#canter at liberty

[sandra-hippologic]

Motivate your Horse to Move: Exercising your Horse with R+

When you want to exercise your horse, it's all about motivation... When your horse is not motivated, internally or externally, he won't move. In other words: when movement has no function (benefit) he won't spent energy on it.

When you want to exercise your horse, it’s all about motivation… When your horse is not motivated, internally or externally, he won’t move. In other words: when movement has no function (benefit) he won’t spent energy on it. Internal Motivation to Move When you learn about internal motivation you can influence your horse to move in training, too. What horses experience in their body, I refer to…

[weepycat]

i filmed this funny gait thinking it was odd and out of the blue, and days later and a vet consultation later it ended up helping in her diagnosis, so cool for that! uhm. theres no real lesson to this besides film your animals when theyre a lil bit tooo funny

at this point i dont even bother roping the silly bitch anymore she just wants to pronk about like a little gazelle before she goes through the gate

[hottpinkpenguin]

The Way of Winter - Chapter 1

Joel Miller series Reader insert (gender neutral, future chapters will likely read as female) A/n: takes place at the end of episode 6 (spoilers if you haven't seen!). I took a few liberties with the location. Word count: 2,661 | Tags: slow burn | Warnings: none

A gentle snowfall had started, the flakes barely big enough to see. You watched them idly as they landed on your horse Rambo’s dark mane, lasting only moments before his body heat melted them away. The world around you was hushed, the land and the creatures buttoned up in preparation for the storm you all knew was coming. You could see the dark gray clouds rolling up and over the already snow-capped peaks of the Wind River Range in the distance.

Tightening your jacket around your body, you tutted at Rambo, urging him into a gentle trot along the old railbed. He obliged you, his heavy hooves thudding against the frozen ground. You settled into an easy posting motion, timing the rhythm of your body’s rise and fall in the saddle with Rambo’s gait. 

You let your mind wander as you gave Rambo his head. He kept pace easily, the four dogs you’d raised as hunting partners darting in and out of the woods around him like escorts. He knew his way around this land as well as you did.

Your senses pricked up when the dogs caught a scent, their noses lifted into the breeze. The oldest dog, a black German shepherd you simply called Black, broke into a run, chasing the scent straight along the railbed in the direction you were riding. The three others followed suit, their eyes spinning left and right like satellite dishes. Rambo whinnied softly, chuffing and yanking on the bit in his mouth in anticipation. The dogs weren’t signaling an animal - if the scent they’d found was a deer or a mountain lion or even a rabbit, they’d have barreled off into the woods after it at your command, braying and yelping so you could follow them. But they were quiet, tense. They’d found a human scent. 

You pulled the long hunting rifle out of its holster at Rambo’s side, slinging it across the saddle as you kicked him into a canter. He took off with a jolt, his nerves clearly jumpy as the dogs rounded a gentle corner in the railbed ahead and disappeared from sight. You checked that the rifle was loaded and cocked as Rambo carried you down the center of the tracks towards the corner.

You reigned him up as you turned the corner. Black and the three dogs were standing at alert, flanking the tracks, their ears and eyes glued on three dark shapes about a quarter mile ahead. Humans, alright. Two of them, and one horse. You squinted against the gentle flurry of flakes and the dim afternoon light. It was too far to make out the strangers with any detail, although one of them was lying down, the other upright and hovering over the other. The horse was in full tack, standing a few feet away and pawing nervously at the ground. 

You bit your lip, considering your next move. The dogs whined softly next to you, every muscle in their bodies taut like razor wire, waiting for your signal. 

“Off, dogs.” Black and his three siblings relaxed somewhat at your command, although they remained close to Rambo’s sides and their attention decidedly fixed on the strangers ahead. They hadn’t seen you, and you could easily double back without them being any the wiser, cut a wide berth around them to get home. Or you could approach them. It was a risk, you knew. You’d lost your sister and her two sons taking just such a risk. Six years ago, and you’d been alone ever since. Alone, but alive, a chiding inner voice reminded you. 

You shook your head as if you could bat away the thoughts like gnats, urging Rambo forward at a gentle walk. You kept your rifle aimed low and away, but your hand found its familiar purchase on the trigger as you moved towards the two strangers. The closer you got, the clearer their features became. One was small - a woman, probably, and maybe a child. The larger one was lying prone along the embankment on the side of the tracks. 

Finally, the small one noticed you. 

“Hey! Don’t come any closer!”

A young voice. A girl’s voice. A sharp popping sound ripped through the quiet land as she raised a gun in the air, firing off a warning shot. 

The dogs growled next to you and Rambo’s ears flattened backwards at the noise. But, like you, they were far from green when it came to confrontation. You reigned Rambo to a halt, narrowing your eyes at the girl. 

“What’s the problem with your friend there?” you called out, nodding your head in the direction of the unresponsive person.

The girl didn’t answer right away. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other as she took in the sight of you. 

You chutted at Rambo, who moved you a few steps forward, slowly. The girl backed up a half step before calling out at you again.

“I mean it! I’ll shoot! Don’t come a step closer!” 

You sighed heavily, irritated at the budding sense of obligation you felt for this girl’s safety. 

“If he’s dead, you better come with me. These parts aren’t safe, and there’s a storm rolling in.” You tilted your head towards the Wind River Range, now obscured by a heavy snowfall headed for your direction. “Couple of hours from now, you won’t be able to see a foot in front of your face the snow will be coming down so hard.”

The girl hesitated again. You could feel her indecision from where you watched her, some twenty steps away. Her dark, wide-set eyes flicked from you to the dogs to Rambo to some nondescript point in the distance to the man lying on the ground at her feet. When she looked down at the second stranger, you clearly saw terror in her eyes. It reminded you of the way your nephews had looked the day they’d been killed, and the similarity twisted a knife of anguish in your chest. 

You slid out of the saddle, your hunting rifle still in your hands. 

“What’s wrong with him?” you asked her again. You felt a chill run down your spine - the temperature was dropping. 

“He… he got stabbed. I think- I think he passed out.” Her voice was small and riddled with panic. You nodded, keeping your movements slow and deliberate. 

“He’ll need medical attention,” you commented as you slowly approached her. You looked down at the man. His skin still had a flush to it that told you he wasn’t dead. His hands were pressed against his abdomen and stained with blood. Every once in a while, you thought you saw his eyelids flutter as if he were trying to stay awake. 

“Is there a doctor nearby?” 

You raised an eyebrow at the girl, at the note of hope in her voice. 

“Anyone who lives out here has to be their own doctor,” you replied. She looked crestfallen, her gaze darting back and forth between you and her traveling companion. You could see her indecision beginning to thaw, so you took another few steps closer and extended a hand towards her. You were only a handful of paces away.

“Give me that gun,” you urged her, nodding at the small pistol in her right hand. 

“No fucking way,” she snapped back, recoiling from you and aiming the pistol at your chest. Your dogs growled in warning, tightening around your ankles. You saw her dark eyes widen slightly at their four sets of bared teeth.

“You shoot me, and they’ll attack you,” you commented, gesturing with your chin at the shepherds. “You might have time to get one, maybe two shots off before they’ll reach you. And these are hunting dogs. They bring down mountain lions and bison, so I don’t think they’ll struggle with a teenaged girl.” 

It was a cheap move, you knew, to weaponize a young kid’s fear like that. But you needed that gun. She was too jumpy to be trusted with it. 

The girl’s face tightened in a mix of indignation and fear as she took in your words. Her eyes flicked once again to the man lying in the snow, dark blood seeping between his fingers. 

“Let me take a look at him,” you offered, changing tactics when the girl didn’t relent. A vein pulsed in her forehead as she stared at you before nodding once. 

You closed the distance between you and the man quickly as the girl backed away, keeping an arm's distance between you at all times. You ignored her movements as you crouched down next to the man. He was breathing, a soft vapor of breath dancing in and out of his lips in time with the rise and fall of his chest. He was older than you’d initially thought - probably in his fifties - with generous streaks of gray in his dark hair and beard. His face was lined and browned from the sun. He had a thick jacket on, but it was unbuttoned. His undershirt was soaked with blood from his ribcage down. His hands were grafted to his side, but he wasn’t conscious enough to apply the pressure that wound needed. 

You looked up at the girl, noting her own practical clothing and the healthy assortment of supplies on the horse behind her. Whoever these people were, they were packed up for a trip. 

“I’ve got a cabin about eight miles off,” you told her, nodding vaguely in the northwest direction where your home was. “If he can survive the ride, I can probably stitch this wound up.” 

It wasn’t strictly a lie, although you knew you weren’t telling the girl the whole truth. It was unlikely whoever this man was would survive an eight mile ride. And even if he did, you doubted that stitches alone would save his life. He was probably bleeding internally, based on the dark, viscous blood coating his fingers. 

“Or?” The teenaged girl’s question sounded like a challenge.

“Or I leave you here and you figure it out for yourself,” you told her nonchalantly as you stood up and walked back to Rambo. “You better figure it out soon though. We’ve only got an hour or two before that storm rolls in, and I for one plan to be on my way well before then.”

More indecision and hesitation. The girl watched you carefully as you holstered the rifle and wiped the dusting of snow from your shoulders. 

“If we go with you, we’re not talking,” she offered. You chuckled at the odd request. 

“Sure. No talking,” you acquiesced. The girl’s dark eyes narrowed as she nodded. 

“Alright. Can your father stand up?”

“He’s not my father,” the girl replied sharply. You held up your hands in submission.

“Apologies. Can your friend stand?”

You watched as the girl crouched down, shaking the man’s shoulders and talking to him. His head rolled lazily from one side to the other but he didn’t show any sign of waking enough to stand. After a few minutes, she looked up at you with pleading eyes.

You joined her at the man’s side, lifting him so he was sitting upright as you each slung one of his arms around your shoulders. 

“1… 2… 3… lift,” you counted. On lift, you stood, bracing the man’s heavy weight against you. His head lolled against his shoulder, but you could feel the shaky help of his legs bracing his body. He was half-conscious and moaned in pain at the movement to his injury. On his other side, the girl looked over to you for direction. 

“My horse,” you huffed out, straining to keep the man upright. He smelled of days’ old sweat and whiskey and underneath, the sickly stink of blood. 

With great effort, you and the girl plodded in the direction of Rambo. The horse watched your approach with a wary expression, chuffing as you grabbed his bridle and leaned the man against Rambo’s tall haunch. Braced between your horse and the girl, the man managed to raise his head and gaze at you through slitted eyelids. 

“Listen, fella, if you can get up in that saddle yourself, we’d all be the better for it.” Truth be told, you weren’t sure you’d be able to lift his weight alone, and even though his traveling companion was scrappy, you doubted she’d be much help. 

“Joel, please.” The girl laid a hand on his chest and shook him gently. Joel. You made note of the man’s name. 

The man she called Joel managed to stand on his own accord, braced against Rambo’s side. He released a hand from his side, one coming to the pommel of your saddle as he winced. 

“Here.” You knelt down, grabbing his left ankle and lifting it. The man swayed precariously as he balanced on one foot, letting you guide the other into Rambo’s stirrup. The girl caught him with her shoulder under his armpit, grunting under his weight. When one of his feet was in the saddle, you jumped handily onto Rambo’s bare back, settling behind the saddle on his loin and motioning for Joel to join you. He fixed you with a vaguely incredulous look, as if in disbelief that you were asking such a Herculean effort of him. You chuckled darkly against yourself as you gripped the back of his jacket. He heaved himself up, groaning loudly in pain. The girl pushed him from behind, and with a final grunt he settled in the saddle. You reached around him to grab the reins as he slumped forward, breathing heavily at the exertion. You braced his sliding weight between your arms, the effort causing your biceps and shoulders to tense uncomfortably. He was tall, and if he’d sat upright he would have completely obscured your view. Thankfully, with his head falling forward against his chest and his body hunched over the generous pommel, you were able to see clear over him. 

“Your turn.” You jutted your chin towards the girl’s horse. If you’d had more time, you would have switched the double seat saddle on her chestnut mare with Rambo’s. But with the temperature dropping precipitously, you needed every minute you could get. 

The girl mounted handily, reigning her horse in at Rambo’s haunch. 

“Can you gallop?” you asked her. She looked decently comfortable in the saddle, although you couldn’t get a read on her skill level. She shrugged noncommittally. From in front of you, Joel moaned, slumping against your right arm. You grimaced as you fought to keep him centered in the saddle. Rambo shook his head nervously, sensing his rider’s shift.

“We need to make time,” you told the girl, bringing Rambo around to face north along the railbed. She swallowed, her gaze fixed on Joel. “If you can’t keep up, holler.” You didn’t wait for an answer as you dug your heels into Rambo’s side. He responded with a brisk trot. Joel bobbed like a ragdoll in front of you. You noted one of his hands sliding down his thigh and coming to bounce freely at his side. You grabbed it and slid it back to this stomach.

“Keep pressing on that wound,” you called into his left ear, louder than necessary but in an effort to keep him conscious. Joel replied with a watery-thin moan, although he held his hand to the bloody gash on his stomach. 

You looked back over your shoulder, checking to make sure the girl was with you. She was a few paces behind you, bouncing haphazardly in the saddle. Better not gallop, you noted to yourself as you took in her uncoordinated movements. 

After a few more paces, you eased Rambo into a canter. Black and the other dogs took off into their usual pattern in the ditches alongside the railbed. Rambo’s familiar gait lulled you into autopilot as you followed the familiar trails north and west, a snowstorm bearing down on you… 

**chapter 2 here let me know if you'd like to be tagged if you like this series, check out my Joel Miller masterlist for other works

[whywishesarehorses]

Realized I took No Pics, but Thea came in HOT last night. I think it’s from the first cool day we’ve had in ages, but man. She would Not stand for me to do her feet, danced in the cross ties, trotted while leading in.

I took her out and lunged her, focus on lots of flying lead changes in direction changes, and then trot-canter-trot transitions every few strides. Got her sweaty despite the cool weather, and she was still jiggy for tacking. Ended up continuing our transitions under saddle.

She finally chilled out after a long, sweaty ride, so we worked on her liberty ground work. Her spin is coming right along!

[triptychgardener]

Alright, you wanted it, you asked for it, here we go.

THE FULL GUIDE TO LEPRECHAUN ROMANCE

Created in collaboration with @a-very-stuck-doggirl, with additional assistance from @gendertrickster and @clamitoustemptation

If you want the FULL, EYEBURSTING EXPERIENCE of reading this beautiful, beautiful explainer, you can find the full document here. And furthermore, we will be expanding (and taking liberties with) the canon explanation of Leprechaun romance and the charms system, a brief explainer of which can be found on the wiki here.

And finally, we will not be explaining how Leprechaun reproduction works, only how the cultural systems of romance work. You bunch of perverts.

And with that...

Let us begin.

When broaching the subject of leprechaun romance, our feeble human minds immediately assume the most ingratiating posture of glee imaginable. What whimsy, what mystery, what the fuck! Here, we will do our best to unravel all the different nine charms of LEPRECHAUN ROMANCE, in order to construct a romantic system that ADEQUATELY INCLUDES THE ROMANTIC OPTIONS OF ONE WEIRD CLOWN GIRL. So without further Ado, or with it if she decides to join us…

Let’s get this shit fuckin storted

but furst…(fred durst)

A brief explainer.

A JAPE is another form of courtship, this time taking the form of Sick Prankz. Anything you can use to get an edge, to get a brief Jortle out of them, or simply yourself, counts as a Jape.

A JIG is the type of courtship dance you perform, either when romancing an attractive and silly person, or simply to reaffirm the feelings of your relationship. When in doubt, Jig it out.

A WHIMSY is a feeling, a scene, or something else exemplifying the pure Vibes of the romance. A few examples are given, but a Whimsy is not such a thing to be tied down. After all, the charms are made to be mixed into TROVES, with three being the bare minimum for a proper trove.

CHARM 1: 💗 (Heart)

The heart is the one charm that actually means romantic love in the sense of human romance and matespritship. It is notably pink, while most other romance systems use a saturated red heart. 

JIG: A quick and lively dance in close proximity to a partner. Maybe even (scandalous!) some bumpin’ and grindin’. Turning this sockhop into a sockless hop if you know what I’m saying.

JAPE: The classic to end all classics. Bucket on the door. (Cultural specific)

WHIMSY: Skipping along carefree, arm in arm, a feeling of warmth inside.

CHARM 2: 🌙 (Moon)

A symbol associated with dreams, mystery, and the night. A common sign that one is in moons with another is seeing them in your dreams, or them seeing you in their dreams.

JIG: A sneaky, tip-toeing, light jig, almost airy, never quite touching each other. Jesus would approve. 

JAPE: Be the monster under the bed, sneaking up on the partner and startling them in a safe but traditionally scary location. (monster in the closet works a-ok if your bed has no underside)

WHIMSY: Sneaking off under the cover of night,  doing a merry canter on your prospective lover’s windowsill, whispered jokes under the covers.

CHARM 3: ⭐ (Star)

The orange star, associated with excellence, achievement, perhaps even a far-flung imagination that goes a bit beyond reality. A common sign you are in stars with another is coming up with wildly ambitious schemes that are nearly certainly doomed to fail. But you try anyways.

JIG: Hand in hand  bouncing up and down. Legs kicked up behind, butterfly kisses.

JAPE: Pantsing someone whilst onstage giving a big presentation, killing the president with a pie-to-the-face necksnap. Anything wildly important that can be brought down with a pratfall.

WHIMSY: A sporadic and spur of the moment journey, often lasting at least an hour, to an unknown or unvisited location. 

CHARM 4: 🍀 (Four-leaf Clover)

The clover is associated with, what else, luck. To be honest, achieving this with someone is nearly impossible to do intentionally. It must be stumbled into on a whim, perhaps literally falling into one’s lap on a chance journey. The clover is a treasured, and often dangerous charm, but those who achieve it are, well, extraordinarily lucky.

Jig: Socks on a smooth polished floor, slip around defying gravity with the sheer will of your connection. If you fall you’ll get back up laughing and slip slide some more.

Jape: Spending all of their savings on scratch-off lotto tickets. You’re either getting laid or getting VERY dumped. 

Whimsy: A night at the casino to win it big, throwing your life to the wind on some daredevil stunt, a meet-cute at the top of a colliding rollercoaster.

Charm 5: 🔷 (Diamond)

The blue diamond is closely related to the troll concept of moirallegiance. The diamond is a stable shape and be it red or blue it represents stability, be it of reaching where you want to be, or a strong foundation to build upon. 

Jig: A simple, steady square dance, perfectly in sync, with a couple shooshpaps thrown in for good measure.

Jape: The surprise of a breakfast in bed, but the food won't stop coming. Be buried under freshly squeezed orange juice and lovingly jellied toast.

Whimsy: A pale session on a plush quilt, the warmth underneath you as you sit on their lap. Being in the car with an incredibly safe driver.

Charm 6: 𝝮 (Horseshoe)

Horseshoes are associated partially with challenge, a game, and irony. A horseshoe is lucky, but it’s simply a marker of the most challenging and ironic situations. Also horses.

Jig: A lively and sardonic canter with a particularly risky somersault down a grassy hill, or a jagged set of concrete steps. 

Jape: Physical non-lasting injury. Bonking someone with a biiiiiiiiig mallet. Big lumps on the head, flattened into an accordion. (WARNING: DO NOT TRY UNLESS SILLY). Performing pranks in ironic proximity to horses. 

Whimsy: Chase through hallway with many doors, coming out completely different ones than the ones entered. Sometimes swapping outfits and gaining other members to your procession. A boxing match where both of you have guns taped to your back.

Charm 7: 🎈 (Balloon)

This charm is primarily associated with freedom, knowing that you have a relationship even when apart, that allows you the independence to experiment. Associated with polyamorous, long distance, and open relationships, flight and travel. 

Jig: A wide and free-flowing twirl, lifting each other up over and over, then separating till only the tips of your fingers remain.

Jape: Showing up unannounced at your long-distance partner’s doorstep and utterly imposing on them. But they love it all the same.

Whimsy: Making out with your roommates while couchsurfing, a wild kiss in a hot-air balloon, the open road flying by.

Charm 8: 🌈 (Rainbow)

The rainbow is adventure, going beyond boundaries. The journey is the relationship, the relationship is the journey. This charm represents growth and change, be it progression or regression, what matters is to be doing it together.

Jig: Running leaps, a jig in motion, something wild and unexpected. The kind you see in a musical where people are jumping on tables and shit.

Jape: Dying your partner’s hair color while they’re asleep. Genderpranking them leading to self-discovery.

Whimsy: Packing bags together, and making sure that together you have what you need, not one carrying it all. 

Charm 9: 🍯 (Pot o’ Gold)

This one’s allllllll about the money. Material goods, gifts, splendor. But it’s not necessarily just about gr33d and gain. It can also be in the little treasures that you hold, your favorite mug, or a timeless autograph from the creators of the Hit Webcomic Outcaste. Wow! So cool.

Jig: Dousing one another in fake or real money, break out the monopoly board we’re getting silly. Confetti works just as well, what needs to be is something falling down around you.

Jape: Buying your partner gag gifts: I’m talking fake snakes stored in cans of peanuts, or actual snakes stored in their plate of spaghetti. Giving them a box that hurls a pie in their face.

Whimsy: Digging for buried treasure, looking for something lost. The chaos in the search is all the more fun.

Leprechaun Romance Research is hard. It's hard, and now, whether you wanted to or not, you understand. But the romantic sciences are not a simple, cut-and-dry thing. We encourage you to seek out your own answers, delve deep into the knowledge stored in the deeper dreambubbles, and maybe, someday, feel the touch of plush, green felt against your very own lips.

[twola]

Devil's Backbone : Diablo Ridge I

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Diablo Ridge I: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit

Unorthodox was the descriptor Hosea used. Outlaw gang was not the ending she expected.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

I've got the lonesome blues everywhere I go And everything that I need to know The only place I can bide my time Is a place I left behind Way out west they don't give a damn,  There's half a woman for every man. -The Deep Dark Woods, “The Place I Left Behind”

—

“ Christ , do you need to tell that story to goddamn everyone?”

Arthur runs his hand down his face, exasperated.

“Now Arthur, I’m just trying to show Missus Shaw over here that you’re not the dour grump you seem to be.”

You laugh, softly, from your place behind Hosea. His horse, which he told you was named Silver Dollar, trots lightly along the trail, which has grown rocky and craggy the further you get from Blackwater. 

Hosea glances over his shoulder with a smile. “So, dear, that’s how we learned ol’ Arthur over here was not a fisherman.”

You glance toward the other man, who certainly did seem to be a dour individual. While Hosea was magnanimous, Arthur appeared to be perennially annoyed. By everything. The conversation, the speed at which the horses were trotting, he was probably annoyed by the weather too.

“I can’t say fishing is one of my strong suits, so I can hardly blame you, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur just grunts, a scowl coming across his face. He throws a glare at Hosea, “If you’re done tellin’ stories, Hosea, I’d like to get back to camp before goddamn nightfall.”

“Hush, Arthur, quit bein’ such an ass,” Hosea snaps back at him, glancing back at you, “My apologies, Missus Shaw, again, manners ain’t one of his strong suits.”

You frown, starting to regret coming with them. Maybe you should ask Hosea to take you back to Blackwater and head for Saint Denis anyway…

“So, if fishin’ ain’t one of your strong suits, what is, Ruth?”  Hosea asks, clicking his spurs into his horse’s sides to speed up the gait a little. You hold on to the edge of the saddle, as Arthur spurs his horse as well, moving from a trot into a slow canter.

“Oh, uh, well… I can do most domestic things I guess, cooking, sewing, and the like… money counting… some medical things…” You rattle off, unsure of what he was looking for in your answer.

“A well-rounded woman then, that’s wonderful, dear.” Hosea chirps, guiding Silver Dollar down the trail as it slopes downward to the bank of a riverbed. “How’s about we stop here for a bit of lunch and to stretch our legs, isn’t too much farther past Riggs Station.”

“ Chrissake ." Arthur urges his horse forward, cantering down the trail and splashing through the creek bed, putting distance between himself and Hosea.

You frown, “Mister Matthews-”

“Hosea, dear.”

“- Hosea . I don’t… I don’t want to cause any issues. It seems like my coming with you isn’t sitting well with Mister Morgan.” You say, looking ahead at the man who has already crossed the water, circling his chestnut red mare on the other bank of the creek. His scowl is evident yards away.

“Pay him no heed. Mister Morgan, he doesn’t get the final say here. He’s a bit rough around the edges. Caught him on a bad day." Hosea clicks his tongue, and Silver Dollar speeds into a canter, splashing through the river bed toward the opposite bank. The motion causes you to jerk forward a bit, and you throw an arm around Hosea’s side to stay upright on the horse.

“Sorry there, dear. Shoulda given you a bit of warning.” The older man apologizes, bringing the Turkoman to a stop on the opposite bank of the water. 

Arthur swings his leg over the rump of his horse and out of the saddle, his stirrups clinking together in the chime of metal-on-metal. He moseys toward Silver Dollar, nodding up to you as he raises his arms. You drop your bag on the ground behind you and lean over to place your hands on his shoulders as he grabs your waist, effortlessly bringing you down to the ground. Hosea follows as soon as you’re situated on the ground. He pats his hand briskly on his horse’s flank. 

“Few minutes here, walk around a bit. Can’t take days in the saddle like I used to,” Hosea laughs, bracing his hands on his lower back and arching his shoulders slightly in a stretch.  

Arthur has left the two of you, moving to the river’s edge and digging a cigarette from the satchel slung over his shoulder. He cups his hands around a match he strikes against the carton and puffs to light the tobacco. A whisper of smoke releases into the air as he tosses the match into the water and crosses his hands over his chest.

“So, Ruth, you ever been out this way?” Hosea asks, turning back to his horse and running his fingers through its black mane. He turns to you, as you gaze around, turning your head this way and that, trying to orient yourself with your surroundings.

“Don’t think so… I’ve been to Blackwater, but not much else in West Elizabeth.”

“Mmm,” Hosea hums, giving Silver Dollar one more pat on his nose before turning to you, “Nice country. This here is the Upper Montana.”

You nod in agreement. Mountain streams pour down cliff sides to collect in a slow-flowing river, easing and winding toward Flat Iron Lake in the distance. All water around here seemed to flow down to the lake, busy with ferries and cargo boats and fishermen alike.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Hosea steps past you, approaching Arthur at the water’s edge. You nervously tuck strands of your blonde hair behind your ears and glance away from the two men, who are speaking in a low register, obvious that they did not want to include you in whatever conversation they were having. You sigh, looking back at the horses. Behind Silver Dollar is Arthur’s mount, a chestnut red mare, huge and fearsome looking. Larger than Hosea’s horse, for sure. Not as big as Aethon though.

A clutch in your chest pains you as you think of Aethon. God , you even miss that stupid horse, what you wouldn’t give for him to snap at you again, Frederick laughing in the background at your skittishness with him. You step toward the mare, and in return she tosses her head toward you, and out of muscle memory, you nearly jump back, your hands far away from the horse’s head.

“She ain’t gonna bite.” Arthur appears next to you, noticing your trepidation as you are standing next to his horse, “She leaves bein’ mean to me.”

“My… husband’s horse, he was a nasty old brute. Nipped at me all the time. I have scars to prove it.”

The man snorts, amused, “Boadicea over here might look big, but she’s a real sweetheart. She’s a Hungarian Half-bred.”

You slowly move your hand, still nervous, to the horse’s head, softly touching her silky coat as she remains unfazed. She even jerks her head upward to chase your hand, and once you see she’s not going to bite, you pet her gratefully.

“She’s beautiful. I can see with that red coat why you named her after a red-haired warrior queen.”

“Well read, are we?” You jolt slightly when Hosea strolls back over, interrupting the conversation. 

Reclaiming your nerves, you respond, “More like I had a mother who liked to tell stories from the old country.”

“Ah, Irish?” Hosea chirps.

“Yes, she was. She’d tell tales of Celtic warriors and witches and whatnot. And growing up in the hills, the flowers outside her family’s farm…”

“S’that why she named you Calluna ?” Arthur asks, bemused.

Your heart stops. The drawled-out syllables of your seldom-used first name, in your head, you hear echoes of it, in voices long past. Your father, your mother, your late husband. Only those closest to you used that name, and that was seldom at best. Why on earth did you tell these strangers your name?

“Please don’t call me that.” You whisper harshly, eyes darting away from the two men as you step away from the horse. You can’t explain yourself right now.

Arthur raises his eyebrows before rolling his eyes, his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Alright, Lady, Jesus .” He turns away, back to Boadicea, refastening his saddlebag with more force than necessary. Whatever peace there had been, it was gone now, and Arthur was back to being vexed.

“C’mon, we’ve dawdled enough.”  Arthur spits back at the two of you, and you meekly follow Hosea back toward Silver Dollar. The older man helps you up onto the horse before mounting himself.

Hosea sighs, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy sometimes.”

-

If there’s one thing that he hates, it’s droll small talk.

Arthur can feel himself getting more impatient by the minute. Even Boadicea was picking up on his agitation, throwing her head back and forth restlessly as she walked along the trail. Hosea was engrossed in conversation with you, and he can tell the older man is laying it on thick. He didn’t have time for Hosea to be flirting with a woman half his age. Not with Dutch breathing down his neck about this damned ferry job they want to do.

They being the operative word. It’s that ass of a newcomer, Micah, that got ideas of grandeur stuck in Dutch’s head. And if there is something that Dutch is powerless to resist, it’s big dreams.

That or a pretty woman.

You laugh from behind Hosea as he delivers a punchline to a joke, probably at Arthur’s expense again. He wasn’t listening. You forged northward, up into the hills where the golden prairies of the Great Plains gave way to the rugged forests of Big Valley.  The sun is beginning to set as you pass over a set of tracks, a small train station along the road the closest linkage to Blackwater. 

Hosea says something in passing about the weather. Almost imperceptible, Arthur hears a click between the horses’ breathing, between Hosea’s quiet chuckle, between the clinking of the spurs on his boots.

“Quiet.” He snaps.

Hosea straightens up, immediately on edge. Arthur brings Boadicea to a slow walk, looking into the forest that has overtaken both sides of the trail. You’re sitting behind Hosea, eyes wide, also looking around.

A man jumps out from behind a tree a few lengths ahead on the trail, effectively blocking the way forward.

“Alright, ye bastards, give us what money you’ve got. And the lady. We’ll show her a good time.” The man laughed, swinging a shotgun over his shoulder with a smirk on his face.

The man’s lilting accent, obviously Irish, was muffled slightly by the green bandana shielding his face. You sink behind Hosea, your eyes just peeking over his shoulder. He sits rigidly straight in his saddle.

“Don’t think so, partner.” Arthur is utterly unfazed, one hand on the pommel of his saddle and the other wrapped around his reins.

The man ahead of you pulls down his bandana to reveal his face and gives a toothy grin.

“Why, look who we got here, fellers. It’s Arthur fuckin’ Morgan!”

Two other men stalk out of the trees, both armed with rifles and sporting similar green bandanas, which they also pull down. They come to a stop on either side of the first one, hands on their weapons, trigger fingers obviously itching.

“Colm‘ll want to see you, Morgan. That’s fer sure.”

“Why don’t you tell ol’ Colm to come see us himself if he’s so inclined?” Arthur drawls, completely unperturbed by the three men surrounding them. The horses, even, are calm. 

Hosea turns his head to the side, glancing at you. He calmly places one hand on his holster, the other one gently lands on your knee. Arthur’s gaze moves from man to man on the road, landing on your concerned features for only a moment. Your eyes raise, and you lean in closer to Hosea.

“Morgan, you still suckin’ old Dutch’s cock? Has ye trained well, he does. Now come on, give us what you got, the lady comes with us, and you can be on your merry way.”

“Don’t think so, O’Driscoll .”

Hosea whispers something in your ear, and Arthur sees you make yourself small behind him, winding an arm around his waist. He nods, almost imperceptibly.

Arthur Morgan snorts, a grin creeping onto his face under the rim of his hat.

It’s like slow motion. Practiced, the thing that he as a man excels at. Second nature . In a matter of seconds, Arthur has unholstered his revolver, a practiced hand pulling the trigger and his other palm slamming back on the hammer. Once, twice, thrice. Three shots ring out in the afternoon sun. The bodies of the highwaymen fall to the ground, and Hosea’s horse neighs loudly, stamping its hooves on the trail.

You bite your tongue to stop from screaming as you duck your head behind Hosea’s shoulder. His hand remains on your knee as he circles Silver Dollar in the road, the sounds of gunshots finally agitating the horses.

“God damn O’Driscolls.” Hosea clucks, looking at the men bleeding out on the ground. He peers up at Arthur, who is reholstering his revolver in his belt nonchalantly. “Y’alright there, Ruth?”

Arthur looks at you, pathetic little thing , shaking on Hosea’s horse with wide, fearful eyes. Like a woman who hasn’t been well acquainted with death and violence. He frowns, again affirming in his mind that Hosea was stupid to bring you with them.

At least the last girl they picked up on the side of the road was a good thief and a spitfire. This woman looks like Hosea pulled her out of a damn church pew.

“ What- , what was that?” Your voice is small, incredulous, as you clutch at Hosea’s waistcoat, surveying bodies on the ground. Each of the men had bullet holes expertly placed in vital areas - the chest, the neck, the head. 

“O’Driscolls, slimy bastards. Frankly ain't worth the lead.” Arthur snaps, matter of factly.

“I do apologize, Ruth. Didn’t expect to get set upon by the likes of them. Fortunately, Arthur had it handled.”

You look up at Arthur. You’re flummoxed. Bewildered. Terrified. Hosea taps your knee again. “We best be gettin’ back to camp ‘for the sun goes down.” Hosea looks back up at Arthur.

Arthur grunts, scowling. He urges Boadicea forward on the road, uninterested in the soft conversation that Hosea is having with you. Probably trying to ease your nerves or some other nonsense.

Let the woman be his problem. Arthur Morgan has got enough going on.

-

You didn’t know what to expect when you arrived wherever Hosea and Arthur were taking you, but you definitely did not expect what you found.

The horses had veered off the trail as your group passed a logging camp, in the last gasps of the dying day, the golden rays of the setting sun leaving foreboding shadows in the woods. 

Somewhere in West Elizabeth, north of Blackwater, that’s all you knew. Along the way, you had seen railroad tracks, and knew of a railroad line heading north to Ambarino, the same one that crossed over the Dakota at Bard’s Crossing near Limpany, but you still couldn’t place where in God’s name you were. The road had turned craggy and mountainous.

You didn’t particularly think it would be received well if you asked, considering the gruff man then greeted your group, armed with a rifle and a scowl.

“Who’s there?” He yells as the horses draw closer.

“It’s us, dumbass.” Arthur spits, not bothering to slow down as he passes the man.

“Fuck you too, Morgan.”  He yells back, throwing his rifle back on his shoulder from where he had it cocked in his hands.

Hosea nods to him as the two of you ride by. “Davey.”

“Hosea.” He replies. Looking at you, he smirks, a sly grin under his dirty blonde mustache. “Ma’am.”

You nod in return, unsure of how to respond. You clutch your bag tighter to your lap as Silver Dollar slows down a small, relatively unworn trail. The pines and low scrub give way to a clearing, where the bright light of campfires and lanterns combat the incoming dusk.

Completely opposite to the way they were dressed; these two smart-looking men in waistcoats and gleaming revolvers; the camp is somewhat ramshackle. Wagons and tents litter the landscape, this clearing where they stop. At least a dozen people mill about the area, the low neighing of horses and soft crackling of campfires providing ambient sounds. Hosea brings Silver Dollar to a stop, and Arthur, who has already climbed down from his mount and tied her to an improvised post, approaches you and extends his arms to help you off the horse. You lean over to take his shoulders again, and he lifts you from the horse. You smooth your skirts as you situate yourself, grabbing your bag from Hosea before the older man swings himself down from his horse.

Your arrival seems to have garnered attention, as you look around to find people gathering around, sizing you up. Men and women alike, gruff and stern looking. Rough, armed to the teeth. Suspicious. With a grunt, Arthur pushes past the group of people who have gathered around without a word, heading toward a wagon along the edge of the clearing. People seem to know to give him a wide berth.

“Well now, who is this lovely lady?”

“Dutch, this is Missus Ruth Shaw. Found her down in Blackwater.” Hosea places both of his hands on your shoulders as he points you to the man who is obviously the center of this group.

He’s well dressed, with a dark waistcoat punctuated by golden chains and polished buttons that glinted in the waning light. Tall, with dark, slicked-back hair and a full mustache. Two revolvers sit on the belt at his hip.

This dark-haired man steps closer to you, takes your hand, and kisses it, a sly smile peeks his mustache at the upturn of his lips. Several rings adorn his fingers.

“Dutch Van der Linde, Missus Shaw.”

Van der Linde. Van der Linde.

You’ve heard that name before.

“Madam, what brings you to our band of knaves, thieves, and brigands?”

The Blackwater Ledger. That’s where you’ve heard that name. A gang of outlaws, robbing banks and homesteads across the west. Van der Linde. You try to hide your astonishment and surprise and glance backward at Hosea, who remains behind you with one hand on your shoulder.

“I…”

“She’s fallen into hard times there, Dutch. Lost her husband recently. No family. Someone who needs savin’.” Hosea eyes Dutch from behind you.

Dutch shakes his head in assent. “Of course. We save people needin’ of savin’. You’ll be safe here, Missus Shaw.”

“Th- thank you, sir. I appreciate yours and Mister Matthew’s kindness.” You stutter out, trying to regain your composure after realizing you were brought to an outlaw camp.

“Miss Grimshaw over here will get you situated with the girls.” Dutch nods over to a stern-looking middle-aged woman, who looked quite frightful, with a large scar down her cheek and a shock of grey through her dark hair, pulled up into a bun. She steps closer, and takes your arm.

“C’mon now, Missus Shaw. You’re over here.” She leads you away from the center of camp, and you look at Hosea with terror in your eyes, but he just smiles and waves you away.

“I don’t know what Hosea promised you when you got here, but you’re gonna work. We don’t have freeloadin’ girls around here. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. You got it?” She says, without a hint of welcome or warmth in her voice as she points you to a wagon with an awning and a rug spread out on the ground.

She thinks you’re some simpering fool. A frightened girl. You know, reeling, that you haven’t shown anything to refute that. This was a group of criminals. If you were going to survive here, you had to show some sort of spine.

“I’m not afraid of work if that’s what you’re insinuating, ma’am.”

“I certainly hope not, Missus Shaw. You sleep here. The girls are around.”  Miss Grimshaw leaves you, huffing as she turns on her heel back toward the campfire.

You sigh, putting your bag down on the ground, surveying the area. You rub your temples as you sit down on a hay bale near the wagon.

“Hi!”

You blink, turning toward the wagon where you were sure you heard the high-pitched voice. Puzzled, you looked around, not seeing anyone in the vicinity.

“Over here.”

A small mop of brown hair peeks out from underneath the wagon, small hands wrapped around the spike of a wheel.

“Oh… hello.” You say, bending over to put your hands on your knees. You are amazed in this ramshackle group, there was a child?

“Who are you?” The boy asks, drawing behind the wheel as you lean closer to him.

“I’m Ruth, what’s your name?”

“Jack.” He mumbles, looking bashful.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jack. What are you doing under there?” You ask, lowering yourself to squat to be at his height.

“Mama went to go talk to Pa.”

“Oh… who’s your Mama and Pa?” You ask, and he points, you turn on the ball of your foot and look across the way, toward a clearing of trees where a man and woman stood talking.

Maybe ‘talking’ was generous. The dark-haired woman, her hair pulled up into a bun at the top of her head, sticks her finger into the chest of an equally dark-haired man, his hair long, disheveled, and brushing his shoulders. He scowls back at her, their body language making it obvious that whatever they were arguing about was going nowhere.

“Pa and Mama fight a lot…” The boy trails off.

You frown. Poor kid. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“That’s okay. What are you doing here?” He asks, inquisitive as he steps through the spokes of the wagon wheel and approaches your seat on a hay bale.

“Oh, uh, Mister Matthews said I could come here. I… was all alone and he was kind to me.”

“Uncle Hosea is the nicest. He reads to me a lot.” He says back to you, sitting down on the ground at your feet.

“Does he now? What do you read?” You ask, realizing that this kid was providing the most conversation you’ve had with anyone since arriving.

“I like stories about kings and castles!” He says excitedly.

“Jack!” 

The boy’s head darts up and he jumps from his seat on the ground, his eyes bright, “Mama!”

“C’mere, silly boy. It’s past your bedtime.”

The woman walked closer to the wagon, holding her hand out for the boy to take.  She was young, quite young. Dark-haired, looking exasperated after her row with the man, who seems to have stalked away out of view of the camp.

“I was talking with Miss Ruth. She’s a nice lady. Uncle Hosea brought her.”

“Well, you can talk to Miss Ruth more in the morning, alright? Now say good night.”

“Good night, Miss Ruth!” The boy excitedly waves before running off to another tent.

“Good night.” You reply, waving back. 

The woman watches her son make it back to the tent and turns back to you, eyeing you from head to toe, trying to size you up.

“Abigail. Abigail Roberts. Heard you was from Blackwater.” She says, placing her hands on her hips. She eyes you with suspicion. 

“Ruth Shaw. More or less.”

“Well, Missus Shaw, hope yer ready for dealin’ with this mess o’ folks.”

—

“Arthur.”

Arthur looks up from the hunting knife he is sharpening at his seat near one of the campfires. He follows where the sound of his name came from, the large tent at the center of the camp. Dutch stands under the light of a lantern, snapping a book shut as the younger man sheaths his knife on his belt. Arthur drags himself up from his seat, slowly walking over to Dutch as they both enter his tent.

“This new girl. What’s she about?” Dutch nods over to the table in the center of camp, where you sit opposite Mary Beth and Tilly, engrossed in conversation. He lights a cigar with a match as he glances back to Arthur, waiting for a response.

“I don’t know, Dutch, wasn’t my choice,” Arthur complains, “Hosea offered to bring her back to camp.”

Dutch hums, placing his lit cigar back between his lips.

“He’s been a goddamn pain about it all day, talkin’ the woman’s ear off.” 

The dark-haired man takes a puff, blowing smoke as he turns his head. “Y’know, she looks a bit like Bessie did when she was young.”

“ ‘Course she does.” Arthur groans.

Dutch smirks, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against one of the posts his large tent is pitched on. He nods up, motioning to Arthur to turn around. Arthur takes the cue, and notes the topic of conversation walking closer to the tent.

“Hosea.”

“Dutch. Arthur. What plan are you concocting now? You’ve got that look in your eye.” Hosea glares directly at Dutch as he enters the tent, raising his eyebrows.

“No plan, Hosea. No plan.” Arthur says, shaking his head and staring at his boot. He knew where this was going.

“Heard you’ve been enjoying the company of our newest guest.” Dutch drawls, a mischievous grin painted across his face.

“C’mon now Dutch, she’s a nice girl. And she doesn’t have anyone. You always say we save people who need savin’.”

Arthur interrupts, “Guess we’re savin’ women half your age that you spend all day flirtin’ with.”

Hosea narrows his eyes, taking offense.

“First off, I ain’t flirtin’ with her,” Hosea wags his finger accusingly at Arthur, who rolls his eyes up at the pitch of the tent and puts his hands in the air in defense, “Secondly, she isn’t half my age . Gods, Arthur, I know you think I’m ancient but the woman’s not that much younger than you.”

Dutch raises his eyebrow, peering out of his tent to where you sit at the table. “Really? Pretty little thing, I would have figured she was younger.”

Arthur and Hosea glance at one another. The younger man snorts.

“Best keep her away from Miss O’Shea there, Dutch. She don’t seem to appreciate wandering eyes.”   Arthur swings his large hand onto Dutch’s shoulder, shaking him in jest. He moves behind Dutch, pointing to the red-haired woman reading a book against a tree across the clearing.

“You leave dealin’ with Miss O’Shea to me, son.” Dutch swats Arthur’s hand off his shoulder. Arthur chuckles to himself, following Dutch’s line of sight, glancing at you amongst the other women. 

Dutch unabashedly stares, taking his cigar from his mouth and dropping it to the ground, crushing it under his boot.  There is no hiding his intent. There never is, not with Dutch.  Arthur knows what Dutch is zeroing in on, what he is thinking.  How your blonde hair cascades down your back, how your dark almond eyes track across the camp, how the dark blouse you’re wearing dips and shows the barest hint of the swell of your breasts and your pale décolletage…

Shaking his head, Arthur realizes it is not only Dutch that is thinking these things, but that his glare, too, has lingered too long.

Mary Beth jumps up, excitedly rounding the table and moving behind you as you laugh, her hands dive into the mess of your hair, fingers pulling out strands and dividing them into sections to braid. 

Hosea breathes heavily, a cough rattling his lungs as he clears his throat. 

“Y’ dying’ there, Hosea?” Arthur chuckles.

Hosea wipes his mouth, giving Arthur a withering glance. “It’s called gettin’ old. You’ll find yourself there soon, Arthur.”

-

Lilting notes from a phonograph rouse you from your sleep, as you blink your mind into existence. The hour is late, but evidently in this camp, late is normal. Pushing on the ground, you sit up from your spot underneath the canvas roof hung from a wagon. The threadbare blankets you recline on do little to assuage the hardness of the ground. Looking around you to find none of the other women under the awning where you lay, as you pull your knees to tuck them beside you. You rub your face, extinguishing the last vestiges of sleep as you sigh.

A pair of boots appear ahead of you. You look up to find Hosea extending his hand down to you.

“Ruth, my dear, come and dance with an old man.” Hosea appeared seemingly out of nowhere, above you. You take his hand, allowing him to help you stand from your place on the ground near the women’s wagon, dusting your skirt off before giving him a nod of acceptance. 

With a smile, he leads you to the open area in front of Dutch’s large tent. You can’t help but smile back as you turn to face him, placing your other hand on his shoulder as he places his on your waist. You begin to sway to the music.

“Mister Matthews, you failed to mention that your group here was a bunch of outlaws.” You state with raised eyebrows and a sarcastic tone.

“Must have slipped my mind, sweet girl,” Hosea says with a wink, stepping back and raising his arm to spin you around. When he retakes your hand, he raises an eyebrow, “That a problem?”

“Not… necessarily.” You trail off, glancing around the camp. Dutch van der Linde leans against a barrel at the opening of his tent, smoking a cigar, casually reading a book. Across the way, a group of men clutch bottles of whiskey, circling the campfire.

“We rob, cheat, and scam. Some other delinquencies. We try not to kill unless we have to.” 

“Ah, the noble thief. A man must have a code.” You reply back to him as you continue to sway back and forth together.

“Hit the nail on the head, dear.” Hosea dips you, and you laugh in response as he pulls you back.

“So, Missus Shaw, where are your people from? Y’ got a bit of a drawl there, I would say somewhere in the south, but not Lemoyne. Not originally.” He asks, adjusting his hand back to your waist.

“Virginia. Though it's been years since I’ve been back. Close to fifteen.” You reply, placing your hand back on his shoulder.

Hosea chuckles, “Ha, still got it then. You said you lived in Saint Denis?”

You nod, “After my father died, well... First, my mother died when I was young, and it was just me and him for a while. He died when I was about nineteen, and I didn’t want to stay, so I packed up what I had and went to Saint Denis.”

Hosea hums in assent, twirling you again slowly.

“For about seven years. Met my late husband there. We left and moved around a bit before ending up…” You trail off, looking away.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me. I… I know how hard it is. Lost my own wife several years ago.” Hosea stops, moving his hand from your waist. You drop your hand from his shoulder, catching his gaze again. He gives a gentle squeeze to your hand that he is still holding.

You give him back a sad smile, squeezing his hand back. 

He gives you back a lopsided smile. “My Bessie, she was my better half. Far better. Still don’t know why fate would give a man like me more time than an angel like her.”

“My husband… he was… he…-”

The crashing of glass interrupts your conversation. You turn your head toward the noise, as does Hosea. Large figures around the fire jump up, empty bottles of alcohol crashing to the ground.

“Fuck off! Weren’t my fault that coach had extra guards.”

“Goddamn fool you are, big, bad, Bill Williamson.”

“Oh, yeah, 'cause you’re so tough, Morgan, y’old ugly sod. Go fuck yourself.”

“You best reconsider them words, or I’ll have to shove them back down yer fat gullet. Ugly as a pig and half as smart.”

“Asshole!”

Another bottle smashes, drowning out the soft tune coming from the phonograph. Hosea sighs. You let go of his hand, as he looks over toward the campfire, where the sounds have escalated to cursing and yelling.

“Sometimes they have to get somethin’ out of their systems.” He says, before stepping in the direction of the ruckus.

Two large men crash to the ground, knocking over a chair that was previously occupied. They roll around like boys, a punch to the face here, a kick to the gut there. A hat goes flying. You recognize that Arthur is one of the men involved. Perhaps the day's annoyances finally got to him after a bottle of whiskey.

A young man sidles up next to you and bumps his shoulder to yours briefly, smiling as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry about them. Bill’s… well, he’s Bill. Not the nicest, or smartest of the bunch. And Arthur, well, sometimes he’s full of piss and vinegar,” he nods his head toward the fight that Dutch and another large man, the one who looks part Indian, pull the scrapping men apart,  “Sometimes he’s perfectly pleasant. Depends on when you catch him.”

“Ah.” You note, as finally, the two are pulled off of each other, sporting bloody noses and black eyes, snarling at each other like wolves.

“Don’t mind ‘em. I don’t think we’ve met, Miss. Name’s Lenny Summers.” He unwinds his arms and gives you his hand to shake, which you do heartily. 

“Nice to meet you, Lenny, Ruth Shaw. How long have you been here?”  You ask, gesturing around to the campsite.

“Here on the ridge? Well, we’ve been here about a month. But if you’re talkin’ about the gang, I’ve been with em for about a year. Met them up in the mountains when I was on the run.” Lenny replies to your question, scratching at his neck.

“On the run?”

“Yeah, got into some trouble in Lemoyne several years ago… bad business ,” He says, motioning over toward the table a few feet away with his head. He moves toward it, and you follow. He reaches into the box in the middle of the table, pulling out two beer bottles. Sitting down, he offers one to you. You take it, sitting on another chair.

The other man, the one Arthur was scrapping with, stomps past the table, both your and Lenny’s eyes follow him as he walks past. His receding hairline is spattered with blood, as his nose drips red liquid. He notices, snarling at Lenny, spitting on the ground a bloody mess of phlegm. “The hell you looking at, boy?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, storming off toward another tent. You are glad to be ignored. Back toward the campfire, you see Arthur scowl, working his jaw as Hosea and Dutch chide him in some fashion.

“Don’t pay them no mind. You’ll be fine here, Miss Ruth.” Lenny says, rolling his eyes as the excitement dies down.

You stare at the motley crew of people mulling about the camp; rough and tumble men sporting revolvers, mean-looking women with snide tongues and little patience. You sure hoped he was right. 

That, or you needed to figure out an escape plan.

[blackroseraven]

So we got there a little early, in time to help put out the horses who hadn't left for the big show today. Lots of horses gone.

I got to poke some of the new horses, though, like Trinity. Who is essentially a cow. Handsome dude. Also Athens and Chilton get to go together now because Chilton's owner just kind of abandoned him there, but hey, at least it means Athens has a friend he can poke and prod now.

I got Quattro afterwards and. He was not very happy to work today. He tried to slip away, then we went up and he just sort of. Walked and wandered around.

He did a bit of cantering eventually, though. Only a few laps, but at least it was something. Then. You know. Immediately he returned to the middle to sulk and stomp.

I eventually hopped down, did some ground liberty with him. Got him to bring his head all the way down between his front legs, which was really good. Thinking about trying to work on a weird new trick with him, maybe getting him to walk backwards while I'm underneath him. You know, the usual "this is a terrible idea and way more dangerous than it looks" things that I like to do.

I went up to spend some time with Jaeger after I brought Quattro and friends outside. Just groomed him lightly, spent some time with him. It's funny how we just... vibe sometimes. Hanging out with me while his brother eats grass, just getting attention and grooming. The rain at least has helped wash him off o I was able to get a decent layering of mud off his body.

So yeah. Decent day, all in all. Not as much as I'd hoped but. It's so oppressive today, so I didn't want to push him even if we're gonna have a big forced break again.

Wanna work with him, not just make him work for me.

[libidomechanica]

By natural

A sonnet sequence

               1

Bank of vapour; while the midst of men recoil away and isolate pure that he plots again, without; but yet forgot, and soft adorings from birth to Geb and Nut, Isis and Osiris thought, and the down wi’ right earnest. By natural? And yet say no to-day thou forget that heard with free scope of high disdain intended. And all those that best thou gavest it, else mistake to Balaam, and the think, because he cast no shadow where the shepherd blows us canonized for crowns on me, and somehow, each other it seems apart, as, supperless to say her daughter, plaiting for thee.

               2

But if thou canst not stand on her, so graciously with his Associated without-end hour whilst the prize, did draw, when turtles tread, as might make it worth his lips uncurled and skilful pilot, thou seest the wild lorelie; over the walls so fair. Work that shine like liquor or aspirin. My glass a whit, to say they speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth such a throne, his lands and piteous eye an inmate owns: all strut, and his finger move, and the darkness among the conjuror plays Ah, silver, too. Of peeresses ready. A little charge, whose three make in one in the aged creature grow: but because to wive; but faithless Thing—to whom they, with such success produce of each suck the seats a place where I am quite sure if t is a very source of love has my hand for the eggs both thorough my gentleman, who fights, or finer stays, and to the beauteous region both defy, not wonder.

               3

Hyacinth, so will let me laughing jest. Assist me, Heav’n! Bow to Shooting—from these weird seizures, Heaven knows what is not! As on a shining. Half house; but he the Pleiads; his Discourse the Mourners of a saint: she touched it lying bathed in the King. The loved as warm starfish. The way. Then houerly thy letters, but all bail shall court an heiress forth, and his lands and owns the midst of me when the royal game of the grave. So your roseate bow’rs, celestial canopy. And could liberty began to weep! Yet in bud and honour. Bronze faint remove, fame, wealth brings contains repent old please you?

               4

Not dashed with grains and the Sea’s self, a sight to say thy place. It kills without sin without a though not to love’s love, again? To point you for what in an hour. By what the Foam of his air, exposed, shall I felt for to thy great shapes of that bed; she comes, like a man of mankind’s forlorn, dying abroad and my state with a panic fear, but will be mud on the comfort fast, which takes his wind-tossed upon by both, to be market I steal, a waste garden, flowers and thy unbraided, her poniard, had oppos’d these other rapture of her good nor had a fever late, and harass’d with you too.

               5

In memory to what thou hast spied. Not soon, as late a fable which quarrel tilts, yclept the Great World; for it. Our guide turneth through all the foxglove’s alembic, and whiskers, to demands our backs are plough which flies before: the world of trouble, well cultivated, it will not sweet mama … truth is the bride and fro. These moss-grown domes with thee and yet, to speak to me, taking your sweet Tibbie, I hae seen the curling brats the rest for your head anither aiming at the virgin-treasure than you will coin young, and I think such rites are in this, and jewel hangs upon them cruel; do not die.

               6

Princely name is Shame, but not think to canter gently lay, in this silver saints I see; nor envy them, and my doorway? Numerous as shadowy brook, that thou go with Athos. From the thing approve his cheeks were long cupped in lilies and be thy breast doth hide something happens a dozen times do I love to speak to you and forbear to taste: the last year’s leaves are few, and she would split a Hair, drove Penmen, as an examples may streamingly. May be the sea-coal, come, and sweet, tore the rind of those that, we just mounting higher he’s to see them out, not even to Madeline, St.

               7

I sleep oppression—or at large. Or Andalusian girl from the truth miscall’d my nest, when they might employ his art; at lengths of puissance; and those restraining stars. And maiden’s chamber. By natural, to temptation, unless a man. Close meeting off, about her sparkling eye glance traduce; no envious eyes though not vainer from love? As in a Prayer, or in quarrel tilts, yclept the Great Migration of his forehead’s smooth as any saint, half-canonized by pearly shepherd’s nose, that’s still, hoping the corner strain they fail! Drunk as a piper, kicking in constitution some days.

               8

Sure a pow’r away; and yet, love and those bred up by us to our town, the young them, and never, never knew till now, either fright abode; assist the shut off the horse alone, and mails. Angels in the year in a waver of love her we have tied her up forever. Prostrate heat where were first notes of Yazd; and, all akin Northwards journals squeak and girl with his javelin wounded me: from what should bargain for the eggs both times declare. Where you not extremely sick? Life it was certain that reseeds itself the Cord fitted unhelpt, and shadow flits and envied passions springs have sworn.

               9

Into her; and on her hands, to bear it. Who never she to mellow, If the kissed again. That heard the darkness, walking like a God in pain, made of Adamant, would overtake this shape. Of her sex: but could reach her will I visit from the timbrels, and crocuses, and be possessed! The clarity of three days he is waking, half anguishment which holds out its arms, and while I woo thee his bar to teach the glen sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye light, over the grounded springs me back to you this? Is but short, and oft a wanton is, school’d onely planet with a jewelled sky.

               10

That heaven is love. Ask me why that this sad interim like Marius, to sit amidst the painted maid: but the rubies grew, and died in the act of love, for one shortest day, in clear melodious lyre.�� An’ Charlie, he’s my darlin’ darling, my darlin’ darling, the youthful Sun. ’Er every morning, nor in nothing too much, some sort, I can give you too. But, like a pedantic, into thy heart wreck’d, with grief to find the nations and wanton-wise. Proud looked at scarce palls. Though royalty was written— wash it out dispense from soul to soul, one thought, ere frozen home in the liberties.

               11

If left us first. This day I’ll dare to boast that I would have a genius from accident; it suffers not policy, that he want to make a fire with his finger pointed dart, and thine, the pale shade of Buonaparte’s noble! Then tell me, Angela was feeling yield both the town; found and kissed my mouth cushions and mountains sloped down with proud and hospitable: or, maybe, I myself almost despite thy sight, and me, curled, and made Love or lust makes or takes them born to our town, the youthful Sun. National possessing, and never heed: and dream of haggard seeming, but all as one.

               12

Why, I’m posterity, or future bard shall complete their guilt: for how often must it love, defiance, hate, and woe the deity of good society is but she was yet inexperience rather not the pin; and her how, upon a trick; down on Danaë in a sainted maid: but all bail shall be as thine at anchor, the council broke, I rose and pour out alloy of fop or beau, a finish’d gentle reader’s eyelid dry, but since she cannot profit much more—but thought, ere it came, that neuer heeds the loom through Love’s Elysium. My glass shall in love, no doubt or stay?

               13

Both thorough-bred to tie her up forever. ’ Such the soul, and steam-boats of vapours to waste, the bases deepe; griefe but Loues winter away straight and debonnaire: the tale belong to creepe: she sigh’d for Agnes’ Eve! An’ down yon scroggie glen, we daur na gang a milking, for Charlie came to mind the broken, I keep the world’s souls entranced in act, remembered lays, sweet maiden, wilt thou trace and movement with my boots but I trust that French novel? Of the old Man young, keep the while she asleepe did lay, he burning, by us; we two being made from faring ill. His wind-tossed upon the story ran.

               14

The love is liberties; there, thought and fetes, and to cedar’d Lebanon. A present, a greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs, as you turn back to-night. The glorious lamp of my pity-wanting pain. My Muses do not blind to the vast idol; whilst we receive still to them there but to dread? As on a Monday morning light and moisten’d spring from expense; they now can I then, as the devil his due; nor in thin array after the Horizon into caves, say, maiden virtue leads people are all men and hastes the children, grown old, and down monogamy like Tom Waits.

               15

The torch of a merely speculation, stared as blank as death. As children of the drunk with fascination, I saw two wand’ring to myself alone. All cates and his magic whisks and cheek when it shows its boundless summer sang in the Braine. Led through a windy nightly, to the empty arms; it glides, thou art the door upon its hinges here: ’ but No! For, Maud, although the lady wed, or may do. When the days you can see for mintage lie, and all the ground? Ye who but see them out, not even nose, one with shifting change my years, I have done goes all the moon shines on my rose tree. Harsh and coole.

               16

For once, and nothing mythological it was like ships, together prose or song, my sweet, the sound of missing thy amiss, accord perusals to hide our kisses from every source of love allows gather blisse. Her poniard, had one safeguard more; such as be carved angel, face, and still, although a door was wide, sam slips with the whole years the enemy with faery land, which had a whole years in absence Hell. Handsome ancient ditty, long such sweets are, it seems the southern moors I have your verse discoveries and not to my pure light, priests, tapers too, and feeling yield both times of your great.

               17

I felt for thee. Then sighing, salving thy sight, when her father’s blush, that she stood a bust of Pallas for heart, which works on leases man from out an amatory score, true, t is my Abelard and merry note, while the tear is used. He held an ivory lute with her willing teach, till he came tumbling I unclose, the govern more endeared without regardless eyes, for Love’s fev’rous choices? The truth live, as this for my mare, my mother prose or song, my darling, my darling, my darlin’ darling, my darling, the child of snow; even Plutarch’s Lives have I said to it … You are a sample.

               18

We shall move the sooner heart, which takes to a grande passionless can never a wrinkle. Better to be-that with a hole in it, had a dread altars blaze, and ten women living, thou canst pour from the little flower that crawled through. And this rusty bosom fire, showing dangerous tenderest be, at which increased. And maiden, can thy life be led to join theirs, less for lovers find when once touch’d, so pierce with him on my heart; but, fool, seekst not be sought; I mourn the lips, those who play unfair! Up, she sings he: the argent revelry, for the dear object is morality whate’er was and is no more. I have done goes all trembling the blissfully haven’d both from the truth, I bade the letters, but a voyage done! Full browses; he had seen only God’s will I walk as free as air, and fells it too became, in thee and shining heart, with thee and not the word by his side: were not winced.

               19

She yields: my Lady in her love of the same ages can’t form a curl; or with the Foam of his Munificence, forc’t, by a tedious hours, that like virtuous she. And darken into caves, long-sounding an hour and back at us, amazed, two the best can paint out ioy, thought of a dream, I lay broad light. However, at the years till, tir’d of his force, lightly me, but, trowth, I care’t na by. Yesterday! What your introduction give rest, the food tree or turned in the floor, saw many a door in my eye-balls roll, and will banisht art; but somehow, each morn and love thee, and call my length.

               20

Not the seed of gods, I grow a talker! What’s thick, or long white virgins keep, and studies artful postures, such things are fewer to the variously, a melancholy silence seal’d. But all was lost its will with buds and cannot step as does not love stol’n from the soft illusions, dear doting heart, I look forward to an evening on the true bloody spur cannot longing grabs me by moonlight of the more! And saints—to window that took my sight of that promise set on Vertues gold that in fact she talks. Gave out thy rest’? And radiant from thy fellowship I needs the fire of his Largess.

               21

And she was written—wash it out, my tears before my sire charms o’ lovely glorious proof, that dies wishing me on the heard, that to the clear! Of air, not man, absolves our love! That is old, and win perhaps this year and all rich attire creeps rustling were: and, snugging their first blush; for a moment fell, when, with Silence! The wonder how quickly fired, as in bed. So Anacreon drawn the rimes, and all rich array, blendeth its odour with their ever-flourish’d too much in sighs, still the World call’d my nest, saving man at her casement high and strange with spites; yet we think, proceeds.

               22

That dwell in my madness might take at her hair, it is a passion’d far while they be more ease that hides your great appears already with the town; found a dying flame; and so live in a convent’s solitary self-discoursing the little strange too in my beclowded stormie face, where his spurs in thy songs to my boat with chastity retire, along the true; and the chains were fix’d, but the Folly he sets up. ’Ve been a-toying, and birds sit brooding still. He rose alone. While praying in thee and softly so you wrong than he lost are left all these, which but to lifeless than the knot.

               23

The Beadsman heard in the ground-worms riot. With fine Conceits, arise! Now you’re seared to say there; he always face, as alone surveys the wild and witty, and pardon me saying, Mercy, Porphyro! And yet your troubled like a printed page, black loam long manured by Vice, only to keep that name you. Real spirit reels at the Future clay,—to me seek with no special legend be, it will not swear it to his billets? A Corner, passion to go by quite unnatural. For laik o’ gear, was left me by moonlight, throbbed us so, that heav’nly- pensive thing art the dead. A tulip?

[dreamingclassical]

The 🦄 Herself and some background on her.

I got Blaze July 31st of 2020. Before I even laid eyes on her, the assistant trainer of the facility told me “the mare is wild.” Telling me about how she had taken another mare from the pasture for a lesson and into the main barn. Within 10 minutes Blaze had taken down the gate and climbed up a set of stairs into the hayloft. No clue how she got down the stairs again unharmed. She was very buddy sour obviously. She was born in Canada, she is a Mr. Greeley baby. Raced lightly, retired to breeding, and then had 8-9 foals. At 16, almost 17 she came to the facility I met her at. Sat again for another year. I was looking for a 3-5 year old, not an 18 year old never restarted skinny broodmare.

After seeing her move, and seeing how sweet and anxious she was along with her condition, I was positive I wanted her. Bought for 1k, she was quickly learning to be a riding horse. I made many, many mistakes. I let a trainer ride her in such a manner I could barely watch, multiple times before I put my foot down. Draw reins, strong bits, bungees, terrible saddle fit, etc etc.

It was ugly. I will be repaying Blaze for her kindness for the rest of her life. She jumped everything, up to 4’ on a few occasions. Safe, point and shoot, and fun. She had one bad habit, rearing when put under pressure. The only time she did it, was because I or someone else put her in a position where she felt she had no choice.

She eventually became my liberty and trick horse after I realized how unhappy she really was as a sport horse. Despite looking fantastic, post Lyme treatment #1 but really she wasn’t happy. She wouldn’t stand to be a show horse, and she was impossible to fit a saddle to. I rode her bareback exclusively for almost 2 years of having her due to saddle issues. She was just better off, and eventually I removed the bridle too. She was great in a halter, terrible in a bridle, so why bother? Perfect almost every time. This opened the door for liberty work, where she really shines.

Eventually in May of 2022 she slipped on a grass hill with me, not falling but close. No heat, not lame, we stopped immediately She came up bilaterally lame 2 hours later. I took her to the vet, he told me it was likely L stifle and LF combined but nothing can be done without scans of the joints. I was beyond broke from the (failed) Lyme treatment over 6 months.

My first vet told me that my best option was to turn her out for a year and see what happens. She was managed well on equioxx, but noticeably lame in the trot and canter. So I did that. Finally listening to her, a chronic weaver, stalling just wasn’t for Blaze. Moved her into a literal back yard of a friends. With a run in / walk in stall, goat, and mini horse. Pulled all 4 shoes (hind first and later fronts)

Removed grain from her diet, added good hay and a forage balancer, and waited. It’s been almost 2 years. She’s not 100% sound, I was very much losing hope earlier this year and very much considering euthanizing her. However, I found an amazing vet well versed in Lyme disease and so in January we’ll be pulling a titer to check levels and moving forward with IV tetra from there. Lyme flares tends to make her lameness vary a bit. She is hopeful that we will be able to get her sound and remove her Lyme symptoms. She’s really renewed some hope in me. In the spring when things aren’t muck, I’ll be getting another (this’ll be the 14th lameness exam in 2 years) exam done and likely radiographing her fetlocks and hocks.

That’s it for now though, I’ve ranted long enough. She’s perfect, my best friend, and recently we were told on her good days that we can work on tricks & groundwork again.

Good movement > no movement 💖

We’ll see where we are in a year. 12/24/23 🎄

[gokitetour]

Five of the Best US Tourist Destinations

The United States, with its wide landscapes and different civilizations, entices visitors with a tapestry of enticing sites. The United States provides a variety of experiences for every style of explorer, from the throbbing excitement of New York City to the awe-inspiring natural wonders of the Grand Canyon. New York City, in the canter of the urban jungle, rises tall with its famous skyline, Broadway beauty, and cultural variety. The Colorado River sculpted Grand Canyon National Park, which unfolds a spellbinding geological narrative that leaves tourists in awe of nature's craftsmanship.

Orlando, Florida, enchants tourists seeking a touch of enchantment with world-renowned theme parks such as Walt Disney World and Universal Studios. Yellowstone National Park, the world's first national park, welcomes exploration into its geothermal wonders and animal habitats, providing a voyage into America's untamed splendour. Finally, New Orleans is a cultural treasure because of the deep notes of jazz, the enticing perfume of Creole food, and the vivacious atmosphere of Mardi Gras. Explore these five finest U.S. tourist locations, where each step exposes a new chapter in America's vivid tale of landscapes, cultures, and experiences.

Here are some of the best US tourist destinations.

1. New York City, the Urban Wonder: The "Big Apple," New York City, is an iconic representation of metropolitan energy and variety. World-famous monuments such as Times Square, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty dominate the cityscape. Broadway features spectacular plays, and the skyline is highlighted by architectural marvels like the Empire State Building. The cultural melting pot brings together individuals from various walks of life, represented in the boroughs' different characteristics. New York City promises a memorable urban trip, whether wandering through the creative districts of Brooklyn, discovering the high-end boutiques on Fifth Avenue, or relishing varied cuisines in Queens.

2. Grand Canyon National Park: A Majestic Canvas of Nature: Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona is a must-see for a spectacular encounter with nature's majesty. The Grand Canyon, carved by the Colorado River over millions of years, is a massive masterpiece of rock formations that reveals layers of Earth's past. Hike around the rim for panoramic views, or go within the canyon for a more immersive experience. The South Rim is very popular, as it provides breathtaking views and access to Grand Canyon Village. This natural beauty is a tribute to the Earth's geological miracles, as the sunshine varies the canyon's colours throughout the day.

3. The Magic of Theme Parks in Orlando, Florida: Because of its world-class theme parks, Orlando, Florida, is synonymous with enchantment and thrills. Walt Disney World Resort, Universal Orlando Resort, and SeaWorld Orlando provide an unrivalled playground for families and thrill seekers. The Enchantment Kingdom brings Disney's enchantment to life, while Universal Studios immerses guests in cinematic experiences. Aside from the theme parks, Orlando has bustling neighbourhoods, superb eating options, and a thriving cultural scene. Orlando's warm weather and multitude of entertainment options weave a spell that keeps people returning for more.

4. Yellowstone National Park: Geothermal Wonders and Wildlife Extravaganza: Yellowstone National Park, located largely in Wyoming but expanding into Montana and Idaho, is a nature lover's paradise. Yellowstone, the world's first national park, is a large swath of untouched wilderness filled with geothermal wonders, broad meadows, and diverse fauna. With its frequent outbursts, Old Faithful, a dependable geyser, captivates observers. The park also serves as a haven for famous American species such as bison, elk, and grizzly bears. The Grand Prismatic Spring, the biggest hot spring in the United States, offers a vivid splash of colour to the park's natural tapestry. Yellowstone National Park provides an authentic experience in the center of wild nature.

5. Jazz, Cuisine, and Mardi Gras Revelry in New Orleans: With its unusual combination of French, African, and American influences, New Orleans stands out as a cultural jewel in the southern United States. The city is known for its vibrant music culture, particularly jazz, which can be heard echoing through the old streets of the French Quarter. Creole and Cajun foods, as well as beignets and gumbo, are among the culinary highlights. Mardi Gras, a carnival event famed for its parades, vivid costumes, and joyous attitude, brings the dynamic atmosphere to a climax. Aside from the celebrations, tourists may explore the historic mansions of the Garden District, take a riverboat excursion down the Mississippi River, or simply enjoy the distinct beauty of this city that dances to its own beat.

After exploring the finest U.S. tourist locations, it is clear that the United States provides a rich mosaic of experiences for tourists from all over the world. Whether it's navigating New York City's bustling streets, marvelling at the Grand Canyon's majesty, immersing oneself in the enchantment of Orlando's theme parks, connecting with nature in Yellowstone, or savouring the cultural vibrancy of New Orleans, each destination promises a unique adventure.

It is critical for individuals who are eager to engage in this adventure to manage the practical issues. Securing a tourist visa to the United States is a critical step for foreign tourists, especially those seeking a visa from India. Navigating the US visa service guarantees a straightforward process, letting travellers concentrate on the excitement of visiting these amazing locations. The US tourist visa not only allows access to renowned destinations but also promotes cultural interchange, leaving people who go with memorable experiences.

As tourists fantasize about the different landscapes, colourful cultures, and unique moments that the United States has to offer, the availability of a US visa from India gives a tangible dimension to their fantasies. In essence, these sites not only display America's beauty but also serve as portals to developing worldwide relationships and generating cherished experiences that will last a lifetime.

[sandra-hippologic]

Move Your Horse with Positive Reinforcement!

The 2024 program starts in May 2024. Enrollment is OPEN!Here is what the program looks like and what the 4 trimesters in the HippoLogic Clicker Training Academy offer. We learn by repetition and every time we’ll go through the basics, you’ll learn more, see more and understand more. Each level in your education will have it’s own challenges: the more you know, the more you’ll understand that…

[jimcorbettparkseo]

Why Jungle Safari is More Adventurous than Visiting a Zoo?

Zoos are well known to keep animals deprived and enclosed of the natural habitat and leave them bored. Wild animals like lions and tigers are natural hunters and love to enjoy running and doing activities in huge spaces. Safari Jim Corbett National Park provides them the liberty to do so which gives opportunity to animal lovers to get to know more about the animals.

How Exciting is Jungle Safari? Planning to go on the safari will thrill you with adventurous scenarios. There is nothing more interesting and adventurous than crossing the roads with elephants and seeing the lions running openly. The safari adventure gives you the open exposure to experience wildlife personally. The reason behind Jungle Safari is more fun than Visiting Zoo

Provides A Natural Cover Everyone on this plant thrives in its organic or home environment. The vast expanse of Jim Corbett Park provides a safe and calm environment just like heaven to the wild. The green foliage shade helps the animals to hide against predators to remain safe and secure. There is more than enough space for all the species to live and survive happily rather than being locked in a cage.

A Real Cultural Experience A standard zoo commonly has an artificial setting but with Safari, it is fringed with remarkable landscapes and exotic plants that will reveal the definition of incredible nature. Not only you will see animals but you will get to know the winders of flora and ailed natural beauty that will beat any man-made creation. Safari Jim Corbett National Park will give a genuine cultural experience in a realistic form that is not limited to human construction. Don’t miss the magnificent chance to see the cultural shows that provide the best insight into the local culture.

More Than A Zoo Going on the safari adventure is more than looking at animals. Walk around the open fields and interact with the local culture or just enjoy the Waterpark. Spending a day at the zoo will never gift you such thing as all you can do is to look at the animals from a distance.

Full of Exciting Surprises Surprises mean, you never know what is in the store. In the safari park, people sometimes see a deer kill lying on the jungle path while they were on Jim Corbett Travel. The jungle is full of surprises as you never know what you might see. You might see fighting or even mating, but in a zoo, you much know that even the animals might be just eating or sleeping. Wrap Up-

Tiger Eyes is the one-stop solution if you're looking for safari travel. Not only this, we provide jungle safari, jeep safari, elephant safari, and canter safari packages at a very affordable rate.

Source:

[dell-delta]

Gotta second this: Rockstar indeed took a lot of creative liberty with the horses.

Actually, any of the breeds we see in the game aren't naturally wild horses, so the idea of taming a Tennessee Walker is nothing but amusing. The only truly wild breed in the game are the mustangs, and it's actually questionable whether it's correct to call the wild mustangs a breed. Originally, they were brought to America by Spanish settlers and were descendends of European breeds, Arabian horses and Spanish breeds such as Andalusians, and not all mustangs share the same origins (although nowadays, they probably could be called a breed, but back then a mustang was nothing but an expression for a wild horse of any breed). Some of those horses became working horses, some of them were stolen by Indians, and some of them became wild (those are the horses we call mustangs nowadays). Their depiction in the game also isn't too accurate as some of the coats are more reminiscent of Kiger mustangs from Oregon, with the distinctive zebra markings on their legs and such. Those horses only appeared in 1977 and their origins are unclear as far as I know.

Anyway, those Spanish horses stood at the very beginning of most American breeds. Over time, the British and French settlers also brought in their own breeds and began crossing them with the Spanish horses. Quarter horses (how tf is the oldest American breed missing from the game?!), Appaloosas, Paint Horses, Rocky Mountain Horses and others all came from the horses brought in by Spanish settlers, whilst Tennessee, Morgans, Missouri Fox Trotters, and American Standardbreds come from European breeds like Thoroughbreds, Friesans, Percherons, Selle Français, etc. As mentioned in the post up above, they are newer breeds and weren't at all common in 1899.

It's also good to note that Walkers and Fox Trotters specifically were bred for their movement. Fox Trotters' typical gaits are flat fook walk, fox trot which replaces standard trot, and rocking horse canter. Tennessee Walkers have similar abilities, the flat foot walk and rocking horse canter, but they also have what is called running walk. It's basically a cross between a walk and a trot with elevated movement.

The fact that Rockstar made these breeds move normally in the game is thus quite funny, especially since Tennessee Walker and Missouri Fox Trotters cannot even trot like a normal horse (I mean, some of them can, but it's not the standard).

Also, the first ever Morgan died in 1821 so there's no way for Morgan horses to be this common at the end of the century. They're very rare even to this day, not at all a common breed.

Another little note, Turkomans were already extinct in 1899. It was one of the world's original horse breeds from the general area of Iran and it stands at the roots of many European breeds (along with the Arabian). Today, we only have their descendent, the Akhal-Teke who remains a rare breed with very unique physique. Their RDR2 model isn't at all faithful to what they truly look like, instead, they are more reminiscent of Thoroughbreds or Anglo-Arabians.

So yeah, I'm not surprised that the pekin ducks can fly in the game.

Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed my little contribution, heh.

you know what drives me nuts about rdr2? mind you i love it and i’m not actually super mad but.

there are pekin ducks in the game, right? and mallards. except pekin ducks are a domestic breed. you can get them to look like mallards by breeding them with said mallard but you probably wont get rid of one tiny issue. they’re too fat to fucking fly. they physically cannot do it. WHY are there pekin ducks that can fly in the game???

also pekin ducks were introduced into america sometime in the 1870s i think. and i know that domestic animals cause havoc in ecosystems HOWEVER how did this too fat to fly duck survive for long enough to reproduce?? even nowadays they have trouble surviving when dumped at ponds where they have an availability of food.

I honestly don't know a lot about birds, but I would guess it is a creative freedom that Rockstar has taken. For a very realistic game, they have sadly taken a lot of creative freedoms when it comes to their wildlife. Prime example is the horses.

The most popular horse in game is the white arabian which lives alone, in the snow. Horses are pack animals, they live in herds and you will have to force them away from one another to get them to be alone, and an Arabian living in snow without any kind of rug or protection is also a stretch.

We also have the Missouri Fix Trotter which was wild in a side quest, but in reality was developed by settlers and have never been wild. Same goes for the Tennessee Walker, which is one of the easiest to find in game out in the wild, but was actually developped on farms, again, having never been wild. The foundation sire of the breed was actually first born in 1886.

I am sure there are more examples out there with minor details being screwed that only people who really know the species will realise. I would think it is just a creative freedom as Rockstar aren't known for being lazy in any department.

[whywishesarehorses]

Thea is literally so good

[canteringdreams]

Lowie

2016 KWPN stallion

[Everdale x Silke]

[paint-horse-paradise]

Day one of trying to do walk canter transitions in the round pen. 💪 They are not perfect and need a lot of work but my biggest goal today was to get her to pick up and keep the canter for a short amount of time in a calm way, instead of going mock Jesus. There's a lot of undoing polo teaching happening for both her and me. I'm excited for the future. . Remember this is Day One! I plan to share everything I can of the training process we are going through. This next two months are gonna be exciting. . . #horse #horsetraining #horsesofinstagram #canter #roundpen #naturalhorsemanship #liberty #begining #walk #horselife #horseeducation #escondido #socal (at Escondido, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWzLu3pPrIF/?utm_medium=tumblr