Recent posts
#81
Jewel / Re: Story: Petals and Trails
Last post by Jewel - Nov 06, 2024, 12:17 AMJournal Entry
Petals and Trails: Part 1
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
"Good work today, Jack. Gunner's really coming along well with you," Jewel said, watching as Jack swung down from the saddle. "Just remember to stay relaxed and let her have her head. She knows how to stay in frame herself."
Jack gave a nod, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Thanks, Jewel. All these tips are really helping. Gunner's a lot more sensitive than Rocky, that's for sure."
Jewel chuckled, reaching out to stroke Gunner's neck. "Haha, you're not wrong there. She's got her own style." Gunner tossed her head as if to agree, and Jewel smiled at the mare's lively spirit.
Just then, the low rumble of a car sounded from the gravel driveway, and they both turned to see a sleek sedan pulling up outside the barn. The engine cut off, and the doors opened as three familiar faces stepped out: Mrs. Stapleton and her two daughters, Melissa and Sophie.
Jewel glanced at her watch. "Right on time," she murmured to herself. She turned back to Jack, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, okay? Same time next week, but with Berry."
Jack nodded, gathering Gunner's reins. "You got it. Come on, Gunner, let's get you a good massage." With a final wave to Jewel, he led the mare back toward the stables.
Jewel climbed over the arena fence and made her way to the Stapletons, who were standing by the car. Melissa and Sophie were all chatter, practically bubbling over with excitement as they clutched what looked like a book of some kind in their hands.
"Girls, please," Mrs. Stapleton sighed, rubbing her temple. "Enough with the chatter, you're giving me a headache."
Jewel laughed as she approached the car, waving at the two girls who looked like they were practically bursting with excitement. "Hey there! Ready for your weekend? And what have you got there?"
"Our stuff is in the car," Sophie replied quickly, barely able to contain herself.
Melissa stepped forward and held out a book toward Jewel, her small hands clutching it with care. "It's got flowers in it," she explained proudly.
Curious, Jewel took the book and began flipping through the pages, noting the neat rows of pressed flowers, each one arranged with surprising precision. Mrs. Stapleton smiled as she watched. "They've been working on it for a few weeks now, pressing flowers for an arts and craft project at school. They've collected flowers from all over—our backyard, the park, even a few from the neighbor's garden!"
Jewel smiled as she examined the delicate petals and colors, a wave of nostalgia hitting her. "That's wonderful! I remember doing the same thing when I was in school. It's amazing how each flower keeps a little bit of the day you found it."
Melissa looked up with wide eyes. "Do you still have yours, Jewel?"
Jewel thought for a moment, her mind drifting back to the dusty attic. "You know, I just might. It's probably packed away with my old school things, up in the attic." She chuckled softly. "I'll have to dig it out one of these days."
Sophie's eyes lit up with excitement. "Maybe we can find some flowers to press here! Southern Lights has so many pretty ones!"
Jewel nodded, an idea forming as she looked at the two girls, each one eager and ready for adventure. "How about this? Tomorrow we'll take a ride around the property, see if we can spot some wildflowers to add to your collection. We can have a little picnic too, with the horses and dogs tagging along."
Both girls squealed in delight, and Jewel grinned, feeling their energy brighten the peaceful stillness of the station.
"Thanks so much for doing this, Jewel. Their father and I could really use a quiet weekend," Mrs. Stapleton said with a grateful smile.
"It's no trouble at all—I love having them around," Jewel replied warmly.
She handed the pressed-flower book back to Melissa and then reached into the car to help retrieve their bags. "Alright, let's get your things inside, and then we'll go round up your ponies for today's lesson," Jewel said, looking at the girls with a wink.
"Okay!" Sophie and Melissa chimed together, their faces lighting up. They turned and hugged their mother tightly. "Bye, Mum!"
"Goodbye, girls. Be on your best behavior," Mrs. Stapleton said, squeezing them each in turn before letting them go. As they headed toward the house, she gave one last glance and turned back to Jewel. "If there's any trouble, don't hesitate to give me a call."
Jewel nodded reassuringly. "Will do. They're in good hands—I'll make sure they have a great time."
Jack gave a nod, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Thanks, Jewel. All these tips are really helping. Gunner's a lot more sensitive than Rocky, that's for sure."
Jewel chuckled, reaching out to stroke Gunner's neck. "Haha, you're not wrong there. She's got her own style." Gunner tossed her head as if to agree, and Jewel smiled at the mare's lively spirit.
Just then, the low rumble of a car sounded from the gravel driveway, and they both turned to see a sleek sedan pulling up outside the barn. The engine cut off, and the doors opened as three familiar faces stepped out: Mrs. Stapleton and her two daughters, Melissa and Sophie.
Jewel glanced at her watch. "Right on time," she murmured to herself. She turned back to Jack, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it, okay? Same time next week, but with Berry."
Jack nodded, gathering Gunner's reins. "You got it. Come on, Gunner, let's get you a good massage." With a final wave to Jewel, he led the mare back toward the stables.
Jewel climbed over the arena fence and made her way to the Stapletons, who were standing by the car. Melissa and Sophie were all chatter, practically bubbling over with excitement as they clutched what looked like a book of some kind in their hands.
"Girls, please," Mrs. Stapleton sighed, rubbing her temple. "Enough with the chatter, you're giving me a headache."
Jewel laughed as she approached the car, waving at the two girls who looked like they were practically bursting with excitement. "Hey there! Ready for your weekend? And what have you got there?"
"Our stuff is in the car," Sophie replied quickly, barely able to contain herself.
Melissa stepped forward and held out a book toward Jewel, her small hands clutching it with care. "It's got flowers in it," she explained proudly.
Curious, Jewel took the book and began flipping through the pages, noting the neat rows of pressed flowers, each one arranged with surprising precision. Mrs. Stapleton smiled as she watched. "They've been working on it for a few weeks now, pressing flowers for an arts and craft project at school. They've collected flowers from all over—our backyard, the park, even a few from the neighbor's garden!"
Jewel smiled as she examined the delicate petals and colors, a wave of nostalgia hitting her. "That's wonderful! I remember doing the same thing when I was in school. It's amazing how each flower keeps a little bit of the day you found it."
Melissa looked up with wide eyes. "Do you still have yours, Jewel?"
Jewel thought for a moment, her mind drifting back to the dusty attic. "You know, I just might. It's probably packed away with my old school things, up in the attic." She chuckled softly. "I'll have to dig it out one of these days."
Sophie's eyes lit up with excitement. "Maybe we can find some flowers to press here! Southern Lights has so many pretty ones!"
Jewel nodded, an idea forming as she looked at the two girls, each one eager and ready for adventure. "How about this? Tomorrow we'll take a ride around the property, see if we can spot some wildflowers to add to your collection. We can have a little picnic too, with the horses and dogs tagging along."
Both girls squealed in delight, and Jewel grinned, feeling their energy brighten the peaceful stillness of the station.
"Thanks so much for doing this, Jewel. Their father and I could really use a quiet weekend," Mrs. Stapleton said with a grateful smile.
"It's no trouble at all—I love having them around," Jewel replied warmly.
She handed the pressed-flower book back to Melissa and then reached into the car to help retrieve their bags. "Alright, let's get your things inside, and then we'll go round up your ponies for today's lesson," Jewel said, looking at the girls with a wink.
"Okay!" Sophie and Melissa chimed together, their faces lighting up. They turned and hugged their mother tightly. "Bye, Mum!"
"Goodbye, girls. Be on your best behavior," Mrs. Stapleton said, squeezing them each in turn before letting them go. As they headed toward the house, she gave one last glance and turned back to Jewel. "If there's any trouble, don't hesitate to give me a call."
Jewel nodded reassuringly. "Will do. They're in good hands—I'll make sure they have a great time."
Happy Trails!
#82
Jewel / Story #3: Petals and Trails
Last post by Jewel - Nov 06, 2024, 12:13 AMJournal Entry
Story Disclaimer
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
This story is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places in this story are purely the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events or locations, is entirely coincidental. The descriptions of animals, plants, and activities related to equestrian care and flower pressing are included for fictional purposes only and may not reflect professional standards or practices.
Happy Trails!
#83
Jewel / Re: Journal Entries
Last post by Jewel - Nov 01, 2024, 02:28 PMJournal Entry
Halloween Festivities
Date: October 31
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Date: October 31
Jewel Cartwright
Halloween isn't exactly a typical celebration here at Southern Lights Station. It's always felt like more of an American tradition—pumpkins, costumes, and all that. But this year, I thought, why not give it a try? The idea of hosting a Halloween festival on the station started as a casual thought over breakfast, and before I knew it, we were planning the biggest event we've ever thrown. Not just for the staff, but for the entire community.
Getting everything organized took more planning and determination than I expected, but as I look back on tonight, I can honestly say it was worth every bit of effort. Emma and Alex were right by my side, helping design colorful flyers to hand out around town. They even convinced the general store to put up a poster in the window. Once word got out, excitement started brewing, and I realized we might be in for a bigger turnout than I'd planned. But the more, the merrier, right?
The preparations were a sight to behold. We brought in dozens of pumpkins—some real, some fake—to line the pathways and the barn entrance. Emma and Grace spent hours carving the real ones, turning them into jack-o'-lanterns that glowed with candlelight as the sun dipped below the horizon. I have to admit, I didn't expect much from pumpkin carving, but watching those faces flickering in the dark gave the station an eerie, magical feel.
Costumes were another big part of the night. Grace took the lead on organizing that, encouraging everyone to get creative. She made her own costume—a very impressive witch's outfit complete with a pointy hat and a broom she found in the old storage shed. Emma showed up as a zombie cowgirl, her face painted with so much detail I nearly did a double-take. Alex, to everyone's surprise, went full pirate. Eye patch, hat, even a fake parrot on his shoulder. Seeing the crew in costumes was strange, but the laughter and spirit it brought out were contagious.
We also made sure to stock up on candy, of course. We set up a candy station with buckets overflowing with treats—chocolates, lollipops, caramel apples. There was something incredibly satisfying about watching kids from the community dash over with wide-eyed excitement, filling their little bags with as much as they could carry. And the adults were just as entertained, laughing as they watched their kids race around and try to scare each other with plastic spiders and rubber bats we'd scattered around.
We set up a few games, too. Apple bobbing, a pumpkin toss, and even a mini corn maze we created by arranging hay bales in the big paddock near the barn. Watching families weave their way through it, laughing and stumbling in the dark, was a sight to see. The crew joined in, cheering the kids on and even taking a turn or two through the maze themselves. The laughter echoed through the night, blending with the sounds of horses softly nickering in their stables.
As the evening wore on, the bonfire became the heart of the event. We all gathered around it, the warmth cutting through the cool October air. Grace, ever the storyteller, decided to share a "ghost story" about a wandering spirit that supposedly haunts the old windmill at the far end of the property. She made it up on the spot, her voice low and dramatic, and the kids (and a few adults) listened with wide eyes, casting glances over their shoulders. Even though it was just a story, the flickering firelight and the shadows dancing on everyone's faces made it feel almost real.
And then there were the moments of stillness, the quiet pauses in between the laughter and games. Standing there, watching everyone gathered under the stars, I realized how much a night like this meant—not just to the community, but to me. We work hard here every single day, and nights like this remind me why. Southern Lights isn't just a place to work; it's a home, a place where people come together, where we make memories that go beyond the day-to-day routine of ranch life.
As the night wound down and families headed home, I could feel a deep sense of satisfaction settling over me. I hadn't expected Halloween to mean so much here, but it did. For a few hours, Southern Lights was transformed. It felt alive with a different kind of energy—a mix of joy, laughter, and a little bit of spooky magic.
Maybe we'll make this Halloween festival an annual tradition. Or maybe it'll stay as a one-off, a memory we'll talk about for years to come. Either way, tonight reminded me that sometimes it's worth stepping out of the usual routine and trying something different. This place is more than land, horses, and buildings. It's a living, breathing community. And tonight, Southern Lights shone a little brighter.
Getting everything organized took more planning and determination than I expected, but as I look back on tonight, I can honestly say it was worth every bit of effort. Emma and Alex were right by my side, helping design colorful flyers to hand out around town. They even convinced the general store to put up a poster in the window. Once word got out, excitement started brewing, and I realized we might be in for a bigger turnout than I'd planned. But the more, the merrier, right?
The preparations were a sight to behold. We brought in dozens of pumpkins—some real, some fake—to line the pathways and the barn entrance. Emma and Grace spent hours carving the real ones, turning them into jack-o'-lanterns that glowed with candlelight as the sun dipped below the horizon. I have to admit, I didn't expect much from pumpkin carving, but watching those faces flickering in the dark gave the station an eerie, magical feel.
Costumes were another big part of the night. Grace took the lead on organizing that, encouraging everyone to get creative. She made her own costume—a very impressive witch's outfit complete with a pointy hat and a broom she found in the old storage shed. Emma showed up as a zombie cowgirl, her face painted with so much detail I nearly did a double-take. Alex, to everyone's surprise, went full pirate. Eye patch, hat, even a fake parrot on his shoulder. Seeing the crew in costumes was strange, but the laughter and spirit it brought out were contagious.
We also made sure to stock up on candy, of course. We set up a candy station with buckets overflowing with treats—chocolates, lollipops, caramel apples. There was something incredibly satisfying about watching kids from the community dash over with wide-eyed excitement, filling their little bags with as much as they could carry. And the adults were just as entertained, laughing as they watched their kids race around and try to scare each other with plastic spiders and rubber bats we'd scattered around.
We set up a few games, too. Apple bobbing, a pumpkin toss, and even a mini corn maze we created by arranging hay bales in the big paddock near the barn. Watching families weave their way through it, laughing and stumbling in the dark, was a sight to see. The crew joined in, cheering the kids on and even taking a turn or two through the maze themselves. The laughter echoed through the night, blending with the sounds of horses softly nickering in their stables.
As the evening wore on, the bonfire became the heart of the event. We all gathered around it, the warmth cutting through the cool October air. Grace, ever the storyteller, decided to share a "ghost story" about a wandering spirit that supposedly haunts the old windmill at the far end of the property. She made it up on the spot, her voice low and dramatic, and the kids (and a few adults) listened with wide eyes, casting glances over their shoulders. Even though it was just a story, the flickering firelight and the shadows dancing on everyone's faces made it feel almost real.
And then there were the moments of stillness, the quiet pauses in between the laughter and games. Standing there, watching everyone gathered under the stars, I realized how much a night like this meant—not just to the community, but to me. We work hard here every single day, and nights like this remind me why. Southern Lights isn't just a place to work; it's a home, a place where people come together, where we make memories that go beyond the day-to-day routine of ranch life.
As the night wound down and families headed home, I could feel a deep sense of satisfaction settling over me. I hadn't expected Halloween to mean so much here, but it did. For a few hours, Southern Lights was transformed. It felt alive with a different kind of energy—a mix of joy, laughter, and a little bit of spooky magic.
Maybe we'll make this Halloween festival an annual tradition. Or maybe it'll stay as a one-off, a memory we'll talk about for years to come. Either way, tonight reminded me that sometimes it's worth stepping out of the usual routine and trying something different. This place is more than land, horses, and buildings. It's a living, breathing community. And tonight, Southern Lights shone a little brighter.
Happy Trails!
#84
Jewel / Re: Journal Entries
Last post by Jewel - Oct 30, 2024, 11:36 PMJournal Entry
Past and Future
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
So, today started off in a way I didn't expect. Grace caught me completely off-guard over our morning coffee. She looked over and asked, "You ever thought about what's going to happen to the station when you're gone?" Morbid, right? Not exactly the kind of question I get from the crew around here. But it's been playing on my mind all day.
What will happen to Southern Lights after me? It's a question I've managed to dodge for years, buried under all the day-to-day work, the horses, and the land. I guess I've always assumed I'd be around for a long, long time—at least long enough to keep the place running. But life doesn't work that way, does it? Eventually, I'll have to let go, and then what? Will the station just go to some stranger or a corporate investor with no soul, who'd bulldoze all the work I've put into it? The idea of that is... unsettling. Southern Lights isn't just land; it's part of me.
If I had kids, maybe things would feel different. I'd like to imagine passing down the station to them, sharing with them everything I've learned about the horses, the land, the sunsets that feel like they belong only to us. But that's not the reality, is it? My relationships have been sparse, just a handful of attempts that never panned out. I guess part of me always thought that someone would stick around eventually, but life has a way of proving otherwise. It's sad, honestly, admitting that, but it's the truth. Sometimes I wonder if I've put too much into this place and not enough into building a life outside of it. But then I think about leaving here and realize there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
Southern Lights is more than just a job or a home; it's everything I've poured myself into, my purpose, and my legacy, if I have one. There are so many memories wrapped up in this place—the early mornings, the smell of horses and earth, the silence before dawn. If I close my eyes, I can see every inch of it, from the way the gum trees catch the light to the spots in the paddocks that need mending. It's a part of me, and I'd like to believe it'll keep going, even if I'm not here to see it.
I guess all I can do for now is keep at it, take it one day at a time, and hold onto the hope that Southern Lights will find a way to live on, somehow. Whether it's passed down or just left to the hands of someone who cares, I'd like to think this land will keep telling its story long after I'm gone.
---
The weeks have gone by, and Grace's question is still lingering in my mind. But it's not just the future of the station—it's made me think about my own family history. It's strange—I've always felt so rooted here that I never really thought about where I come from or the people who came before me.
My dad was an only child, and then there's me—an only child as well. On his side, the family line seems to end with me. But my mother... I never really thought to ask if she had siblings, or if there might be more of us out there. I'm not sure why I never questioned it before. Maybe because it felt irrelevant to my life here on the station, or maybe because I always felt rooted enough in what I'd built here.
Now, though, I'm starting to wonder if I really am the last link in the chain. Do I have cousins or other relatives who share my history, my blood? Am I truly alone, or is there a bigger family web I've yet to untangle? I think part of me would find comfort in knowing there's someone out there who might understand what Southern Lights means to me. Someone who could understand the pride, the love, the ache of this place.
It looks like I'll have to do some digging to find answers—see if there are records, traces, or even stories that might bring some clarity. Maybe this search will turn up nothing, or maybe it will change everything. Either way, I think it's time to find out.
---
Today, while scrolling through the internet for pedigree records on some of my horses, I stumbled across a DNA and family tree website. I hadn't done much research on my family since the thought crossed my mind a few weeks ago, mostly because work has kept me so busy. But now, I feel like I can't put it off any longer.
I went ahead and sent off the paperwork they require, and in a few days, they'll be sending me an at-home test kit. Part of me is excited at the thought of finally getting some answers. Another part is nervous, wondering what I might uncover.
I will keep you in the loop when i get the results back.
What will happen to Southern Lights after me? It's a question I've managed to dodge for years, buried under all the day-to-day work, the horses, and the land. I guess I've always assumed I'd be around for a long, long time—at least long enough to keep the place running. But life doesn't work that way, does it? Eventually, I'll have to let go, and then what? Will the station just go to some stranger or a corporate investor with no soul, who'd bulldoze all the work I've put into it? The idea of that is... unsettling. Southern Lights isn't just land; it's part of me.
If I had kids, maybe things would feel different. I'd like to imagine passing down the station to them, sharing with them everything I've learned about the horses, the land, the sunsets that feel like they belong only to us. But that's not the reality, is it? My relationships have been sparse, just a handful of attempts that never panned out. I guess part of me always thought that someone would stick around eventually, but life has a way of proving otherwise. It's sad, honestly, admitting that, but it's the truth. Sometimes I wonder if I've put too much into this place and not enough into building a life outside of it. But then I think about leaving here and realize there's nowhere else I'd rather be.
Southern Lights is more than just a job or a home; it's everything I've poured myself into, my purpose, and my legacy, if I have one. There are so many memories wrapped up in this place—the early mornings, the smell of horses and earth, the silence before dawn. If I close my eyes, I can see every inch of it, from the way the gum trees catch the light to the spots in the paddocks that need mending. It's a part of me, and I'd like to believe it'll keep going, even if I'm not here to see it.
I guess all I can do for now is keep at it, take it one day at a time, and hold onto the hope that Southern Lights will find a way to live on, somehow. Whether it's passed down or just left to the hands of someone who cares, I'd like to think this land will keep telling its story long after I'm gone.
---
The weeks have gone by, and Grace's question is still lingering in my mind. But it's not just the future of the station—it's made me think about my own family history. It's strange—I've always felt so rooted here that I never really thought about where I come from or the people who came before me.
My dad was an only child, and then there's me—an only child as well. On his side, the family line seems to end with me. But my mother... I never really thought to ask if she had siblings, or if there might be more of us out there. I'm not sure why I never questioned it before. Maybe because it felt irrelevant to my life here on the station, or maybe because I always felt rooted enough in what I'd built here.
Now, though, I'm starting to wonder if I really am the last link in the chain. Do I have cousins or other relatives who share my history, my blood? Am I truly alone, or is there a bigger family web I've yet to untangle? I think part of me would find comfort in knowing there's someone out there who might understand what Southern Lights means to me. Someone who could understand the pride, the love, the ache of this place.
It looks like I'll have to do some digging to find answers—see if there are records, traces, or even stories that might bring some clarity. Maybe this search will turn up nothing, or maybe it will change everything. Either way, I think it's time to find out.
---
Today, while scrolling through the internet for pedigree records on some of my horses, I stumbled across a DNA and family tree website. I hadn't done much research on my family since the thought crossed my mind a few weeks ago, mostly because work has kept me so busy. But now, I feel like I can't put it off any longer.
I went ahead and sent off the paperwork they require, and in a few days, they'll be sending me an at-home test kit. Part of me is excited at the thought of finally getting some answers. Another part is nervous, wondering what I might uncover.
I will keep you in the loop when i get the results back.
Happy Trails!
#85
Trakand Stables / Characters of Trakand Stables
Last post by Morrigan - Oct 18, 2024, 11:45 PMThe Family
MORRIGAN WOLFE, 30
.
Co-owner of Trakand Stables together with her sister, Renee. Recently discovered her half-brother Tobias and is coming to terms with her father's affair. A bit of a homebody it's only her determination and ambition that drags her away from home managing an extensive show team and the logistics of maintaining it. When she can ride her preferred sport is dressage. Has a tendency to date women who look the same, to the point of it being a family joke. It doesn't help that her "harem unionized" and are all really close friends now.
RENEE WOLFE, 26
.
Co-owner of Trakand Stables together with her sister, Morrigan. Unlike her older sister Renee is a free spirit with her father's wandering soul. Discovering she had a brother was less of a shock and more like something she felt she should have expected. Bubbly, vivacious, and flirty to a fault, Renee never seems to take anything seriously except for her art. She's an avid hiker and skateboarder and competes in cross country though riding is not her passion in life - breeding and caring for horses however, very much is.
THOMAS GRAHAM, 37
.
The taciturn head trainer at Trakand Stables and cousin to the owners. He began competing when he was old enough to sit in a saddle and never looked back, destroying records where ever he went and dominating the eventing field. While competing internationally in the Olympics a bad fall forced him to retire. At that point he also met his now-husband, Harris, who was his surgeon. He resisted Harris for years even after the man moved to the United States, but eventually admitted his feelings and they're now quite happy together with their adopted daughter, Abigail.
JAMES TRAKAND II, 30
.
James has only ever cared about horses. From the time he was young, all he wanted was to be down at the stables, riding and spending time with the family horses. His grandfather had always kept a string of leggy hunters for sport, but quickly James found himself interested in dressage and soon it became his whole world and career. Aside from Theo, people tend to annoy James. He just doesn't have time for small talk, for boring relationships, and chatting over a beer. (Tara is alright, but he'd never tell her so.)
TARA TRAKAND, 31
.
Hailing from sunny California, Tara came to Oddwell on a mission: to learn from the esteemed Thomas Graham. Show jumping is her life and she's dedicated everything to becoming the very best. Her ambitions can sometimes be off-putting but Tara doesn't care. She's open and honest about her wants and his willing to make sacrifices for her dreams. Had a bit of a bump in the road in regards to her steamy affair with Sinclair, but by now most people have found more juicy topics to gossip about.
HARRIS GRAHAM, 42
.
A former surgeon who took one look at Thomas and knew he'd met the love of his life. He moved to the United States in order to continue with his wooing of the stubborn man and eventually they were married and adopted their adorable Abigail. Harris works as an accountant as well as a stable manager at Trakand Stables though he isn't overly fond of horses. He does love his dear Tuxedo, who is about a finicky horse as can be which is a quality Harris admires.
ABIGAIL GRAHAM, 10
.
Adopted as a newborn Abigail has never known any other life than one surrounded by horses and love. She's the little darling of Trakand Stables, a solid rider who pushes herself to be the very best she can be, though she of course has many other facets of life that she explores with her typical enthusiasm. She loves ballet and catching frogs with her second-cousin Vivi, as well as doing her homework in the big study in Morrigan's house.
SINCLAIR TRAKAND, 46
.
While he greatly resents being accused of peter pan syndrome, privately Sincalir knows he's not the most mature man in the world most days. He's skated by despite his lack of ambition and it's always just sort of worked for him. He dropped out of law school to his parents great disappointment, but sort of fell into business and marketing - something he later got a degree in. For a while he worked at Trakand Stables when Caitlin first re-opened it but then he saw an ad from the park service looking for rangers and he's been one ever since. It was quite the scandal when everyone found out about his secret relationship with much younger Tara, but by then she was pregnant with Vivi and the only thing he could do was marry her.
VIVIENNE TRAKAND, 12
.
Tara and Sinclair's only child, Vivi grew up with the pressure of having an incredibly talented mother with a passion for show jumping and a father who seemed to be content to take a backseat in regards to the whole parenting thing. It's frustrating for Vivi, who doesn't really like to ride, and more frustrating for her pseudo-aunts Morrigan & Renee who think that Tara is being unreasonable and unfair in comparing Vivi to Abigail, let alone forcing her ten year old to compete when she'd much happier reading by a pond or staring up at the stars.
JEREMIAH TRAKAND, 68
.
Both the oldest son and the oldest currently living Trakand, Jeremiah had been feeling his age more and more before the divorce with Nina - but even though it's still fresh, barely a year into single life, he's rediscovering himself. He forgot how much he enjoyed riding and gardening, being out in nature. He's taking the time to bond with his granddaughter now that he's retired as mayor of Oddwell and thinks she's just the smartest little girl in the whole world.
THEODORE TRAKAND, 30
.
Theo came into this world clutching his twin brother's foot and that seemed to set up a running theme in his life: he really doesn't like to be separated from his family. They're the most important thing he can think of. He'd tried once, going up to Boston to attend trade school but he hated it. He hated the cold, the quite, the loneliness. As soon as he could he moved right back to Oddwell and became a mechanic in town. It's hard to spend time with James II - his twin brother - which is why Theo does ride and even compete on occasion. it's a fun hobby he supposes, but the more important thing is getting to be around his favorite people and cheering them on.
EVERLEIGH TRAKAND, 17
.
High school student at Oddwell High, Everleigh's background remains mostly a mystery. Her father just showed up one year with a two year old toddler and no care for explaining himself, and that was that. It's quite unfortunate that she ended up emulating her father in that regard - having Carlin and refusing to name the father. She's a bright girl, bubbly and charming, who will do anything to be loved.
CARLIN TRAKAND, 2
.
One year old and ready to take on the world, little Carlin is the apple of his great-grandmother's eye. He spends most of his time with Cyra or Renee and has a love of oranges, dogs, and tearing down curtains.
HUGH TRAKAND, 34
.
Proud holder of the Family Disappointment title - something that took some doing given Jonah was in jail, Thomas and James II are assholes, and Theodore... okay, well Theo was never going to win anyway. The point is Hugh knows he's messed up. He ended up with a drug problem when he was in his early teens, was in and out of rehab before he ran away for the first time. He cleaned up enough to join the marines but then he was just gone for four years, completely radio silent, showing up back home with a daughter and death wish hidden behind a smile. He's still a wanderer, though he works as a bartender in town when he's home.
CYRA TRAKAND, 59
.
Heaven help her, though Cyra loves her boys it's so difficult to see what a mess they've (almost) all made of their lives. Thomas at least has a job he loves, a family, even if he's the most difficult of her sons - ask him a question and you get nothing but sarcasm in thanks! Jonah only recently came home to them, hopefully for good. She isn't sure what made her middle boy so angry but she prays jail cured him. And Hugh, oh Hugh. James II is a bit like Thomas, rude to a fault but at least he's doing what he loves. And Theo, he's like a big golden retriever. She just wishes he'd branch out. Cyra struggles with Fuchs Heterochromic Iridocyclitis which gradually has altered her eye color to a strange sort of blue and works part-time as a yoga teacher.
HENRY TRAKAND, 67
.
An architect who learned everything he knew right at his mother's knee Sinclair studied at some of the best schools before returning right back to Oddwell to take over the teaching of the next generation at Sinclair Site. He met Cyra while she was vacationing in the area one summer and she never really left - he always says it was the luckiest moment of his life, even if their sons are nothing but trouble.
JONAH TRAKAND, 32
.
Released last year from jail after a stint for assault and battery. He's still unemployed, and on parole, but it's clear that Jonah isn't really sorry for anything. He never has been. Morrigan and Renee reluctantly let him work at Trakand Stables here and there, mucking out stalls or mending fences, but he'll never be a full-time employee.
NINA PEVERELL, 68
.
A talented surgeon, Nina married her college sweetheart and followed him back home when it was clear they're early graduation celebrating had consequences in the form of a baby. They had a good marriage but something changed over the years and last year after the incident with the tomato plant they called it quits. She is now retired and lives in Tucson though she owns Friesians which are stabled at Oddwell.
CAITLIN TRAKAND deceased
.
She was a strong-willed woman, firm but kind. Horses meant everything to her and she did everything she could to make Trakand Stables a name in the show jumping community. That passion has inspired many of her extended family, including her beloved daughters. She died in a car crash along with Joel. It's unknown if she ever knew about his affair with Giselle Boucher.
JOEL TRAKAND deceased
.
The flightiest man that ever did live. He loved Oddwell but he had an artist's soul and that took him all over the world, following his fancy as he pleased. Marriage never seemed to suit him, but he loved Caitlin something fierce and there were no complaints when he brought her home. His artwork is especially collectible due to his early death. He never spoke about his time in France - but a recent DNA test revealed his affair with Giselle Boucher.
VIVIAN TRAKAND deceased
.
The matriarch of the Trakand family, Vivian was a renowned architect who founded the Sinclair Site and managed her husband's holdings with an iron fist. She gave the man three boys, something she never let him forget, and made Oddwell into the surreal town it is today.
JAMES TRAKAND deceased
.
The patriarch of the Trakand family. A wanderer and a dreamer, always said he hailed from Ireland and came from an aristocratic family there though it's never been verified. A good man, despite it all, who loved Oddwell deeply.
.
.
#86
Trakand Stables / Re: Trakand Family Tree
Last post by Morrigan - Oct 18, 2024, 10:38 PMJEREMIAH
Recently returned to riding in his retirement though hires professional riders to compete with his horses.
Overdressed
Bankrupt
Open to Suggestions
NINA
She always wanted Friesians but Jeremiah always talked her out of it saying it was ridiculous.
Veerle
Gerolt
Aafje
Roos
Sterre
Heleen
TARA
Professional show jumper though she does hire staff and riders to help maintain her horses.
Elayne
Egwene
Meniphei
Trakand Tigraine
Dionele
Trakand Mordrellen
Trakand Gleeman
Crowthorn Niamh
SINCALIR
Riders mroe as a hobby, though he hasn't lost his touch.
Merrilin
Muad'Dib
VIVIENNE
Reluctantly competes on her two horses.
Trakand Valera
Crowthorn Rathnait
HARRIS
Hires a suitable rider for Tuxedo to compete. Doesn't particularly like horses other than Tux.
Tuxedo
THOMAS
Due to an injury, Thomas is unable to compete at a professional level so he hires riders to compete on his horses.
Nynaeve
Trakand Bel Tine
Matrim
Faile
Jemmicoe
Marie-Claire
Trakand Nine Moons
ABIGAIL
New to eventing, usually just ends up wanting horses she thinks are sweet or cute.
Mastermind
Sitting Duck
Break The Bank
EVERLEIGH
Has taken more of an interest in riding after having her son, technically is leasing Sabrina from Morrigan.
That Me Espresso
THEODORE
Another family member who competes as more of a hobby but does ride his own horses.
Ever Given Ever Green
Mystic Charmer
JAMES
Serious dressage competitor though he hires staff and riders to help show his gorup.
Trakand The Nine Rods
Trakand Anvaere
Verin
Trakand Mashiara
Trakand Valan
Trakand Maerion
Lan
Moiraine
Mailadh
Braith
Trakand Wisdom
Emaleth
MORRIGAN
Due to her business commitments rarely is able to compete herself though she tries to be at every show regardless. When she does ride professionally it is usually on Perrin.
Min
Gawyn
Fortuona
Siuan
Perrin
Aviendha
Trakand Chiad
Trakand Lioness
Damsel in Distress
Showdown
Trakand Youngling
Gucci
Pop Fizz
Sister Ire
Honey Bee
Pipsqueak
Keara
Hot Topic
King of Maine
RENEE
Never really fell in love with professionally competing, hires riders to compete on her horses instead or leases them out. Is very involved when it comes to the breeding and care of the horses at Trakand Stables however.
Rand
Trakand Danelle
Better Have My Money
Trakand Two Rivers
House Cat
Ravenstag
Helicoprion
Trakand Kore
Draven
Death Becomes Her
Valentina
Wildmutt
Ianthe
Manners Maketh Man
Sleeping Beauty
Pot Kettle Black
Anatomical Venus
Trakand Ilyena
Recently returned to riding in his retirement though hires professional riders to compete with his horses.
Overdressed
Bankrupt
Open to Suggestions
NINA
She always wanted Friesians but Jeremiah always talked her out of it saying it was ridiculous.
Veerle
Gerolt
Aafje
Roos
Sterre
Heleen
TARA
Professional show jumper though she does hire staff and riders to help maintain her horses.
Elayne
Egwene
Meniphei
Trakand Tigraine
Dionele
Trakand Mordrellen
Trakand Gleeman
Crowthorn Niamh
SINCALIR
Riders mroe as a hobby, though he hasn't lost his touch.
Merrilin
Muad'Dib
VIVIENNE
Reluctantly competes on her two horses.
Trakand Valera
Crowthorn Rathnait
HARRIS
Hires a suitable rider for Tuxedo to compete. Doesn't particularly like horses other than Tux.
Tuxedo
THOMAS
Due to an injury, Thomas is unable to compete at a professional level so he hires riders to compete on his horses.
Nynaeve
Trakand Bel Tine
Matrim
Faile
Jemmicoe
Marie-Claire
Trakand Nine Moons
ABIGAIL
New to eventing, usually just ends up wanting horses she thinks are sweet or cute.
Mastermind
Sitting Duck
Break The Bank
EVERLEIGH
Has taken more of an interest in riding after having her son, technically is leasing Sabrina from Morrigan.
That Me Espresso
THEODORE
Another family member who competes as more of a hobby but does ride his own horses.
Ever Given Ever Green
Mystic Charmer
JAMES
Serious dressage competitor though he hires staff and riders to help show his gorup.
Trakand The Nine Rods
Trakand Anvaere
Verin
Trakand Mashiara
Trakand Valan
Trakand Maerion
Lan
Moiraine
Mailadh
Braith
Trakand Wisdom
Emaleth
MORRIGAN
Due to her business commitments rarely is able to compete herself though she tries to be at every show regardless. When she does ride professionally it is usually on Perrin.
Min
Gawyn
Fortuona
Siuan
Perrin
Aviendha
Trakand Chiad
Trakand Lioness
Damsel in Distress
Showdown
Trakand Youngling
Gucci
Pop Fizz
Sister Ire
Honey Bee
Pipsqueak
Keara
Hot Topic
King of Maine
RENEE
Never really fell in love with professionally competing, hires riders to compete on her horses instead or leases them out. Is very involved when it comes to the breeding and care of the horses at Trakand Stables however.
Rand
Trakand Danelle
Better Have My Money
Trakand Two Rivers
House Cat
Ravenstag
Helicoprion
Trakand Kore
Draven
Death Becomes Her
Valentina
Wildmutt
Ianthe
Manners Maketh Man
Sleeping Beauty
Pot Kettle Black
Anatomical Venus
Trakand Ilyena
#87
Trakand Stables / Renee's Instagram
Last post by Morrigan - Oct 18, 2024, 07:20 PM(a little early, but summer)
badgirlfriend
Whatever you heard it's probably true.
"I am looking disrespectfully"
"sorry grandma viv you're a mug now I don't make the rules (but I did make the mug)"
"beautiful hike today, thanks @whambamdangmaam for coming with!"
"finally felt inspired this morning <3"
"new board, ya like?"
"weekend trip to san diego ends with yoga on the pier"
"partyyyyyyy!"
"this hangover will not take the beach from me."
"beach! bars! boys! #vacationwiththebabes"
"well hello there handsome? don't worry this one already lives here @theoldermswolfe"
"do you think I need a vacation? I think I need a vacation"
"no wiser words out there"
2000 posts
50K followers
546 following
badgirlfriend
Whatever you heard it's probably true.
POSTS
REELS
SAVED
TAGGED
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"I am looking disrespectfully"
"sorry grandma viv you're a mug now I don't make the rules (but I did make the mug)"
"beautiful hike today, thanks @whambamdangmaam for coming with!"
"finally felt inspired this morning <3"
"new board, ya like?"
"weekend trip to san diego ends with yoga on the pier"
"partyyyyyyy!"
"this hangover will not take the beach from me."
"beach! bars! boys! #vacationwiththebabes"
"well hello there handsome? don't worry this one already lives here @theoldermswolfe"
"do you think I need a vacation? I think I need a vacation"
"no wiser words out there"
#88
Trakand Stables / Morrigan's Instagram
Last post by Morrigan - Oct 18, 2024, 06:19 PM(a little early, but summer)
theoldermswolfe
We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future.
"who else has a bank vault in their house?"
"when your talented niece asks you to model you model"
"egg queen continues to reign supreme ridden by the gorgeous @tara_flies!"
"thanks to all of your support we managed to prevent the wildlife preserve my father dedicated his life to from being destroyed"
"victorious before victory?"
"new personal trainer - in renee's words, I am scared and horny"
"more of grandma vivian's beautiful work downtown, I've always loved this particular arch"
"#sunshineybeachdaywithmybaby"
"this youngling has a lot to learn before he's a padawan"
"hello sheila"
"a bit windy today, right?"
"road trip! off to grimton for a show - lets go trakand! #teamtrakand"
341 posts
25K followers
20 following
theoldermswolfe
We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future.
POSTS
REELS
SAVED
TAGGED
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"who else has a bank vault in their house?"
"when your talented niece asks you to model you model"
"egg queen continues to reign supreme ridden by the gorgeous @tara_flies!"
"thanks to all of your support we managed to prevent the wildlife preserve my father dedicated his life to from being destroyed"
"victorious before victory?"
"new personal trainer - in renee's words, I am scared and horny"
"more of grandma vivian's beautiful work downtown, I've always loved this particular arch"
"#sunshineybeachdaywithmybaby"
"this youngling has a lot to learn before he's a padawan"
"hello sheila"
"a bit windy today, right?"
"road trip! off to grimton for a show - lets go trakand! #teamtrakand"
#90
Jewel / Re: Journal Entries
Last post by Jewel - Oct 09, 2024, 03:16 PMJournal Entry
Neblinas Arrival
Jewel Cartwright
Happy Trails!
Jewel Cartwright
Bruma Blanca had been nearing her due date for weeks, and I'd been keeping a close watch. The foaling alarm had been set up days ago, and though she'd shown the typical signs of a first pregnancy—restlessness, changes in her eating habits—everything had seemed on track. The vet had come by for regular check-ups, and each time, I felt a bit more at ease.
Still, last night, something told me to stay extra alert. It's hard to explain, but there's a certain feeling you get after years of being around animals—a gut instinct you learn to trust. And sure enough, around 5 a.m., the foaling alarm went off, cutting through the early morning quiet like a shot.
Startled awake, I grabbed my flashlight, threw on my robe, and headed out to the barn with the dogs hot on my heels. The fog was thick, the kind of mist that clings to everything, turning the paddocks into a hazy, dreamlike landscape. I knew Bruma was in trouble before I even reached her stall.
When I got to the barn, I found Bruma already lying down, her sides heaving as she struggled through labor. I'd prepared for this moment, but no amount of planning can really prepare you for seeing your mare in pain. I called her name softly, and she flicked an ear towards me, but her focus was entirely on what was happening inside her body.
I left the dogs outside the stall to keep watch, their soft whines the only sound besides Bruma's heavy breathing. If anyone came by, I knew they'd alert me. Moving into the stall, I crouched beside her, carefully watching her every movement.
At first, everything seemed to be progressing as expected—her contractions were strong, and she was doing what nature intended. But it wasn't long before I noticed that she was straining more than normal. Her sides heaved, her muscles quivered, and she kept shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a position that might ease her pain.
The knot in my stomach tightened. Something wasn't right. I placed a hand on her neck, whispering softly to calm her, though the anxiety in my own voice probably didn't help much. I'd seen enough foalings to know when things were taking a turn, and this wasn't progressing the way it should.
Trying to keep her and myself calm I quickly dialed the vet. Bruma's breathing had become faster, more labored, and the contractions were intense, but still no sign of the foal. Time slowed down as I waited for the vet to arrive, each minute feeling like an eternity. I could feel that creeping fear—what if help didn't come in time?
When the vet finally pulled up, I felt a rush of relief. She wasted no time, quickly assessing the situation. The foal was positioned awkwardly—breech, which explained Bruma's struggle. The vet worked swiftly and carefully, repositioning the foal while I stayed beside Bruma, whispering soft reassurances, though they felt small against the enormity of what was happening.
The next few minutes felt like hours. Bruma's strength was fading, her body trembling under the strain. For a brief moment, I feared she might not make it. But Bruma, my strong and stubborn girl, didn't give up. She fought with everything she had, and just as the first light of dawn began to filter through the barn's open door, she gave one last mighty push.
And then, there she was. A small, trembling figure, covered in the sheen of birth, but unmistakably alive.
The vet stepped back, a quiet smile on her face, and I finally exhaled. "It's a filly," she said softly. A bay.
Bruma lay still, completely exhausted, while the filly shivered beside her, trying to make sense of her new world. The vet checked Bruma first—her breathing was steady, no signs of tearing, and within minutes the placenta followed naturally. Another wave of relief washed over me. We'd made it.
Then, attention turned to the foal. The vet examined her gently, checking her heart rate and reflexes. The filly was small, but determined, and after a few wobbly attempts, she stood on her spindly legs, swaying but upright. Bruma, despite her exhaustion, reached out to nuzzle her foal, the kind of instinctive, quiet affection that only a mother could give.
It was in that moment, as I watched them together, that I knew what her name would be—Neblina, after the mist that hung over the paddocks that morning. It felt right, fitting. She had arrived in the early hours, shrouded in fog, but now she stood in the light, full of life.
After the vet left, I had stayed in the barn a while longer, watching mother and foal bond. Alex popped in to check on the newborn and myself, quietly taking the dogs back to the house for breakfast. For the first time in hours, I felt the tension leave my body. We'd pulled through, all of us.
---
After a few days in the barn, once both Bruma and Neblina were strong enough, I knew it was time to move them to a paddock. I carefully led them out, feeling a rush of joy as I watched Neblina take her first tentative steps into the fresh air. Bruma followed closely, her protective instincts on full display as she guided her foal into this new world.
The paddock was a welcome change, the grass swaying gently in the breeze. I could see Neblina's curiosity blossoming as she explored, nuzzling the ground and taking in the sights and sounds of the outdoors. Bruma, though still weary, seemed to regain some of her vitality in the open space, grazing contentedly while keeping a watchful eye on her daughter.
In that moment, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment, knowing they were both thriving in their new environment. Watching Neblina and Bruma together reminded me that, even after the struggle, life continues, and there's beauty in every new beginning.
Neblina's start in this world might have been difficult, but there's something about her spirit that tells me she's going to be just fine.
Still, last night, something told me to stay extra alert. It's hard to explain, but there's a certain feeling you get after years of being around animals—a gut instinct you learn to trust. And sure enough, around 5 a.m., the foaling alarm went off, cutting through the early morning quiet like a shot.
Startled awake, I grabbed my flashlight, threw on my robe, and headed out to the barn with the dogs hot on my heels. The fog was thick, the kind of mist that clings to everything, turning the paddocks into a hazy, dreamlike landscape. I knew Bruma was in trouble before I even reached her stall.
When I got to the barn, I found Bruma already lying down, her sides heaving as she struggled through labor. I'd prepared for this moment, but no amount of planning can really prepare you for seeing your mare in pain. I called her name softly, and she flicked an ear towards me, but her focus was entirely on what was happening inside her body.
I left the dogs outside the stall to keep watch, their soft whines the only sound besides Bruma's heavy breathing. If anyone came by, I knew they'd alert me. Moving into the stall, I crouched beside her, carefully watching her every movement.
At first, everything seemed to be progressing as expected—her contractions were strong, and she was doing what nature intended. But it wasn't long before I noticed that she was straining more than normal. Her sides heaved, her muscles quivered, and she kept shifting uncomfortably, trying to find a position that might ease her pain.
The knot in my stomach tightened. Something wasn't right. I placed a hand on her neck, whispering softly to calm her, though the anxiety in my own voice probably didn't help much. I'd seen enough foalings to know when things were taking a turn, and this wasn't progressing the way it should.
Trying to keep her and myself calm I quickly dialed the vet. Bruma's breathing had become faster, more labored, and the contractions were intense, but still no sign of the foal. Time slowed down as I waited for the vet to arrive, each minute feeling like an eternity. I could feel that creeping fear—what if help didn't come in time?
When the vet finally pulled up, I felt a rush of relief. She wasted no time, quickly assessing the situation. The foal was positioned awkwardly—breech, which explained Bruma's struggle. The vet worked swiftly and carefully, repositioning the foal while I stayed beside Bruma, whispering soft reassurances, though they felt small against the enormity of what was happening.
The next few minutes felt like hours. Bruma's strength was fading, her body trembling under the strain. For a brief moment, I feared she might not make it. But Bruma, my strong and stubborn girl, didn't give up. She fought with everything she had, and just as the first light of dawn began to filter through the barn's open door, she gave one last mighty push.
And then, there she was. A small, trembling figure, covered in the sheen of birth, but unmistakably alive.
The vet stepped back, a quiet smile on her face, and I finally exhaled. "It's a filly," she said softly. A bay.
Bruma lay still, completely exhausted, while the filly shivered beside her, trying to make sense of her new world. The vet checked Bruma first—her breathing was steady, no signs of tearing, and within minutes the placenta followed naturally. Another wave of relief washed over me. We'd made it.
Then, attention turned to the foal. The vet examined her gently, checking her heart rate and reflexes. The filly was small, but determined, and after a few wobbly attempts, she stood on her spindly legs, swaying but upright. Bruma, despite her exhaustion, reached out to nuzzle her foal, the kind of instinctive, quiet affection that only a mother could give.
It was in that moment, as I watched them together, that I knew what her name would be—Neblina, after the mist that hung over the paddocks that morning. It felt right, fitting. She had arrived in the early hours, shrouded in fog, but now she stood in the light, full of life.
After the vet left, I had stayed in the barn a while longer, watching mother and foal bond. Alex popped in to check on the newborn and myself, quietly taking the dogs back to the house for breakfast. For the first time in hours, I felt the tension leave my body. We'd pulled through, all of us.
---
After a few days in the barn, once both Bruma and Neblina were strong enough, I knew it was time to move them to a paddock. I carefully led them out, feeling a rush of joy as I watched Neblina take her first tentative steps into the fresh air. Bruma followed closely, her protective instincts on full display as she guided her foal into this new world.
The paddock was a welcome change, the grass swaying gently in the breeze. I could see Neblina's curiosity blossoming as she explored, nuzzling the ground and taking in the sights and sounds of the outdoors. Bruma, though still weary, seemed to regain some of her vitality in the open space, grazing contentedly while keeping a watchful eye on her daughter.
In that moment, I felt a deep sense of fulfillment, knowing they were both thriving in their new environment. Watching Neblina and Bruma together reminded me that, even after the struggle, life continues, and there's beauty in every new beginning.
Neblina's start in this world might have been difficult, but there's something about her spirit that tells me she's going to be just fine.
Happy Trails!