#tsrf

[the-man-who-loved-a-mare]

Training Challenge #2

“She’s moody and she’s slippery and she’s in love with the sea.”

Sooner or later, he would have to tell his parents what he’d just done in Skarmouth, but for the moment Jaxom let his feet carry him towards the comfort of their small barn, the very same place where he’d first met Her.

It was a cold February night, and rain sluiced down in sheets, chilling the bare hands of the man who spent the last few hours helping a ewe struggling to lamb. He’d taken over lambing duty for his father two year prior, and this was not the first time he’d spent a night out amongst the sheep and straw. The ewe had managed to deliver two healthy lambs, although the process had taken longer than Jaxom felt comfortable with, and now he rushed to get them back outside with the flock. Perhaps, on another island, the single stall barn would have been suitable for the new mother to overnight, but on Thisby Jaxom’s concern about what the storm may dredge up from the depths was not unfounded.

As soon as the lambs had dried, stood, and nursed, the man ushered them out of the old stone barn to rejoin the flock in the corral outside, despite the downpour. As the sheep merged into one wet blur, Jaxom forged his way through the rain to the gate, swinging it open and watching as his flock rushed out and melted into the darkness. It was safer for them to have room to run, over the confinement of the corral. In the morning, he would locate them, and with any luck both new lambs would have made it. It was harsh, yes, but to survive out here you had to be. Exhaling slowly as the last white silhouette disappeared into the darkness, Jaxom turned back to the single stall barn to go clean up the bloody straw and afterbirth before anything lurking in the storm caught scent of it. An inhuman chuckle to his left alerted him he was too late, his body immobile as instinct took hold.

A quick assessment of his surroundings alerted him the sheep were out of sight, but it wouldn’t be much for the creature drawn by the scent of blood to follow them. On the other hand, if he made a sound now, it could be him on the menu. The young man didn’t give himself time to be afraid, he merely acted. Slinking down low to the ground, adrenaline pumping through his veins with every beat of his heart, he crept along the fence line, eyes scanning the area around him for the predator that he knew was out there. A grumbling groan from somewhere nearby cause him to freeze again, the sound of the rain drowned out by the sound of his thundering heart. As he got closer to the single stall barn the scent of the capall washed over him, salt, fish, and something that sent his heart into a frenzy. She was inside. Without thinking, Jaxom rushed forwards, slamming the dutch door and making sure both the top and bottom were fully latched. Inside, the beast began to keen and wail, the thrashing animal causing the entire building to shudder. She was caught.

Now, seven months later, in the very same stone barn and corral, she greeted him with a whicker as she galloped to the edge of the reinforced corral, tossing her head and rocking back on her hind legs for a moment before all four feet returned to the earth, pale eyes sharp upon the man as he entered her domain.

“Saoirse…” Jaxom breathed, reaching for the mare, running his hands down her muscular neck and pressing his cheek against hers and inhaling her warm, salty, fishy scent. Anyone who knew anything about the capricious capaill told him he was crazy, and he knew they were right. He trusted her with his own life far too much, but she’d given him no reason to doubt. Iron had no place in their relationship, and he liked to believe she loved him as dearly as he loved her.

“I’ve entered us in the Race beloved.” His voice was low as his hands worked rows of knots in threes and sevens into her thin mane. “It’s the only way I can convince them to let you stay here.” He explained, watching her as she stared at him with those intelligent eyes. He knew her well enough now to know as her attention turned, the magic of autumn ocean pulling her away from him. His heart clenched as his lithe black capall floated towards the furthest wall, her blue eyes fixed upon the horizon where he knew the ocean to be. She gave a low, mournful sound, turning to stare back at him intently.

Reaching into the pocket of his worn jacket, Jaxom pulled out a thin strip of raw mutton, tossing it to the mare. She snapped it out of the air, breathlessly fast. He smiled, moving to stand with a hand on her shoulder, following her gaze out over the horizon. “If we win…” he trailed off, not finishing the thought. “Don’t fret too much darling. The autumn will be over before you know it, and the sea won’t call so badly then.” Never turning his back on her, Jaxom retreated from her paddock, gazing at her fondly one last time before turning in the direction of his house, and the dismay he would face from his parents once they found out what he’d done.

@thescorpioracesfestival

[akepalsson]

WEEK 2 —Training Challenge: Describe your capall uisce

@thescorpioracesfestival

Maris used to be my brother’s horse, he rode him on his last race, the one where he fatally died; and now I take care of him. Well, partially, because as a way to pay me less than my co-workers, Benjamin Malvern has promised to let Maris stay at Malvern Yard’s own stables, where I still have to look after him but mostly during work hours. Sometimes I stay later than that, I don’t trust most of the goons that work here to look after my horse.

My horse. It was my brother’s, but my brother is long gone so Maris is mine now. He could have gone to my dad, but my dad doesn’t have any interest in the races or the uisce horses, so to the youngest daughter he goes. At first, I didn’t think it was fair, what would a 14-year-old do with a depredator like that? I had to get a job so I could get Maris a place to stay, and I’ve been working at Malvern’s ever since. 

I click my tongue once I enter the stables I know Maris is in. His dark head pops out when he hears me coming closer and I can’t help but smile seeing him.

“Hey, boy!” I greet him, with the same tone a child would use with a puppy. Maris neighs and moves his head up, in an attempt to get close to where I’m standing. “How have they been treating you, my boy?”

I pet his head, brushing the hair on his mane with my fingers. Maris is beautiful, and I’m not only saying that because he’s my horse. He’s tall, just like every other capaill, but his strong, long legs make him look even bigger than the rest. His fur is as dark as the night, it technically is black but I could swear it looks midnight blue when I look at it. He neighs again, shaking his whole head and hitting me with his mane. 

“I know, I know. I should have been here sooner.” I wish I could have brought him something to eat, a treat for keeping him here, but I got distracted talking to Isadora when I could have used that time to go to the butcher instead. It’s not like he’s going to starve, but a treat would be nice. 

I keep petting him, making sure he’s clean and untangling his long mane. I keep my head close to his, which in another time of my life would have gotten me a scolding by any responsible adult (“What are you doing with your face that close to a capall uisce? Do you want to have part of your face missing?”) but it’s something I do in my regular life now. 

I wouldn’t be this close to any other horse, though. It’s only Maris that gets this attention from me. Sure, I’ve come to know some of the other horses that Malvern Yard’s has taken in through the years, but Maris is different. I’ve practically trained him, although one can never truly tame a capaill uisce; but Maris and I know each other. He won’t eat me and in exchange, I keep him comfortable and well-fed.

Plus, Josh Bremner, Isadora’s brother, taught me practically everything I know about capaill uisce. He’s a few years older than me, but when my brother died and I inherited a whole living horse, he was the one who stepped out to teach me how to properly take care of him and eventually, learn to ride him. Josh Bremner, who I always refer to by his full name as second nature, has participated in the races since he was about my age, so he knows how to ride a capall not only with care as to avoid getting eaten, but also he does it faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. I’m not as good as he is, hell, I don’t think I’m ready to participate in a race, but that isn’t stopping me. 

Maris moves around his box, agitated. His ears twitch, hearing something far from where we are. 

“What is it, boy?” I try to pet his neck, but he shakes his whole body, trying to get on his two back legs but the space isn’t big enough for him to do that, so he just moves nervously. I’ve seen him act like this before, sometime a year ago.

They are finally back, emerging slowly from the sea, but back nonetheless. The Scorpio sea calls each capall now, their true nature shows once the rest of them show up in time for the races, just live every other year.

And this time Maris and I will be ready.

[roseravenkey]

@thescorpioracesfestival​ Mood board #3: Sven the Fjord horse. Currently owned by secondary character Rea in my story.

[wanderingmercenary]

Visit Original Link

Scorpio Races Theme: Ocarina Cover

This is my contribution to the fandom

@welcometothisby @thescorpioracesfestival @maggie-stiefvater

[cattivoraces]

I MADE NOVEMBER CAKES (for the 865789th time)

@thescorpioracesfestival

last year was the first year that i made november cakes when my best friend came to visit me. it was great fun and i was introduced to these terribly wonderful pastries. since then i’ve made them at least 5 times and have made my own adjustments to the recipe, and i mess with it every single time i make them. here’s a list of things i changed this time:

an attempt to see what cutting the liquid back did to the dough, as i’ve always hated the consistency the dough comes out as and how impossible it is to roll later

no salt, mostly because i had no salt, i added a little extra sugar to the dough instead

MORE FLOUR IN THE MIX 

cinnamon, cinnamon, cinnamon. i’m the oprah of cinnamon additions. YOU GET CINNAMON *points at the dough* YOU GET CINNAMON!!!! *points at the filling* YOU GET CINNAMON!!!!!!!!!! *points at the glaze* CINNAMON FOR ALL!!! *sprinkles cinnamon on the rolls themselves before baking them*

no orange extract because you can barely taste it anyway and honestly orange and cinnamon don’t mix

so much flour when i roll them... i dust the flower off after they bake lmao but listen, that dough is a sticky bitch and rolling them is a NIGHTMARE

no regard for cutting sizes for the rolls, you can tell i always start off really generous and then realize ‘oh shit, i’m running out of dough to make 12′

less honey and brown sugar (i use dark brown sugar) in the glaze, used a different type of butter than usual because i wanted it out of my freezer. this made for a very buttery glaze that i wouldn’t mind having again

side note: making the glaze is terrifying, i fucking hate adding the cream (which i just use straight up whole cream that goes in coffee) to the boiling sugar/butter mixture 

almond extract instead of vanilla because, again, i didn’t have it. this didn’t change anything as far as i could tell

as always, my attempt was fun and TIME CONSUMING AS HELL but worth it. the people i’m sharing these with today better love me.

[37145-77]

Wry Finnick Erenson Wry; Your name of Wry is a dual influence: at times you can be extremely happy, expressive, full of fun, and good-natured; yet at other times you find congenial association impossible, being controlled by self-pity, moods, and depression.

[androgynousperson]

Some doodles of the Cappal I’m going to use in the Scorpio Festival. Still trying to figure out a name

[the-man-who-loved-a-mare]

Training Challenge #3

“Based on my experience on the beach the day before, I form a new plan.”

His parents hadn’t taken the news well. This was no surprise, considering he’d only managed to convince them he was keeping the ebony capall, that currently chuffed beseechingly at him for her breakfast, this long so as to sell her for more during the first week of October, when tourists and townsfolk alike would pay more than was reasonable for any horse, let alone one that looked at you more as dinner than a friend. Yet his name was now scrawled onto the Gratton’s chalkboard and beside it Saoirse, so despite their upset, there was nothing they could do now. They were racing.

            He’d risen early this morning, early enough that the sun had yet to paint the sparse fields with morning light, and his father, a farmer all his life (with the schedule of one too) still snored soundly in the bedroom down the hall. Stealthily, Jaxom had stolen from the house to feed the dark predator that resided in their barn, and he watched her now as she swallowed, black muzzle stained crimson by the blood in her meal. It should have perturbed him, watching the capall as she ate, looking less and less like a horse with each passing day as the autumn ocean called to her, yet the man felt nothing but love blooming in his chest for the creature before him. She had crawled out of the sea for him, that much he was certain of.

            As Saoirse finished her breakfast, he busied himself with preparing her tack, pulling out the bridle hung with red tassels and the sheepskin he used in place of a saddle from the small room at the side of the single stall barn. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to know how to ride – his parents had forbidden it, in the hopes of preventing him from association with the deadly capaill and the Races. However, his Aunt Gwennie, lover of island ponies and flouter of rules, had taught Jaxom when he was still a boy upon her own steady steed, encouraging and enabling until he’d become a passable rider. He’d never be one of the people who looked like they were born to ride, a seamless blend between horse and man – he lacked the physical awareness for it. He’d always been a little not at home in his body – while his peers had kicked balls and run around at school, Jaxom was lucky if he made it to the classroom door without tripping. Yet with Saorise, everything was different – when he was astride her, he felt right. Her legs felt like his own, and together he knew they could take on anything.

            Yesterday Jaxom and Saoirse had merely observed the fray on the beach from the cliffs, his precocious mare squealing and pinning her slender ears in displeasure if any of the capaill down below had the audacity to look her way. That was why they made their way down so early today, attempting to avoid the crowds that would irritate the capall that now jigged beside him, the bells on her bridle jingling softly as she moved, anxious and excitable this close to the water. He shed his boots and the sheepskin on a boulder where they did not risk getting wet, and then barefooted he brought Saoirse down towards the beach.

            Her curved ears pricked, attention turning toward the ocean, tension visible in the triangle of her eye and sharpness of her shoulder as she took a step towards the surf.

“Easy now beloved.” Jaxom soothed, using his free hand to trace gentle circles on her shoulder, the other holding the reins as if he didn’t believe she would pull away. Saoirse snorted and gave her head a toss as if shaking away the enchantment of the Scorpio Seas, turning her blue eyes back to the human before her. He smiled in return, bending down to cup a handful of sea water, sprinkling the salty wet across her dark hide. Playfully, the mare pawed at the sandy ground, spraying salt water and wet sand across both their legs. Laughing, Jaxom splashed at her in return, tossing his own head and snorting back at her. The mare straightened up, as if offended, then pranced a few more paces into the surf, forcing Jaxom to release his grip on her reins or get wet. He allowed her to drag him a few paces, until the freezing water lapped around his calves. “Okay my love, that’s enough now.” He warned, turning her so she faced cliffside, away from the allure of the open ocean.

The ebony capall made a soft, sorrowful sound in return, peering at him beseechingly, the yearning in her heart present in every muscle. She wanted him to follow her into her own world, where the song of the ocean invigorated her every step. When he insisted, she reluctantly followed, thin black mane disappearing against her arched neck as the spray wetted it down.

He brought her back up to the boulder, where he redonned his boots and threw the sheepskin across her back, using the elevated stone surface to mount. She was slick and sinuous beneath him, one ear flicked to him but the other never leaving the ocean.  The sun was starting to rise now, staining the beach and waters around them scarlet, a promise of carnage to come. Jaxom exhaled, Saoirse’s excitement filling his own body. Much to her chagrin he held her back, trotting and circling as the sun continued to rise, ensuring her body was soft and supple beneath him. Finally, as the red light of sunrise melted into the softer glow of daylight he let her loose, and together they ran.

@thescorpioracesfestival