Subtle Stranger
Call me Thrynn
Gender: Stallion
Height: 16hh
Eye Color: Ice blue
Discipline: Showjumping
Phenotype: Blue Roan Pintaloosa
Genotype: EE/aa/RR/ToTo/Lplp
Get To Know Thrynn!
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Cheeky and playful, Thrynn is still coltish, in every sense of the word. He takes the opportunity to play whenever he can, either with his leadrope when he's tied, with the feed bucket when it's empty... Or with whatever poor human has been given the task to get him haltered from the pasture! His time under saddle is often spent reeling and whirling, prancing around the arena with an occasional excited buck or bounce. He has a great love for jumping, leading to his discipline, however, with his talent for rushing around the arena, perhaps cross-country would have been a better choice!
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One of the founding members of The Colts, Thrynn is a playful stallion who gets along with anyone who can tolerate him.
He and Fleur have known each other since foalhood, and they're inseparable now in adulthood, delighting in their each other's company. Calanthe is the pride of his life, and even Arbie, who isn't his biological son, is fathered by the older stallion.
Winning Prompt
You see this mucky little colt standing in the large pen that holds all the dams and foals. His dam watches over him intently...so do you. He's fixated on something that lay before his feet. What is it?
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His eyes, seeming to be too large from his head, watched something with intensity, whatever it was keeping his attention owning him 100%. It was sweet, and I found myself leaning on the fence, watching him watch it. Resting my head in my hands as I watched, earning a wary glance from his mother, I murmured a soft reassurance to the mare, and, after a few moments, she turned away. Glancing at the mum, smile slipping from my mouth as I regarded her prominent hips and clear ribcage - how could anyone let a creature get into such a state?! - my attention was snapped back to the youngster as a squeal ripped through the air.
He spun on his little hooves, whirling around the makeshift paddock and kicking up his heels as he did so, but even still I couldn’t see what had him so intrigued. Slowing to a bouncy trot, an impressive gait for one so young and in bad shape, he cut smaller and smaller circles around the object until he eventually stopped, lowering his muzzle back to the thing. In the mud, I could see something that may have once been colourful poking out of the mud, trampled into the mud by the various tires, hooves and feet that entered the area. Lowering his nose to the thing, then snapping it back, then lowering it again, I watched as the foal wrapped his lips around it, and tugged. With a muddy squelch, something came loose, and the colt dropped it again, bucking another lap of the pasture. At the sudden noise, his mother sent a wary gaze in his direction, but soon looked away again. I tried to see what it was, and, to my surprise, the form became clear - a deflated ball, a long time since it was in any way rounded. The ball may have once had a colourful cartoon image upon it, but now it was discoloured and pale, combining with the mud to make a sorry toy. But the little cold didn’t care. The colt grabbed it within his jaws, shaking it about, hitting himself in the chest with it before letting it drop again, earning another frantic lap of his little area.
I could have watched him all day, entertaining himself with this deflated ball, but I had to move on. Perhaps, if I decided upon adopting him, I’d be able to give him an inflated ball.
Imagine how much fun he’d have with that.