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Description
This is my application for a horse that I am very much in want of; the second of these four designs rosela.deviantart.com/art/Open… by . All I have to say is that while this story and painting are generally a bit strange, and while I can't really act like this particular storyline would continue at all, Rosela, she would be well-loved and drawn with some regularity.

Horse's Breed: Irish Sport Horse
Horse's Gender: Female
Horse's Age: 7 years
Horse's Height: 15.3hh
Horse's Color: Dappled Light Gray
Personality: Self-confident, unassuming, relatively sure-footed, very hardy. Gray makes her own decisions and sticks with them with an almost comical, mule-like stubbornness. She's not particularly authoritative or aggressive, she simply does what needs to get done without fretting or spooking. She makes a great mount right up until she decides that she is smarter or more confident than her rider, which is rare but it's happened in the past.

Aaaand here's her quickly-written vignette:
In a matter of hours, the empire of humanity had collapsed in on itself. Desolation swept the peoples of the Earth, and most of them were killed off. The ones that had survived the epidemic were driven out of their homes, to head to warmer climates by whatever means they had, as the world around them grew colder. Left in their wake were the countless animals that they had cared for- their pets, their cattle and livestock, the exotic species in the zoos. A lucky few were taken along, mostly cats and small dogs, those that didn't require too much food. An unfortunate number of them were made to rest quickly. Among the ones let loose were the horses on a small ranch in eastern Canada: two stallions and two mares, left to fend for themselves with their stall, stable, and pasture doors left wide open. Their tearful people freed them, kissed them each on the snout, and headed off in a packed pick-up truck. The horses didn't roam far for the first week or two- they even broke into the house and delighted in some new foods; they had no initial reason to leave. But the winter was coming on quickly, and they felt it crawling toward them each day. Eventually one of them, a dappled gray sporting mare the humans had called "Gray November", fled southward. One or two of the others started following her lead, but in their uncertainty of everything beyond their home, they turned back to their stables. They were all hardy animals, but Gray was likely the most hardy of the four, a descendant of rugged animals from the Irish moors many generations ago. With a few drops of still-wild blood within her, she was prepared.

Gray would never know what became of her little band. She pressed on for the next month or two completely alone, surviving day-to-day, ambling through increasingly thick brush. She would occasionally cut paths through the forest when her nose told her to do so, but often she stuck to the roadways. She began seeing other newly-feral animals also making the migration, and at one point found herself to be a part of a loose herd of horses, a mixture of this and that, all heading south. And just as the horses traveled together instinctively, so did the dogs form packs to better survive. These feral packs lost any sense of being tame: with their human families gone, these best friends of man were now much more savage, and although they usually scavenged none of the horses doubted that they might try to hunt.

That was just what happened in one particularly rural area, when a desperate pack of hungry dogs came upon Gray's new herd, now about a dozen horses strong. They sensed that they were being stalked, and it wasn't long before one of the herd members spooked and fled. And, of course, the whole herd spooked and ran, crying in fear. Gray was not in a frenzy as she began to run, though: she remained very sure of herself, at least as confident in herself as she should have been. She was a well-trained athlete and had no trouble keeping up. A few of the horses were picked off, and Gray sprinted to the side, back into the forest beyond the abandoned road. She ran down a steep and rocky hill, and paused before a stream, listening intently, head erect and ears swiveling. She was being pursued. She dashed through the waters and up the much higher hill beyond it. The adventure fueled her in her own quiet way. She heard the dog splashing after her, panting angrily. Gray continued at a gallop through the hill country until the sky had darkened some, before coming upon another street. This one was lower in elevation than the one she had been following, and was flooded like the stream. She had the energy to continue running, but when she stopped to listen again, waiting, there was only tense silence. Eventually a bird started singing in a tree above her, signifying the uneasy end of a chase. She shook her neck and sighed long and hard. Regaining and reorienting her calm self, she set off along the river-road again, looking for south.

Another couple of weeks passed, and this time Gray hardly came upon any signs of life beyond the frogs and ducks and small furry forest creatures that were so used to all of this weather. One night it stormed and the rain was fast and icy on the wind; the next morning, waking after a doze of a couple of hours, her head was thick with illness. Still she persisted. It was the day after this that she was discovered. Trotting messily through the watery road, there came another horse. He was neither one of her stable mates nor a part of the herd that had gotten picked off by the dogs- he was a Mustang, or close to a Mustang, a blue roan stallion even more fit for a feral life yet acting like a bundle of nerves. At first she ignored him; he seemed too skittish to be a good traveling companion. But he kept up with her easily enough, and soon she and this roan once named "Indy" banded together, hopeful for more of their kind, food, shelter, and more forgiving weather than this.

Look at me naming a gray horse "Gray" I'm such a hipster
Also confused light source is confused. Micron pens, Stabilo pens, water-soluble markers and watercolor pencils on bristol paper. No references used except for the adoption design itself.

Description
This is my application for a horse that I am very much in want of; the second of these four designs rosela.deviantart.com/art/Open… by . All I have to say is that while this story and painting are generally a bit strange, and while I can't really act like this particular storyline would continue at all, Rosela, she would be well-loved and drawn with some regularity.

Horse's Breed: Irish Sport Horse
Horse's Gender: Female
Horse's Age: 7 years
Horse's Height: 15.3hh
Horse's Color: Dappled Light Gray
Personality: Self-confident, unassuming, relatively sure-footed, very hardy. Gray makes her own decisions and sticks with them with an almost comical, mule-like stubbornness. She's not particularly authoritative or aggressive, she simply does what needs to get done without fretting or spooking. She makes a great mount right up until she decides that she is smarter or more confident than her rider, which is rare but it's happened in the past.

Aaaand here's her quickly-written vignette:
In a matter of hours, the empire of humanity had collapsed in on itself. Desolation swept the peoples of the Earth, and most of them were killed off. The ones that had survived the epidemic were driven out of their homes, to head to warmer climates by whatever means they had, as the world around them grew colder. Left in their wake were the countless animals that they had cared for- their pets, their cattle and livestock, the exotic species in the zoos. A lucky few were taken along, mostly cats and small dogs, those that didn't require too much food. An unfortunate number of them were made to rest quickly. Among the ones let loose were the horses on a small ranch in eastern Canada: two stallions and two mares, left to fend for themselves with their stall, stable, and pasture doors left wide open. Their tearful people freed them, kissed them each on the snout, and headed off in a packed pick-up truck. The horses didn't roam far for the first week or two- they even broke into the house and delighted in some new foods; they had no initial reason to leave. But the winter was coming on quickly, and they felt it crawling toward them each day. Eventually one of them, a dappled gray sporting mare the humans had called "Gray November", fled southward. One or two of the others started following her lead, but in their uncertainty of everything beyond their home, they turned back to their stables. They were all hardy animals, but Gray was likely the most hardy of the four, a descendant of rugged animals from the Irish moors many generations ago. With a few drops of still-wild blood within her, she was prepared.

Gray would never know what became of her little band. She pressed on for the next month or two completely alone, surviving day-to-day, ambling through increasingly thick brush. She would occasionally cut paths through the forest when her nose told her to do so, but often she stuck to the roadways. She began seeing other newly-feral animals also making the migration, and at one point found herself to be a part of a loose herd of horses, a mixture of this and that, all heading south. And just as the horses traveled together instinctively, so did the dogs form packs to better survive. These feral packs lost any sense of being tame: with their human families gone, these best friends of man were now much more savage, and although they usually scavenged none of the horses doubted that they might try to hunt.

That was just what happened in one particularly rural area, when a desperate pack of hungry dogs came upon Gray's new herd, now about a dozen horses strong. They sensed that they were being stalked, and it wasn't long before one of the herd members spooked and fled. And, of course, the whole herd spooked and ran, crying in fear. Gray was not in a frenzy as she began to run, though: she remained very sure of herself, at least as confident in herself as she should have been. She was a well-trained athlete and had no trouble keeping up. A few of the horses were picked off, and Gray sprinted to the side, back into the forest beyond the abandoned road. She ran down a steep and rocky hill, and paused before a stream, listening intently, head erect and ears swiveling. She was being pursued. She dashed through the waters and up the much higher hill beyond it. The adventure fueled her in her own quiet way. She heard the dog splashing after her, panting angrily. Gray continued at a gallop through the hill country until the sky had darkened some, before coming upon another street. This one was lower in elevation than the one she had been following, and was flooded like the stream. She had the energy to continue running, but when she stopped to listen again, waiting, there was only tense silence. Eventually a bird started singing in a tree above her, signifying the uneasy end of a chase. She shook her neck and sighed long and hard. Regaining and reorienting her calm self, she set off along the river-road again, looking for south.

Another couple of weeks passed, and this time Gray hardly came upon any signs of life beyond the frogs and ducks and small furry forest creatures that were so used to all of this weather. One night it stormed and the rain was fast and icy on the wind; the next morning, waking after a doze of a couple of hours, her head was thick with illness. Still she persisted. It was the day after this that she was discovered. Trotting messily through the watery road, there came another horse. He was neither one of her stable mates nor a part of the herd that had gotten picked off by the dogs- he was a Mustang, or close to a Mustang, a blue roan stallion even more fit for a feral life yet acting like a bundle of nerves. At first she ignored him; he seemed too skittish to be a good traveling companion. But he kept up with her easily enough, and soon she and this roan once named "Indy" banded together, hopeful for more of their kind, food, shelter, and more forgiving weather than this.

Look at me naming a gray horse "Gray" I'm such a hipster
Also confused light source is confused. Micron pens, Stabilo pens, water-soluble markers and watercolor pencils on bristol paper. No references used except for the adoption design itself.