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Description
Entry Piece

Show Name: Pheasant Ridge's Spring Show
Horse: CH Tartarus , Cypress Warmblood
Rider: Hunter Volos
Stable, Country: Cypress Hill, Russia
Class: Dressage, Day 2 (Start time 9:45 am)

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I just had to draw something green for once....

Sorry if I got PR wrong!

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Hunter scraped his hand down his face, shaking his head as his eyes narrowed at the texts coming from his wife. She was frustrated that he hadn't taken her to Pheasant Ridge with him, Czar, and Tartarus. He understood why. She worked with both horses daily and he had promised that she'd be able to travel more with the competition horses, even ride in some shows. Her bond with CH Veles, for example, was solid. She'd be a better handler for him that himself.

She couldn't come. Not until he figured out what to do about her sister. He would need to consult with Mikhail before making any moves.

A nudge to his shoulder tugged him from his thoughts and he turned to face CH Tartarus, one hand moving up to stroke his muzzle absentmindedly. This couldn't be a distraction.

Calling for Luka Volkov, his resident head of yearlings, he tilted his chin towards Czar, pacing unhappily in his stall. "Watch him while I take Tartarus through his paces in the dressage ring. He's too ansy without my wife.."

Though CH Veles was not a yearling, his bold temper and high energy was perfect for the young, blonde Russian, who just gave his boss a grin and a two finger salute.

His eyes narrowed to slits and a grunt left his lips as he led his mount of of his stall into the long hall. He had very little patience for other humans, and obviously his stallion did too. Tarn tossed his head once, flashing his tail against his hocks as he settled on a set of crossties, ears perking forward to focus on the Russian man in front of him.

'Easy," he muttered, walking along the warmblood's side for a moment, one hand running over his seal bay coat before he moved back in front of him. Satisfied with the horse's condition, he grabbed the embroidered dressage pad and began the saddling process.

As the man worked, Tarn's sharp blue eyes flashed around, taking in the odd sights and sounds of this strange location. He had spotted some familiar horses upon arrival, as well as a very well known salt-and-pepper-haired human that he had called to briefly before being led into his temporary home. NORMAN had joined him on the trip and his head swiveled to the side as the little Yakut squealed for him from behind the closed door.

"Oi, pay attention," Hunter grunted, eyeing the little shit before tapping Tarn's muzzle in retaliation. "I need you focused and you don't need the little ass causing trouble."

A few minutes later, fully decked out in his breed bridle and a new dressage saddle, Tarn had his head dropped down, playing with his bit as some of his braids were redone and his hooves shined.

Shaking his own head, Mr. Volos unclipped him from the ties and led him out of the barn, traversing the short distance to the large arena they'd be competing in. From there, he wasted no time and checked his girth and stirrups before quickly mounting. "Let's wake you up before we go in, no?"

Urging the large stallion on, the Russian quickly set him through his paces, focusing on both collection and extension to wake him up. His attention, however, was always torn, keeping an eye on his competition as they came and went, mentally keeping track of when they would need to enter.

A ping sounded from his phone and he quickly halted, taking out the device only to snort in amusement at a photo his wife had sent him of her standing with Vesnik, waving with a goofy smile on her face. He wouldn't reply right now, nor would he show any other emotion, but he'd definitely be calling her once he was back in the trailer.

A call for him and Tarn sounded and he silenced the device before angling Tartarus to the entrance of the beautifully decorated arena. It was time to get serious.

Word count: 664

Description
Entry Piece

Show Name: Pheasant Ridge's Spring Show
Horse: CH Tartarus , Cypress Warmblood
Rider: Hunter Volos
Stable, Country: Cypress Hill, Russia
Class: Dressage, Day 2 (Start time 9:45 am)

---------

I just had to draw something green for once....

Sorry if I got PR wrong!

---------

Hunter scraped his hand down his face, shaking his head as his eyes narrowed at the texts coming from his wife. She was frustrated that he hadn't taken her to Pheasant Ridge with him, Czar, and Tartarus. He understood why. She worked with both horses daily and he had promised that she'd be able to travel more with the competition horses, even ride in some shows. Her bond with CH Veles, for example, was solid. She'd be a better handler for him that himself.

She couldn't come. Not until he figured out what to do about her sister. He would need to consult with Mikhail before making any moves.

A nudge to his shoulder tugged him from his thoughts and he turned to face CH Tartarus, one hand moving up to stroke his muzzle absentmindedly. This couldn't be a distraction.

Calling for Luka Volkov, his resident head of yearlings, he tilted his chin towards Czar, pacing unhappily in his stall. "Watch him while I take Tartarus through his paces in the dressage ring. He's too ansy without my wife.."

Though CH Veles was not a yearling, his bold temper and high energy was perfect for the young, blonde Russian, who just gave his boss a grin and a two finger salute.

His eyes narrowed to slits and a grunt left his lips as he led his mount of of his stall into the long hall. He had very little patience for other humans, and obviously his stallion did too. Tarn tossed his head once, flashing his tail against his hocks as he settled on a set of crossties, ears perking forward to focus on the Russian man in front of him.

'Easy," he muttered, walking along the warmblood's side for a moment, one hand running over his seal bay coat before he moved back in front of him. Satisfied with the horse's condition, he grabbed the embroidered dressage pad and began the saddling process.

As the man worked, Tarn's sharp blue eyes flashed around, taking in the odd sights and sounds of this strange location. He had spotted some familiar horses upon arrival, as well as a very well known salt-and-pepper-haired human that he had called to briefly before being led into his temporary home. NORMAN had joined him on the trip and his head swiveled to the side as the little Yakut squealed for him from behind the closed door.

"Oi, pay attention," Hunter grunted, eyeing the little shit before tapping Tarn's muzzle in retaliation. "I need you focused and you don't need the little ass causing trouble."

A few minutes later, fully decked out in his breed bridle and a new dressage saddle, Tarn had his head dropped down, playing with his bit as some of his braids were redone and his hooves shined.

Shaking his own head, Mr. Volos unclipped him from the ties and led him out of the barn, traversing the short distance to the large arena they'd be competing in. From there, he wasted no time and checked his girth and stirrups before quickly mounting. "Let's wake you up before we go in, no?"

Urging the large stallion on, the Russian quickly set him through his paces, focusing on both collection and extension to wake him up. His attention, however, was always torn, keeping an eye on his competition as they came and went, mentally keeping track of when they would need to enter.

A ping sounded from his phone and he quickly halted, taking out the device only to snort in amusement at a photo his wife had sent him of her standing with Vesnik, waving with a goofy smile on her face. He wouldn't reply right now, nor would he show any other emotion, but he'd definitely be calling her once he was back in the trailer.

A call for him and Tarn sounded and he silenced the device before angling Tartarus to the entrance of the beautifully decorated arena. It was time to get serious.

Word count: 664