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Description
I am continuing my Horse Art rping. In a new way.

The End
Somewhere off the coast of Great Britain, somewhere hidden in the mists of Ireland, or maybe a little closer to Iceland there lies an island. The island is small enough to be missed, large enough to be seen. But it is always shrouded in mist and heavy fog, whatever the weather on the island itself. There are sandy beaches and emerald green meadows, dark mountain ranges and bleak desert, and there are deep forests.
Once there was a beautiful estate, with a manor and handsome stables. Those have been reduced to ruins. No one quite knows what happened, or where the people went who lived there. But they are gone, and the horses who escaped went out into the wilderness to become wild once more.
There had always been wild horses on the island. It was a place where victims of a shipwreck landed long ago. A Spanish galleon carrying exotic horses from faraway lands, caught in the mist unable to escape the jagged rocks that lined the island.
Among the survivors, mares and studs alike were a collection of the finest of the breeds that could then be had. Spanish war horses, African desert horses, desert horses from Turkmenistan, ponies from Iceland and exotic horses from the reaches of India. All of them mares and stallions, all of them the finest that could be bought or stolen.

Description
I am continuing my Horse Art rping. In a new way.

The End
Somewhere off the coast of Great Britain, somewhere hidden in the mists of Ireland, or maybe a little closer to Iceland there lies an island. The island is small enough to be missed, large enough to be seen. But it is always shrouded in mist and heavy fog, whatever the weather on the island itself. There are sandy beaches and emerald green meadows, dark mountain ranges and bleak desert, and there are deep forests.
Once there was a beautiful estate, with a manor and handsome stables. Those have been reduced to ruins. No one quite knows what happened, or where the people went who lived there. But they are gone, and the horses who escaped went out into the wilderness to become wild once more.
There had always been wild horses on the island. It was a place where victims of a shipwreck landed long ago. A Spanish galleon carrying exotic horses from faraway lands, caught in the mist unable to escape the jagged rocks that lined the island.
Among the survivors, mares and studs alike were a collection of the finest of the breeds that could then be had. Spanish war horses, African desert horses, desert horses from Turkmenistan, ponies from Iceland and exotic horses from the reaches of India. All of them mares and stallions, all of them the finest that could be bought or stolen.