started. Have you heard anything by Karam Heiwa?”

For the first time in the entire conversation, Other Peni smiles.

“I can see you’ve got good taste.”

“It’s probably a Peni Parker thing,” says Peni, conversationally. “Gray’s stuck on swing, Peter B’s more Silver Age Electric, and Gwen’s into punk, but you just can’t beat KH for tunes to work with.”

Other Peni cautiously goes through the playlist on the holographic display, as though she’s worried about breaking something. Then her faces lights up.

“Hey, is this ‘Nuke-ular’? I haven’t heard this album in ages!”

...of course Other Peni would choose the most depressing song in the mix. Still, baby steps.

171. Crawl

“MJ?” calls Peter from the living room.

“Yeah?”

“First of all, don’t panic because May is perfectly fine.”

Mary Jane gets up pretty damn quickly, if she says so herself.

There’s her husband.

There’s their daughter.

There’s the empty floor.

There’s the rather crowded ceiling.

(Also, to be fair, there’s a soft safety net made of webs about halfway between the floor and ceiling and it takes up most of the room.)

“I just was doing a bit of dusting and the next minute she was up here with me, but she’s safe, I promise!”

“Oh my god.”

“I know it’s strange, and we’re going to have to teach her not to do this with people around, but she’s okay and it just means baby-proofing the ceiling was a good idea. Thinking ahead!”

“Oh my god.”

“Honey, I’m really sorry, I didn’t want you to—”

“Peter B. Parker, our daughter is walking.”

“Mmmmah!” squeals May, toddling towards her mother. Then she lets go of the ceiling and falls right into her waiting arms.

“...of all the times not to have a camera on me!”

“Did being on the ceiling really not count?”

“That’s just Spidey-stuff, this is important,” Peter complains.

MJ laughs. So does May.

172. Dimetrodon

“You know, when you suggested a play-date, I was hoping we could avoid the monsters,” complains Peter.

“The real monsters sit inside the human heart, and turn societal expectations into moral abominations,” says a chained up Noir solemnly.

Spider-Ham, hanging next to him, stares.

“Also it’s not a play-date, I needed to talk to you about something.”

“...you know your coat’s still blowing in the wind, right?”

“Behold, Spider-Man!” crows Dr. Connors below. “Now—now I shall finally rid myself of my filthy mongrel blood! I shall partake in this serum and awaken from the cellular reintegration process as a pure, true Aryan warrior! And in the meantime...my primal form shall destroy you, and your subhuman imp!”

“…I don't know what's the more insulting part of that description,” Peter repeats. “Also, ‘mongrel blood’? He does know that’s a subculture-specific term, right? Can’t call someone that unless you’re...also that. The politically-correct term is ‘mixed-subspecies’.”

“He’s Irish and I think he said his grandpa was Belarusian or something once,” explains Noir. He sighs. “He also used to be missing an arm, at least the formula worked for that. The guy can literally regrow limbs and he wants to work on ‘purifying’ himself. Shoulda burnt those [bleep] Nazi books when I saw them—aw, come on...”

Connors laughs maniacally, and drinks the bubbling formula.

“...does he know we can get out of these at any time?” asks Peter.

“Probably not. The idiot gets caught up in the moment a lot.”

The transformation has begun. Connors begins twitching and scratching, his body erupting into scales and growing a tail—

—and sinking to the ground as a long, multi-coloured (multi-hued here) fin erupts from his back.

It blinks. It grunts. It also pads over and stretches its neck upward from the floor, managing about six inches of the required three feet to reach Noir’s boots.

“...every time?”

“Put it like this: fighting the Lizard is my version of a quiet night out.”

“Oh, no,” groans Peter. “Is the guy lame in every universe?”

“Why, what’s he like in your world?” asks Noir, shooting out a web and breaking the handcuffs like paper bracelets.

“Three geckos in a crocodile suit.”

“Peni’s is a bit sadder,” Noir muses. “Poor guy was hit way back when with some gloop from Africa that triggers when he gets angry. Got sent off to Venus, I think. Other Peter has a Doctor Connors too. Or had. Miles doesn’t have one yet. Miguel’s is just an iguana who thinks she’s a mad scientist. Gwen won’t talk much about hers, bit of a sore spot...”

“Do you just keep tabs on parallel versions of everyone’s villains?”

“Guy’s gotta have hobbies.”

“Guy’s gotta have obsessions, you mean...”

They swing away, leaving a bemused synapsid wondering vaguely if dinner was supposed to get away this easily (again).

173. Opportunity

"I just…I'm not sure if she's gonna say yes or not," Mary-Jane admits.

Mary Jane snorts. "Pat would have to be an idiot not to. Much as I hate to brag, we're good."

Her younger counterpart chuckles. "Yeah…yeah, that we are. Is it kind of weird that I want to plan something out?"

"Not at all. When I was your age, I wanted nothing more than to dazzle the world and keep on moving, but Peter really helped provide some grounding for me. Just like I did for him. Parkers are weird like that, they're usually depressed enough to balance out the Watson temper but you need to keep it balanced."

Now Mary-Jane laughs. Then she sobers. "It's not like Carnage is a particular selling-point."

"Well, I…can't say I've ever actually bonded like that to anyone or anything. …what's it like?"

"A bit like…having a guardian angel. Except it's the angel that razed Sodom and Gomorrah and went around collecting kids in Egypt and it wants to get out of retirement again."

"…okay, so not like having a kid."

"No, no."

May, who doesn't much care about cues (definitely Peter's daughter, no sense of dramatic timing at all), continues to sleep peacefully.

"But in short? Go get her. You're in for a sure bet there."

"Thanks…Mary Jane," says Carnage. "It's not like I can really talk to Gwen about this, much as I…"

"No, no, I get it," Mary Jane assures her. "Sometimes you've just got to talk it through with yourself first."

174. Porcine

“...this is [bleep] ridiculous.”

“You’re [bleep] telling me,” says Piguel O’Malley.

“Would you believe the animation style changes this much in the next hundred and forty years?” says El Porco excitedly. “They still have that trick with the mallet, right?”

“What trick?”

“...no trick with the mallet. Weird. But at least you’re—”

“A pig who wanted to gain the powers of the original Spider-Ham. Which I guess would be you.”

“...ah.”

“The first alternate me I meet, and he’s a pig.”

“Welcome to my world, kid.”

“...I fail to understand why it’s a problem that I’m a pig?”

“Kind of a long story, kid,” says Monochrome Parker.

“...I’m twenty-six.”

“Then you have him beat by six years,” says Peter B, sitting on the couch in Miguel’s flat with a yogurt.

“Why are you even in my house?”

“I'm supervising.”

Piguel O’Malley meets Miguel’s long-suffering look with one of his own.

“...you got a brother?”

"Gabriel. You?"

“Hogriel. Hate him. Wish he’d come by more.”

“We’re gonna get on fine.”

175. Orphan

“Dude,” says Miles, hoarsely.

Other Miles—sporting a very close-shaven haircut—sighs.

“Don’t sweat it too much, man. It happened, she’s gone, I’m...I’m over it.”

“Your mom was...Venom actually...”

“Hasn’t happened to you yet? Good. Maybe you’ll get a chance to fix it this time. Might save you a Spider-Mentor.”

“...wait, what?”

“Your mami isn’t Araña?”

“Uh...no. That was Peter Parker. There’s another one, somehow, he hangs around a lot. Uncle Aaron...Uncle Aaron was the Prowler, though. Before he died.”

Other Miles grunts in disgust. “Yeah. I know. Yours try using you to do his dirty work for him too?”

“What? No! Uncle Aaron would never—”

“Yours, maybe.” Miles sighs bitterly. “You got everything, man. Mom’s alive, Dad hasn’t disowned you for following in her footsteps, you didn’t have to fight your uncle to the death...hell, you even got another Spider-Man in your world. Who do I get to train me? Captain Freakin’ America.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with Sam Wilson? Guy’s a stickler but he’s cool, and he’s got a lotta stories about New Orleans in the 40s.”

“...man, you seriously do get everything.”

“Why, who’s yours?”

“James Howlett.”

“...dude, he’s Canadian.”

“I know!”

176. Crossover

"You know the weirdest thing?" complains Pete. "You guys have completely different heroes! I mean, it's like, Tony Stark is actually real? And he's actually Iron Man? You don't have Metropolis or Gotham, and you call people with superpowers mutants instead of meta-humans…it's like the comics are coming to life or something!"

Billy, Mayday, Roshni, and Miguel (whose world it is) stare at him.

"Owwwww," groans Carolyn Trainer from her prison of webs. Her tenure as Doc Ock is…not working out so well at the moment.

Ham pats him on the shoulder. "Let me try to explain a few things, buddy."

"You sure you got this?" asks Miguel.

"Eh, my arch-rival was an out-of-work Wile E. Coyote for a while, I get where the guy's coming from."

"Is anyone allowed to legally say any of that?" complains Mayday.

"Shouldn't think so, love," says Billy sympathetically.

"…"

"…which contextually has a completely different meaning in my native dialect and I apologize for offending."

"…"

"And the worst part is, nobody will spoil Batman's secret identity for me! Imagine all the fun I could have at home with that!"

177. Saturated

There’s all sorts of colours here, colours that Peter has never even dreamt of. And among those colours is red. Especially on his counterpart and the kid’s automaton and the pig, they’re all major sources of red.

Not Red. Just red. But Peter remembers what happened when the Red surrounded him in Doc Ock’s laboratory, and wonders if it’ll work here—

“Sleep,” he tells Kingpin’s guards.

It works here. Useful. He’s just not going to do that ever again, even if he does end up stuck here.

(Abstaining from alcohol is much harder when you’re trapped in a combination brewery-and-wine-cellar, but he can do it. There are other Spiders here, people like him, and he’s not going to use them for selfish gains.)

178. Electroswing

“Compromise?” suggests Miles.

Peni and Noir—in one of their once-in-a-blue-moon disagreements—sigh and relent.

And of course Gwen knows swing dancing, so of course Miles has to join in as her partner because why not, and (because they’re Spiders) of course they somehow end up on the ceiling. But it’s a lot of fun, and they’re laughing themselves to pieces.

“Hmm,” muses Noir. “Can’t say I’ve thought of using the ceiling for dancing.”

“Give it another thirty years or so,” Ham reassures him. “It’s gonna be a classic.”

Tent Fortress Two starts on their next big hit, a remix of “In the Mood”.

Peter and Aunt May—and Miles’ world’s MJ—are just watching and laughing along.

(Mostly. “Watch out for that lamp, you two!”)

179. Cassandra

Gwen's very good at using the Here-and-Now part of the Spider-Sense. The When-and-Where…it's annoying, sometimes, but mostly it's more useful than it is problematic.

It's just that sometimes, since the Collider and since the multiverse opened before her, instead of the whir or the drumroll she hears…something different. Like a didgeridoo, maybe, or an extra-large harp, or a metal spring like they used to make the laser effects in Star Wars. (She can't believe Miles and Peter didn't know the twist about Obi-Wan being Luke's father.) It sounds like…someone running across a very large web.

And whatever it is, it's getting closer.

She calls it her Never-and-Nowhere sense. It doesn't bother her too often, for a few years.

180. Consideration

“How in the [bleep]—Ham, can you turn that thing off?” asks Peter, over a small vanilla ice cream.

“Sorry, buddy.”

“How in the ham sandwiches—” Ham glares— “did we end up with the lighter backstories? Casablanca here excepted.”

Noir snorts over his specially-made Hippodrome. (Peni keeps trying to surreptitiously steal spoonfuls of it.)

“Like, clones? I’ve had to deal with a lot in my life, but clones? And everyone apparently going to Hhhhhhockey-sticks all the time, what’s up with that? And Gwen—um...”

“...and Gwen what?”

“When you’re older.”

“I am eighteen, Peter.”

“And for when we’re not eating, there are some things you really don’t need to think about while you’re eating. Suffice to say it involves Norman Osborn and that’s all I’m getting into. Cables is a wreck. Mayday's Dad lost a leg and it's still regrowing, Spartus is a clone of someone who's probably dead, the Hobgoblin went psycho for a while…man, I thought my life was nuts. I mean, it is, it's just…”

“Miles’ dad being the Scorpion was the weirdest thing in my counterpart’s world, gotta say,” says Gwen, looking somewhat sympathetically at Miles over her single scoop of chocolate. “Mostly I’m just...either I’m dead or Peter is. What’s up with that?”

“We’re just too powerful to exist in the same universe for long,” Peter says dramatically, and Gwen snorts.

“Half of that is right.”

“I mean, sure, Dad’s a criminal there—you know how crazy that sounds?—but at least he doesn’t kill, and he stuck around, right?" says Miles. "Other Me doesn’t have any family left. Including Sunny. Who for some weird reason is called Billie? But she’s lost, and he's not sure how to find her. I honestly don’t understand how the guy’s holding it together.”

(Sunny, incidentally, is having a play-date with Young May at Miles’ house with Billy babysitting—weird, but it works. May, being the older child by a couple of years, has been told to be on her best behaviour and not stick to the walls “because it’s not our house, sweetie”.)

“Peni’s doing better these days,” muses Peni, turning, after another failed attempt at treat theft, back to her cake-batter sundae. “We’re still working on saving her Aunt May and her Addy from that...thing, but she’s getting hopeful. It really helps that she isn’t alone anymore.”

“You know what’s better than one depressed future near-spider? Two of them!” says Ham, diving into his Rocky Road.

“Honestly, though?” says Miles. “I’m just glad you guys are okay. We’ve had terrible things happen to us, but we’re also basically all okay. We could have had it a lot worse. ...again, sorry, Noir.”

“Hmph.” Noir takes another spoonful of ice cream.

“Hey, that’s from mine!” protests Peni.

“Gotta watch your back, sweetheart. And your bowl.”

“Ooh, betrayal.”

“I keep telling you people,” says Peter. “Watch the hands.”

Noir very slowly eats the spoonful, watching Peni’s face with a growing smirk.

“Gotta say, though,” he goes on, looking around fondly at the six Spiders in the bright (if blurry) sunshine of Gwen’s world, “Miles, you’ve hit the nail on the head there. Despite everything...origin story aside, this ain’t too bad a life. It’s...it’s pretty darn good, in fact.”

“And it keeps getting better and better,” says Peni with a smile, squeezing his free hand. And then holding up a full spoon of her own.

“...how did you—”

“Gotta watch your bowl, Gray.”

Peni takes a bite with gusto and a slice of banana. The others laugh at Noir’s expression.

“Seconds, anyone?” calls Mr. Lee.

Life goes well.

[princessanneftw]

Inside Princess Anne's lifelong love affair with horses

As the Princess Royal approaches her 70th birthday, those who know her recount the most enduring relationship of her life

By Eleanore Kelly for the Telegraph

The Princess Royal has spent a lifetime with horses. Like her siblings, she started riding at the age of three. But what makes her remarkable is the success she achieved as a competitor. Aged 21 she was crowned European Eventing Champion at Burghley. She was riding Doublet, a horse bred by the Queen, for polo, and gifted to the Princess.

At the 1975 European Eventing Championships, she finished second on Goodwill, another horse owned by the Queen and her mount at the Montreal Olympics in 1976, where she became the first member of the British royal family to compete at an Olympic Games. She rode winners in horse racing too, notably in the Grand Military Steeplechase at Sandown over jumps, and the Diamond Stakes on the flat at Ascot. No wonder she won BBC’s Sports Personality of the Year award in 1971 - the first ever event rider to carry off the trophy.

There were always ponies around during her childhood. Both her parents rode regularly, as did her older brother, Prince Charles, who developed a keen interest in polo and was considered a gifted player.

In those days polo was a men-only game, so not something his sister would have pursued, but she was a member of the Pony Club where she would have tried most equestrian disciplines with other young enthusiasts. Perhaps the attraction to eventing was the camaraderie that is always synonymous with a risk sport; horses are no respecter of titles.

When she became more serious about eventing, her parents arranged for training with Alison Oliver, wife of international show jumper Alan Oliver, who was based near Windsor. She is widely credited for propelling the Princess on the road to international equestrian stardom.

Lucinda Green, one of Princess Anne’s eventing peers, describes her as the pin-up of their era. Lucinda was a fellow team member at the Montreal Olympics and remembers the Princess having a crashing fall halfway around the cross-country course and suffering concussion. She remounted and finished the course but to this day cannot remember the rest of the jumps.

“She was extremely brave and good enough to get on the British team on two very different horses. Goodwill, her horse in Montreal, was not easy. He was big and had no brakes - I definitely wouldn’t have ridden him,” says Green.

With animals so often comes heartbreak, which even Princesses cannot escape. Her partnership with Doublet, a diminutive chestnut with the heart of a lion, ended in tragedy. The pair were destined for the Munich Olympics when the horse who had defined her career shattered a hind leg in an accident at Windsor and had to be put down.

At a time where security at sports events was minimal, The Princess was hounded by the media. “I always admired the way she coped with the press. That added the most unbelievable pressure on top of trying to do her sporting best. Tough for her but she put our sport on the map and kept it in the spotlight,” observes Green.

In 1985, she was persuaded to ride in a charity horse race at Epsom (home of the Derby). By this stage she’d hung up her eventing boots and had two young children. Yet she was always game for the challenge, if it involved horses.

Horse racing requires a very different technique from eventing, so she approached trainer David Nicholson for help. Known as “The Duke” because of his imposing personality, he suggested she come to his Cotswold yard, little expecting she would turn up almost every day for several years to ride out.

His wife Dinah became familiar with the Princess, as she would join them in the kitchen for breakfast after exercising the horses. “She was so dedicated and determined, driving 40 minutes every morning and arriving at 7.15am on the dot, so she could tack up her horse before riding out on the gallops. Then she would have breakfast with us and sometimes there would be a jockey - Richard Dunwoody or Peter Scudamore. The conversation would mostly be about horses. After breakfast, she would set off for a busy day of royal duties.”

Even if she had a royal engagement in London that went on late into the night, she would still get up after a few hours sleep to drive to the yard in Stow-on-the Wold. Acquaintances say her security detail looked permanently exhausted from keeping up with her.

After the charity race, in which she finished a respectable fourth, she asked Nicholson if she could continue riding out at his yard. It seemed the attraction was as much about the camaraderie of yard life as it was the actual race riding. “She became very fond of the people in racing and was always very natural with the stable lads, who liked her.”

There was a horse she was very fond of too, called Cnoc Na Cuille. He was a big winner for her in her career as a jump jockey (including the Grand Military) but soon after finishing third at Warwick, he dropped dead, probably from a heart attack.

“The Princess was not one for showing emotion but she was clearly very upset about it,” says Dinah. Soon after this she gave up race riding, although she has bred a few race horses herself at her home, Gatcombe Park in Gloucestershire.

For 37 years, thanks to the Princess, Gatcombe has hosted eventing competitions, including the prestigious Festival of Eventing. The cross-country course is designed by her former husband Captain Mark Phillips, an Olympic medallist and four-time Badminton winner (once the golden boy of British eventing), and the Director is their son Peter Phillips.

Princess Anne’s daughter, Zara Tindall, a former European and World Champion event rider and silver medalist in the London 2012 Olympics, regularly competes there and the Princess hands out the prizes.

Tindall has even more eventing accolades than her mother and, like her, she was voted BBC Sports Personality of the Year (in 2006). Her mother has always been hugely supportive of her children’s interest in horses. Every Christmas, the Princess would drive the children’s ponies up to Balmoral* (think they mean Sandringham?) herself in a horsebox so they could all ride.

There is also a strong equine theme to the Princess Royal’s charity work. She’s President of World Horse Welfare and the Riding for the Disabled Association (RDA) as well as Patron of the Pony Club and the Injured Jockeys Fund (IJF). She was President of the International Federation of Equestrian Sports (FEI) from 1986 to 1994, a role she took over from her father, Prince Philip.

Roly Owers, CEO of World Horse Welfare, describes the Princess as having a deep love of horses, devoting a huge amount of time to all aspects of horse welfare. Former champion jockey John Francombe describes her as the best after-dinner speaker he has ever heard, with a great sense of humour, persuading well-oiled guests to open their wallets for charity and even persuading them to adopt horses themselves.

Rehoming unwanted horses is a large part of the World Horse Welfare’s work and the Princess is a rehomer herself. “On one of her visits to our rescue centres, she met a Welsh Cob called Annie and asked if she could have her. I believe she still rides her today.”

“She has always had a clear opinion but understands horses better than anyone,” says Owers. That once got her into trouble, at the 2013 World Horse Welfare conference when one of the topics was the European Horse Meat scandal. “She made a comment about the value of horses that was translated as ‘Princess Anne eats horse meat’ by certain journalists.”

What the Princess had actually said was: "Should we be considering a real market for horsemeat and would that reduce the number of welfare cases, if there was a real value in the horsemeat sector? I chuck that out for what it's worth because I think it needs a debate."

As Owers remembers, “it was unfortunately the first time we filmed the conference and broadcast it live, so you can imagine it created 48 hours of hysteria.” Though whether the Princess actually sits down to pony steak for Sunday lunch is not known.

Caroline Ward of the RDA remarks on her extraordinary empathy. “She understands the challenges our participants face and what they get out of the experience of riding horses. She will talk to them about their ponies and what it means to them to spend time with horses.

“These riders, many of whom find communication and mobility so difficult, will always open up to her. They are bound by this common interest and love of horses. She will also chat to the volunteers, to make them feel all the more special.”

Ward recalls the time Princess Anne helped a rider load her difficult horse into the horse box. “She came to our RDA National Championships at Hartpury College. She saw this struggle and despite not being dressed to get stuck in, she clearly couldn’t walk by without offering assistance. Well, this horse took one look at her and realised this was someone who meant business, and walked straight into the horsebox.”

Ex-jockey and racing journalist Brough Scott has known the Princess for many years through sport and her support of the IJF. “At charity events, rather than entertaining the fat cats, she is happiest talking to the ex-jockeys, many of whom are in a wheelchair. One really likes her for that, even though she is not trying to be liked.”

To be a successful rider, you have to build a relationship of trust and mutual understanding with your horse. That means controlling your fear and emotions. Eventing, a combination of the three disciplines of dressage, cross-country and show jumping, is perhaps the truest test of all-round horsemanship, demanding both accuracy and courage. It is only for the bravest of the brave, says Scott.

“Princess Anne wasn’t simply a Royal who rode, she was an athlete who achieved great things in her eventing career and rode courses that would have terrified most people. That must have given her self-confidence and fulfillment.”

In her public duties too, the Princess Royal has given her all, incidentally personifying the characteristics necessary for a fine horsewoman: discipline, dedication and courage. Are they a matter of her breeding and upbringing, or do we have her love of horses to thank for that?

[silversnaffles]

But it’s too late, she believes in fate. She’s absolutely smitten, she’ll never let you go

[ainawgsd]

The Gypsy Cob, also known as the Irish Cob, Gypsy Horse or Gypsy Vanner, is a type or breed of domestic horse from the British Isles. It is a small, solidly-built horse of cob conformation and is often, but not always, piebald or skewbald; it is particularly associated with the Irish Traveller and Romani travelling peoples of Britain and Ireland.  From about 1850 travelling people in the British Isles began to use a distinct type of horse to pull their vardos, the caravans in which they had just begun to live and travel. The color and look of the breed were refined in the years after the Second World War. There was no stud-book or breed association for horses of this type until 1996. It is now considered a breed and can be registered with a number of breed associations.

There are many breed societies for the Gypsy horse, with mostly minor variations in their respective breed standards. The range of desired heights is generally from 13 to 16 hands in the United States and Australasia, but in Ireland and continental Europe, the desired height limit goes up to 16.2 hands for some types and they permit both lighter-boned as well as larger horses than typically desired by the American organisations. Feathering is considered a "characteristic and decorative feature of the Irish Cob", but is not a requirement for registration.  

The Gypsy horse is usually, but not always, piebald. It may also be skewbald or any solid color; a solid-colored horse with white splashing on the underbelly is called "blagdon" or "splashed". There is no coat color requirement in the breed standard of the Irish Cob Society, Gypsy Cob Register, Gypsy Vanner Horse Society, Gypsy Horse Registry of America,  or Australasian Gypsy Horse Society. Strong hindquarters define the breed as a small draught horse, "designed for strength and power, but with class, presence and style." They are sometimes described as having an "apple butt" as the croup is well rounded and "very generous, smooth and broad".

The Gypsy Horse was bred by the Roma of Great Britain to pull the vardoes in which they lived and travelled. The Roma had arrived in the British Isles by 1500 AD, but they did not begin to live in vardoes until around 1850. The peak usage of the Gypsy caravan occurred in the latter part of the 19th century and the first two decades of the 20th.  Since the family's children lived in close proximity to the horse, one having "an unreliable temper could not be tolerated". The Gypsy Horse was also used to pull the "tradesman's cart . . . used in conjunction with the caravan as a runabout and work vehicle and whilst on a journey".

When the British Roma had first begun to live in vardoes around 1850, they used mules and cast off horses of any suitable breed to pull them.These later included colored horses which had become unfashionable in mainstream society and were typically culled. Among these were a significant number of coloured Shire horses. Many of these ended up with Romani breeders, and by the 1950s, they were considered valuable status symbols within that culture. Spotted horses were very briefly in fashion around the time of the Second World War, but quickly went out of fashion in favor of the colored horse, which has retained its popularity until the present day.

In the formative years of the Gypsy Horse, the Roma bred not only for specific color, profuse feather, and greater bone, but also for increased action and smaller size. Another trend in breeding was a steady decrease in height, a trend still present among many Romani breeders. In the 1990s, the breed's average height still was in excess of 15 hands, but horses of 14.3 to 15 hands were beginning to be viewed as more desirable, primarily for economic reasons- larger horses require more fodder than smaller ones, as well as larger harnesses and horseshoes. 

[juliemellorpoet]

  Meet Ozric, my lovely lurcher – puppy photos on the right, handsome 2 year old now on the left. I wanted to share the prose piece below (first published in Brittle Star earlier this year). It’s a winter piece, which seems at odds with the beautiful sunshine outside today, but I thought if I put some pictures of Ozric on the blog I could justify it. Hopefully it gives you an insight into the place my writing comes from.

  So Faint We Could Be Ghosts

5.30 in the morning, walking along the Trans Pennine Trail, my headtorch casting an indifferent beam, the covering of snow just enough to bolster the torchlight. I always walk with my dog, a 15 month old lurcher named Ozric, who’s curious but not brave and will bolt at the slightest noise, like an idea you believe in but don’t have time to write down. Frost crunches underfoot like cinders and it reminds me of ash from the hearth at Bank House, how we used to tip it into a bucket then empty it onto the path when it was icy. Sometimes I try to imagine what that house must be like now, inside – it’s 40 years since I sat in the kitchen, the warmth of the pale blue Aga, a kitten called Young Tom clambering over the Alsatian dog, the air hazy with smoke from hot lard spluttering in the frying pan, the sour smell of goat’s milk. My friend Steph lived there, and her mother used to say there were ghosts, that when she was on the phone, she could smell perfume, distinctly, as if another woman was standing beside her. She didn’t know who’d lived there before, but it was a manner of haunting that’s quite common round here, like rooms which have a cold end where the dead are said to sit. Other houses have similar stories. There’s a place up near the Flouch where ornaments are flung off the mantlepiece by an invisible spiteful hand, and there’s a ghost that sits in the Dog and Partridge where locals have seen the empty rocking chair going to and fro. I carry these stories with me when I walk, as I cut off the trail and into the horse field. There haven’t been horses here for years, but we still call it the horse field. I’m not scared of the dark, and I don’t mind walking alone. I could conjure up the horses if I wanted to, two grey cobs breathing into the cold, so docile they don’t move when we approach. In truth there’s no one about except Harry Benson cutting cabbages, the swipe of his sickle working to cut and trim, cut and trim, the smell of cabbages hanging in the air, his trailer already stacked with enough veg to turn a profit, and if he has a weakness for drink it doesn’t show at this time of day. His face is tanned even in winter and his eyes are narrow, focused on the job. Sometimes he raises his arm and shouts mornin’, other times he prefers to carry on with his work. Either way, he doesn’t straighten his back. Towards the stream the path is uneven, rutted with boot prints frozen into the mud. An aeroplane passes low, heading for Manchester, its orange lights twitching. Ozric puts his ears back, then lowers his head to sniff the frozen grass. It’s a confidential act, entirely between him and the ground, a moment I’m excluded from. He loses himself in the scent, in the half dark, in the space between the black sky and white snow-sheen. When we reach the stream, the collapsed stones, which were once part of the boundary, are glassy. For a minute I’m filled with a sense of responsibility, for myself and for the dog. If I fall no one will find me for at least another hour because no one walks here at this time in the morning. There’s the dog too, young and slightly inept. He’s fine-legged, a sighthound cross, bred for speed, not clambering over icy stones. I pull him to heel before we continue. The stream is partially frozen and the thin ice gives under his weight. He bounds on the spot in surprise and his legs splay like a foal trying to find its balance in a world that is utterly new. Perhaps because I’m a poet, I want to condense this landscape into words, but of course it can’t be contained like that. Language can outline it, but not replicate it. Between here and Manchester there’s nothing except heather and peat bog, the ruins of forgotten farms and cottages, the crumbling walls of a pub that used to stand on the salt route from Cheshire, a route which holds its own ghosts. There are a few trees, mainly hawthorn and elder, but they thin away to nothing. I can see the red warning lights on the masts at Holme Moss and Emley Moor, and the tail lights of cars just starting out on the early commute over the Woodhead Pass. I’m walking up the last hill now. The pull of the slope on my calf muscles slows me down and the cold makes my cheeks burn. I’m swapping open country for the faint shiver of streetlights, the skatepark’s sculptured curves, a limp innertube hung over a security light. The thin moon is held in place by a couple of stars. Other than that, the sky is still so dark it seems as if daylight will never erase it. To anyone waking up now and looking out of their window, I’m a lonely figure trudging home, the dog beside me, alert, excited by the snow. We’re so small we’re almost nothing, so faint we could be ghosts.

    So faint we could be ghosts Meet Ozric, my lovely lurcher - puppy photos on the right, handsome 2 year old now on the left.

[weedsgardendesign-blog]

Hominy. The ingredient that makes the Pozole soup, well, Pozole soup! I’m thinking that not everyone knows what hominy or pozole, as it’s called in Spanish, actually is?? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Here’s a photo of the pozole I used in my soup. The kernels are much larger that that of the fresh corn we normally see on a plate, softer and have that beautiful but hard to describe scent & flavor of fresh corn tortillas (which are made with ground pozole, or masa) because they have gone through a process called nixtamalization. This process, developed over thousands of years, breaks down the outer, tough membrane of the corn kernel, softens the corn and actually allows certain nutrient to become bio-available. It’s accomplished by soaking the corn in what is basically an alkaline bath. By the way it’s delicious - I could eat it with a spoon just like this 😊 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ One somewhat romantic but actually plausible explanation of the way this magic came about was that wood ash (alkaline) from cooking fires came into contact with corn which was perhaps sitting in some water. To step back a moment, the cultivation of corn started in Mexico and parts of Central America at least 7000 years ago, starting with a grain called teosinte. Over thousands of years the indigenous people of these regions slowly bred it to be more like what we would recognize as corn today. So the next time you bite into corn on the cob slathered with butter, thank the people of Mexico and surrounding areas😊 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Boy would I love to get my hands on some fresh pozole, preferable with an heirloom blue corn... anybody?? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Also shown are the fixings for my soup: garden fresh limes, cilantro & Mizuna (yes, you’ll see) along with a veggie filled pork braising liquid . . #pozole #food52 #freshfromthegarden #thekitchn #growmoremagic#frommygarden #theartofslowliving #makemoments#heresmyfood#onmytable#eatmoremagic #welivetoexplore #inspiremyinstagram #huffposttaste#thatauthenticfeeling #hocsupperclub #liveunscripted#liveauthentic #verilymoment #sosavory #feedyoursoull #sunsetmag#livemoremagic#seekthesimplicity #saveurmag#lifeandthyme#gardendesignmag #hautescuisines #whpclassic (at Los Angeles, California)

[silversnaffles]

When horses have been your passion since day one 💞

[silversnaffles]

Finally got to spend some quality time with my girls today 💕