Night Horse art

I promise story is coming, but today’s progress was deleting 900 words. Yeah, it was one of those times.

I was on a trip recently and produced this ink pencil horse in black. I was thinking about Hook and the Black Stallion and van Gogh’s Starry Night. Though I guess that last one is hard to imagine!

doldrums

Late Spring/early Summer is apparently a rough time on my writing! I apologize for the interrupted posting. It’s when all the travel wraps up that I tumble flat on my creative face and find that coloring books are about all I can manage. That and practicing my penmanship.

I promise I’m working on the story, too.

I even drew a little from scratch this week.

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in-process acrylic

Snapped a picture of my current project–a little tribute to fox hunting, which is a big deal where I live. Before you panic, they don’t actually catch the fox these days. At least not the club I’ve been out with. These hounds don’t even know what they are chasing, but they do love to chase.

Why do people fox hunt? Because following a pack of hounds hot on a scent over hill and dale, finding a trail wherever they take you, is loads of fun. It’s also kinda crazy and dangerous, because excitement and obstacles and stuff. Truly, though, I feel plenty safe when we’re cantering down a narrow trail. It’s the standing around waiting for the hounds to find something–that’s the part I don’t like! Maybe because my mount hates waiting and starts creating entertainment after 5 minutes.

One of these days I will think to put down the background before starting on the fun stuff in the foreground. But it is not this day.

IMG_3795

Fire Horse

I have a new design up on Redbubble. Christmas week I just had a hankering to draw a horse–my favorite kind of horse to draw, the Arabian.

Arabians and their daughter breed, the Thoroughbred, are high energy horses–often referred to as “hot” or more poetically “fiery.”

There is a half Thoroughbred horse where I ride who I will probably always refer to as a colt–because he acts like one. Always active and getting into trouble, he has a deep desire to work, to run,  to do stuff, and be the center of attention.  He is not afraid of much, but he’ll spook at imaginary things for an excuse to gallop across his pasture. Then he’ll prance, stamping and rearing just because he can. Last week he was plucking the fence like a guitar.

Some horses are made of fire.

firehorse

Click here to shop at Redbubble.

firehorseproducts

 

14-Captain

*

They hadn’t waited for us. We came around a bend and saw our four companions walking toward us. Namal was in the lead, Gabe hovered near the limping Quill, and Balleck brought up the rear. Ayglos and I urged our horses faster to quickly close the awkward gap between being sighted and giving explanations.

Everyone stopped when we pulled up. Namal put his hands on his hips. “What have you done?” he asked, gesturing to the horses.

“I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I jumped off Hook. “I won a wager at a horse farm.”

Ayglos weighed in, “It’s true, and I don’t think he’s the type to be sore about it.”

“Does that mean your prizes are dysfunctional?” said Namal, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Not anymore,” I said.

“Quite possibly,” said Ayglos.

I glared at him—albeit halfheartedly. He shrugged. Turning back to Namal, I explained, “We needed horses. Quill can’t walk like we have been. I brought Ayglos.” I lifted my chin defiantly. Ayglos: The ultimate seal of legitimacy.

Namal eyed me, and then sighed. “What’s done is done, I guess. I’ll spare you the reminders about everything that could have—and still could—go wrong.” He gestured to the others, “Load them up, then.”

I caught Balleck’s eye and he winked, a proud smile twisting the corners of his mouth. I smiled, too. Leading Hook forward, I might have brushed closer to him than necessary on my way over to Quill. My brothers and Balleck set to loading our packs onto Line and Sinker.

“I assume you can ride?” I stopped next to Quill and Gabe.

Even pale and weary, Quill managed to give me a withering look. “Of course.”

“No one has ridden Hook but me,” I added, “So be gentle.”

Quill arched a brow, “You brought a wild horse to carry your cripple? I feel so cared for.”

“You should, it wasn’t easy.”

Hook snorted.

I patted his neck. “Come say hello, you can’t just get on without formalities.”

Quill grunted, but hobbled a step closer, offering the back of his hand to the black horse. Hook sniffed it and looked away. Quill patted Hook’s neck and the black allowed it. Gabe came next and performed the same ritual, then turned to the task of getting Quill onto the black.

I held Hook and explained what was happening to him while the strongman and the archer tried to find a way to get the archer astride without just heaving him on like a sack of oranges. Though, that is, essentially, what ended up happening. Once everything was situated we set off again down the road. I walked by Hook’s head, just in case he decided to have a nervous breakdown about carrying a rider, and Balleck fell in step beside me.

We were now some of the wealthiest pilgrims in the region, no doubt, thanks to my success. However, we were sufficiently bedraggled that the other travelers we encountered largely ignored us. Nothing of interest happened this part of the journey as there was nothing to do but walk. Every now and then Namal would lead us in a hymn—a nice touch to our cover and oddly encouraging at the same time.

We passed the road which would have led us to Gillenwater and kept on. We took a brief rest for lunch of bread and cheese then continued on our way. In the late afternoon Quill announced, “Let’s stop and rest for a while.”

Only by ‘stop and rest’ he meant dive off the side of the road into the forest and wend our way deeper over rough terrain—where Line the donkey was by far the steadiest on his feet—until we came to a cozy little gully. Quill slid off Hook and hobbled forward, his head thrown back like he was looking for something in the trees.

Then a burly man stepped out of the shadows. “Captain! You’re alive!”

*

Hook

This is Hook, rendered in ink and ink pencil. Every now and then I indulge and throw myself into drawing a horse. Alright, fine, perhaps it happens often.

In my mind, he is somewhere between a Lusitano and an Arabian in build and carriage.

Hook