Post by Dusty's Girl on Mar 9, 2009 21:59:46 GMT -5
Name: Dmitry
Age: 9 years old
Breed:Orlov Trotter
Height: 17 hh
Color: Dark Dappled Grey
Markings: Two hind socks and a bald face, if you can see it.
Sire: Parlos
Family Line: Parlos
Striking. Defiant. Precision. Spitfire. All words that would describe Dmitry, the son of Parlos. No, he was not born in the wild and it is still not sure how he ended up in these lands, but here he stands. Perhaps he was sent here to replace his sire, who was thought deceased on the train wreck. Perhaps he also had a wreck of his own. Would he tell? If you charmed him enough, he might indulge a bit of his tale.
Dmitry was born in Russia, his accent clearly showing that upon his first word. The thick and heavy build of the Orlov Trotter showed clearly from the time that he hit the ground, his legs yearning for the race already. His mother was proud of him, having known what Parlos could do. From the beginning, Dmitry showed his massive trot. It was a trot that would almost break his sire's record. Almost. His reach was just short of perfect in his left hind leg, a kick from another colt had left him with a touch of arthritis in that leg. But his pulling power was nothing short of spectacular.
So when the Americas called Russia, telling them that Parlos had been killed in a train accident, they had decided that Dmitry should go to them. It was hard to part with the stallion that was so like his sire, but it was worth it. He would return back to them in the end. After arriving in the Americas, Dmirtry was transported by van to where he was going, the plains. A rich farm, lavish with all types of racing studs had agreed to house him. He settled in nicely, his barn mates all stallions of the highest qualities. He looked nothing like them. They were sleek and fit, while he was stocky and thickly built. Of course, he had the speed and stamina that was needed to race sulkies in Russia and add that trot and stamina to the horses here.
Night always crept over the plains like a silent killer, but tonight it would claim lives. The lives of many top stallions were lost that night that the barn caught fire. Hay had set the fire, but Dmitry was in the pasture that night. His thick coat made it perfect for leaving him out at night so that he could relax in the coolness instead of during the day in the heat. Terror struck his heart and he ran. Not knowing where, he just ran.
Darkness invaded his soul, unlike his sire. Parlos had remained happy and delighted, though his wounds were devastating. Dmitry was still happy and of the good side, but he was rather sarcastic and could be a bit wicked sometimes. Especially if he was angry. But not all was evil with this son of Parlos, he was rather just confused at his being dumped here in these lands and he did not truly understand what everyone was saying. His language skills were minimal to say the least, having only known Russian all of his life. But for a long lived breed, he might just be able to master those skills one day.
Perhaps he is a ladies stallion though. Never has he had a herd, but he has had several mares that tagged along with him over the breeding seasons. His foals run wild, little half Orlov Trotters improving the herds now. He never pictured a herd in his mind, nor did he ever think that he could have one. Of course, he never really courted these mares, having a lack of communication and all. But it seemed that these mares were drawn to him for that very lack. But then again, maybe they were just foolish mares.
Word soon touched him that his sire, Parlos, was still alive and living in Sunshine River as a lone stallion in a small herd. He had to find out, he had to know if he was truly like his sire or not. His mother had often told him and the other stallions in Russia spoke of his sire for ages. But he was always told that he had died when the train derailed and Parlos was killed in the fires.
Age: 9 years old
Breed:Orlov Trotter
Height: 17 hh
Color: Dark Dappled Grey
Markings: Two hind socks and a bald face, if you can see it.
Sire: Parlos
Family Line: Parlos
Striking. Defiant. Precision. Spitfire. All words that would describe Dmitry, the son of Parlos. No, he was not born in the wild and it is still not sure how he ended up in these lands, but here he stands. Perhaps he was sent here to replace his sire, who was thought deceased on the train wreck. Perhaps he also had a wreck of his own. Would he tell? If you charmed him enough, he might indulge a bit of his tale.
Dmitry was born in Russia, his accent clearly showing that upon his first word. The thick and heavy build of the Orlov Trotter showed clearly from the time that he hit the ground, his legs yearning for the race already. His mother was proud of him, having known what Parlos could do. From the beginning, Dmitry showed his massive trot. It was a trot that would almost break his sire's record. Almost. His reach was just short of perfect in his left hind leg, a kick from another colt had left him with a touch of arthritis in that leg. But his pulling power was nothing short of spectacular.
So when the Americas called Russia, telling them that Parlos had been killed in a train accident, they had decided that Dmitry should go to them. It was hard to part with the stallion that was so like his sire, but it was worth it. He would return back to them in the end. After arriving in the Americas, Dmirtry was transported by van to where he was going, the plains. A rich farm, lavish with all types of racing studs had agreed to house him. He settled in nicely, his barn mates all stallions of the highest qualities. He looked nothing like them. They were sleek and fit, while he was stocky and thickly built. Of course, he had the speed and stamina that was needed to race sulkies in Russia and add that trot and stamina to the horses here.
Night always crept over the plains like a silent killer, but tonight it would claim lives. The lives of many top stallions were lost that night that the barn caught fire. Hay had set the fire, but Dmitry was in the pasture that night. His thick coat made it perfect for leaving him out at night so that he could relax in the coolness instead of during the day in the heat. Terror struck his heart and he ran. Not knowing where, he just ran.
Darkness invaded his soul, unlike his sire. Parlos had remained happy and delighted, though his wounds were devastating. Dmitry was still happy and of the good side, but he was rather sarcastic and could be a bit wicked sometimes. Especially if he was angry. But not all was evil with this son of Parlos, he was rather just confused at his being dumped here in these lands and he did not truly understand what everyone was saying. His language skills were minimal to say the least, having only known Russian all of his life. But for a long lived breed, he might just be able to master those skills one day.
Perhaps he is a ladies stallion though. Never has he had a herd, but he has had several mares that tagged along with him over the breeding seasons. His foals run wild, little half Orlov Trotters improving the herds now. He never pictured a herd in his mind, nor did he ever think that he could have one. Of course, he never really courted these mares, having a lack of communication and all. But it seemed that these mares were drawn to him for that very lack. But then again, maybe they were just foolish mares.
Word soon touched him that his sire, Parlos, was still alive and living in Sunshine River as a lone stallion in a small herd. He had to find out, he had to know if he was truly like his sire or not. His mother had often told him and the other stallions in Russia spoke of his sire for ages. But he was always told that he had died when the train derailed and Parlos was killed in the fires.
