Official Mascot Backstories Thread!

* Please post below your Mascot's Backstory!
* Share with the rest of HP how your Mascot came to be/who they are/what's been going on with their lives/fictional/non-fictional, etc.
* Your story doesn't have to be super long, a few paragraphs is fine if this is an area you struggle with!

*** NOTE: *** Your backstory must be original to you, ie not something copied from a book/wiki/or other media source. Something created of your own making!
***OTHER NOTE*** Do Not use an AI program or an AI assisted program to help you write your story!
Taking someone else's writing and claiming it as your own is heavily frowned upon and not ok!
If caught plagiarising, an immediate disqualification will occur!

* Include your mascot's Name & ID# in your post!
* A separate thread post is required per mascot entry!

Backstories are due on Sunday April 12th!
- No later than 11:59pm HP Time!
 - Failure to post in here by the due date will result in an immediate disqualification!


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Please wait to post any backstories until sign-ups have closed and the training portion of the contest begins!

Lotus #465430

Long before her first hoof touched earth, before the first hint of cold air filled her lungs, there was a long forgotten valley where the old bloodlines still whispered to the wind—ghost herds of spotted coats and iron-hardend hearts, a breed long forgotten. In that valley, a muddy puddle was all that remained of a thriving pond that once nurtured the great herd. 

Years passed. The valley fell into destitution. Then one day out of nowhere grew a single night-blooming flower, pale as moonlight and stubborn enough to root itself in the murk. 

When the breed’s future was already long lost and forgotten, the flower opened.

From its center rose mist instead of pollen, and within that mist lived a dream, of hooves that would never forget the land, of spots that carried the stories of distant ancestors. The dream took shape slowly, petal by petal, breath by breath, until the mist thickened into muscle and bone, mane and tail, heart and fire.

At dawn, where the flower had been, there stood a foal.

Her coat bore the marks of the old ones: constellations etched in white scattered across da darkened sky, as if the night sky had chosen her for its star studded canvas. Her eyes were deep and steady, holding the quiet knowing of something born with purpose. The flower had vanished, sinking in dust back into the water, but its name remained—Lotus.

The valley did not celebrate her arrival.

It had forgotten how.

Wind moved through the skeletal reeds silently. The pond that once held reflections now mud swallowed them. There were no mares to nicker at her unsteady steps, no elder stallion to arch his neck in warning or welcome. Only the long hush of a place that had outlived its own story.

Lotus stood alone where the flower had surrendered itself.

The first days were a lesson in silence. She learned the shape of the hills by shadow, the taste of thin water by patience. When she called, her voice echoed back into her, unanswered. So she stopped calling. Instead, she listened.

She didn’t realize it but, the land was starting to remember.

Beneath the brittle grass, there were faint impressions of hooves layered upon hooves, generations pressed into the soil like scripture. When Lotus moved, she placed her feet carefully, as if stepping into those old tracks might summon warmth and comfort from them. Sometimes the wind would stir and for a moment she could almost feel bodies moving beside her—phantoms of spotted flanks and fairy knotted manes, hearts beating in rhythm.

She did not chase the feeling. She did not run with the ghostly herd. She had learned long ago it was just another glimpse of false hope.

She did however let it walk with her.

Seasons tested her without mercy. Spring brought little more than stubborn shoots and biting rain. Summer baked the valley until the mud cracked into maps of what had been. Autumn stripped the hills bare. And winter returned with its silver knife, cutting breath short and turning the world into a white, cold and desolate silence.

More than once, she stood at the edge of the ravine where the old pond had once swelled wide and generous. The drop was steep. The stones below waited without judgment. The wind leaned against her, steady and persuasive.

But Lotus did not step forward. She didnt jump.

She lowered his head instead, pressing her muzzle into the frozen earth, breathing against it until warmth formed in a small cloud. The land had given her a name. She would not give it back in surrender.

In her second year, something changed.

Not in her—she had always carried the ember—but in the valley.

Where her hooves passed again and again along the same narrow path, grass began to hold. Where she pawed through frost for roots, the soil loosened. Where she stood back against the wind, seeds gathered, blown in from what seemed like nowhere. The muddy remnant of the pond deepened by inches, then by more, as runoff found channels her restless pacing had carved.

She did not know she was restoring her land. 

She only knew to keep moving.

Lotus grew tall and broad-chested, her spotted coat bright against the still muted land like a memory refusing to dull. Travelers began to notice from distant ridgelines: the quick flash of patterned hide where none had been for decades. The shadowed form at the top looking down blending in with the constellations of the sky. Some spoke of a wild mare born from the fog. Others called her omen or miracle. None understood that she was neither.

She was persistence given muscle and flesh.

One late spring evening, as the light thinned to gold, a distant shape appeared at the valley’s edge. Small. Hesitant. A stallion with a coat marked faintly in the old pattern, diluted but unmistakable. He stepped forward, drawn not by myth but by the scent of now plentiful water and growing grass.

Lotus did not run to him.

She simply stood.

The wind moved between them. The valley, once hollow, held its breath.

Behind them, the pond reflected sky for the first time in years.

The old bloodlines had whispered long enough.

Now Lotus answered.

G9 ? Alleluia (#465913)

On the salt-bright edge of Assateague Island, where the wind never learned to whisper, a filly named Alleluia ran with the tide.

A palomino filly was born beneath a sky the color of pearl during a summer squall, all legs and lightning. The herd knew her as the one who chased seabirds for sport and splashed too far into the surf. The humans—watching from the dunes with binoculars and sunburned noses—would later call her “the golden comet.”

Alleluia belonged to the wild band that roamed between marsh and sea, the famed Chincoteague pony whose ancestors were said to have swum ashore from a shipwreck long ago. Whether that story was true or not, Alleluia carried herself like a survivor of storms. She trusted the taste of salt in the air more than any fence line.

Each July, the quiet rhythm of the island changed. Boats gathered. Crowds lined the shore near Chincoteague. Voices carried over water like gull cries. It was time for the Pony Swim and Auction, when the Saltwater Cowboys would guide part of the herd across the channel. Some ponies would find homes beyond the marsh; others would return to the wild.

This year, a new event had been added: a photography and conformation showcase to celebrate the island’s most remarkable young pony. The prize was simple but powerful—guaranteed protection within the herd and a sponsorship that would fund conservation of the wild bands for another year. The humans called it a contest. The ponies simply felt the shift in the wind.

Alleluia had no interest in contests. She was interested in racing her shadow across tidal flats and in learning which patches of cordgrass tasted sweetest at dawn. But when the roundup came, she did not panic. She moved with her band, hooves drumming a steady rhythm through shallow water, foam flecking her knees as they swam.

On the far shore, under a sky the color of polished tin, the judges waited. Cameras flashed. Children pointed. Other yearlings stood groomed and gleaming, manes combed by careful hands.

Alleluia looked smaller than most of them. Salt had tangled her forelock. A faint scar traced her shoulder from a winter scrape against driftwood. She smelled of marsh and freedom.

When it was her turn in the ring, a hush spread through the crowd.

She did not prance. She did not toss her head in showy arcs. Instead, a sudden gust barreled in from the Atlantic, snapping the flags and sending sand skittering across the ground. Several ponies shied, eyes rolling.
Alleluia lifted her head into the wind.

For a heartbeat, she seemed to listen—to the rush of surf beyond the dunes, to the distant cry of terns wheeling overhead. Then she moved.

She broke into a canter that was neither trained nor wild but something in between—a memory of open shoreline carried into a circle of white rails. Her hooves struck the earth with clean, balanced beats. She curved around the ring as if tracing the outline of the island itself. When the wind shoved at her flank, she leaned into it, steady as a lighthouse.

A scrap of paper blew across her path. Without breaking stride, she gathered herself and lifted—just enough to clear it—landing light as seafoam.

In that instant, the judges stopped scribbling. The cameras forgot to click.

They were not looking at perfection polished by human hands. They were looking at resilience shaped by tide and storm. At a pony who could swim a channel at dawn and graze under moonlight without losing her way.

When Alleluia halted, breath misting in the salt air, she did not bow her head. She gazed beyond the ring toward the thin blue line of water separating shore from wild.

The announcement came a few minutes later, carried through loudspeakers that crackled in the heat: the year’s champion, the spirit of the island, was the golden filly from the northern marsh.

Applause rolled like distant thunder.

A ribbon was tied to the fence, its blue bright against the weathered wood. Alleluia sniffed it once, unimpressed.

That evening, after the crowds thinned and the sun melted into the sea, she was guided back across the channel with the band chosen to remain wild. The sponsorship money would help protect her grazing grounds, the marsh creeks, the fragile dunes.

But Alleluia did not know about money or titles.

She knew only the cool suck of mud between her hooves and the joy of breaking into a gallop along the shoreline as the stars came out. She ran until the island blurred into silver and shadow, until the world was nothing but wind and tide and the steady drum of her heart.

The contest had given her a ribbon.

The island had already given her everything else.

G9 ?? Asa (#202848)

Asa was born on a night when the snow swallowed the world.

The old farmhouse sat at the edge of a pine forest in the Swiss Alps, not far from the historic hospice founded by the monks of the Great St. Bernard Pass. His breed—descended from the legendary rescue dogs of the Great St. Bernard Hospice—had long been associated with strength, patience, and an almost mystical sense of direction in storms. From the moment he opened his heavy-lidded eyes, Asa seemed to carry that legacy like a birthright.

He was the largest pup in the litter, all oversized paws and solemn brown eyes. A dark mask framed his face like a knight’s visor. While his siblings tumbled and yipped, Asa preferred to sit beside the farmhouse door, watching the snowfall as if memorizing it.

When he was eight months old, the winter came early and hard. A sudden storm rolled over the mountains, swallowing trails and turning familiar slopes into blank, white labyrinths. That afternoon, a young hiker named Elise failed to return from a ridge walk. The villagers searched until nightfall, but the wind drove them back.

Asa paced relentlessly by the door, whining low in his throat. At last, his owner fastened a lantern to his coat and opened the gate.

“Go on, then,” he whispered.

Asa plunged into the blizzard.

Snow clung to his fur and crusted on his whiskers. The wind howled so loudly it seemed alive. But beneath the roar, Asa found something else—a faint, irregular rhythm. Not a sound exactly, but a pattern: the way snow sagged in one place, the faint scent of wool and fear buried under ice.

He dug.

Minutes felt like hours. His paws burned, but he kept going, carving a hollow into the drift. Finally, he uncovered a gloved hand. Elise was half-conscious, her face pale as the storm around her.

Asa lay beside her, pressing his massive body against hers, sharing what warmth he could. He barked once—deep and thunderous—then again. The sound carried farther than it should have in that wind. Villagers later swore it echoed like a bell across the valley.

Asa's owner followed the sound.

When they found Asa, he refused to move until Elise was lifted safely onto the sled. Only then did he rise, snow cascading from his back like shaken flour, and trot beside them as though he’d merely fetched a stick.

Word spread quickly through the valley. Children left ribbons by the farmhouse gate. The local baker named a loaf after him—dense, warm, and comforting. Travelers stopped to stroke his broad head for luck before crossing the higher passes.

But Asa never seemed to notice the attention. Each morning, he returned to his quiet vigil by the door, watching the mountains as if waiting for the next whisper beneath the wind.

Years later, when his muzzle had gone silver and his steps had slowed, another storm came. This time it was a pair of skiers who vanished beyond the ridge. Asa was old, arthritic, and half-deaf. His owner tried to hold him back.

Asa slipped the leash.

He didn’t run like he used to. He moved steadily, deliberately, following memory more than scent. It took longer, but he found them—huddled in a shallow dip, disoriented and frostbitten.

When the rescue party arrived, they found Asa lying between the two skiers, snow piled along his sides. He lifted his head once, thumped his tail weakly against the drift, and closed his eyes—not in defeat, but in contentment.

Asa survived that night, though he never chased another storm again. He spent his remaining days by the hearth, children leaning against him like a living pillow, travelers tracing the scar along his paw from that first rescue.

When he finally passed, the villagers buried him facing the mountains.

Even now, when the wind cuts sharp across the pass and the snow falls thick as silence, some swear they hear a single, steady bark rolling through the valley—guiding the lost home.

Aloka #465634

I grew up as you would expect any young colt to; running and playing in the fields, playing hide and seek in the trees, eating lush green grass (so much eating!), chasing the birds and sunsets. 

The change didn’t happen overnight, but it was more like a slow burn. Something that got too hot and was simmering just under the surface, slowly breaking through and spreading like a wildfire.

Little by little, I watched those all around me stop playing, stop standing in sun beams together, becoming more solemn and solitary in their demeanor. Friends started fighting with one another over a patch of grass, when the same exact grass was all around. They started fighting over the same grain bin, even though there were plenty to go around. Friends started turning their backs on one another, and always seemed angry.

As the time went on, and I watched those all around me turn bitter and hateful, I knew that I had to try to do something. This isn’t the way that things are supposed to be. Sure, everyone has their differences, beliefs, and pasts, but at the end of the day, we are all the same.

I began to try and reconnect with those that had been pushing everyone away. Trying to open their eyes to what life is supposed to be about. Show them how much good there truly is in the world, and that life is better if we can work together and build each other up, instead of always trying to tear everyone and everything around us down.

Over time, as I looked around me, I started seeing friends once again grazing together and enjoying each other's company.  The small shifts in the body language where they would shift over to let another enjoy the same sunbeam as it came through the trees, and finding the simple peace in just being next to one another. 

The love and happiness that I remember as a colt, once again started to appear. The playfulness had returned to the valley and it was like a weight had lifted off of my shoulders, I felt like I could finally breathe again. 

No matter how hard life gets, I remind myself that as long as I stay true to myself, and show kindness to others, there will always be light in this world. You never know what someone else is going through, so if we can find it within ourselves to show grace and patience, we may just be the one thing that can help bring someone else back from the darkness.

~Aloka

Celsius | (ID #202854)

Celsius was born a tiny thing. Smaller than the rest of her litter, she had to learn ways to catch her mother, and the humans attention but found she was often overlooked. One day when her whole litter had been let outside on a seemingly nice sunny afternoon Celsius spotted a small ‘something’ in the bushes. Ever curious, she wandered away from the rest of her siblings.

Her spirits were high as she went on her adventure, chasing down what turned out to be a newspaper that had blown into the foliage. Her spirits, however, were dampened as she returned to the spot where her siblings and mother were or rather had been.
With her tail low she returned to her now, what seemed not so much of a prize newspaper. In the fading light she spotted an ad for superwoman. Celsius closed her eyes as the weather began to turn from what had been a nice sunny day to near freezing.
As she began to fall into dreamland the image on the newspaper of superwoman infiltrated her consciousness.

She became superwoman in her dreams.  Her paws became the wielders of wonder, her left paw glowing with fire, and her right brilliant with ice crystals. She went on many adventures fighting all sorts of villainous foes.  Her dreams got her through the night, and it was hard for her to wake up the next morning, when her humans came a calling. She eventually did manage to wake up and rejoin the world of reality and her family, a little bolder, a little more ‘powerful’ she would never be forgotten again. She would however,  always remember that night filled with adventures and whimsy.

Captain Jack Sparrow #202669

The wind howled through the rigging of the Black Pearl as it slipped through the midnight shoals of the Lesser Antilles. Moonlight fractured on the sapphire sea, turning every wave into a silver blade. In the quiet cabin, Jack Sparrow—rum in one hand, a crumpled map in the other studied the tiny, charcoal drawn island that clutched the horizon like a thief’s secret.

“And that’s where they’ve taken my dear Elizabeth,” a voice whispered from the darkness. It was Gibbs, eyes narrowed, a thin line of worry cutting across his weathered face.

The map was a half hearted scrap from a drunken informant: a crescent of white sand, a cliff side cave, and the guttural symbol of the Red Serpent. A pirate gang that had vanished from the charts after the Battle of Isla de la Muerte. They’d resurfaced, and with Elizabeth in their clutches, the word “hostage” felt like a blade set against Jack’s spine.

Jack tucked the map into his coat, tipped his hat, and slipped onto the deck. The Pearl slipped into the shallows, scraping over coral like a cat’s claws. The island rose ahead—a volcanic monolith veiled in jungle, the air thick with the scent of mangrove and sea salted decay.

He stepped onto the beach, sand cold under his boots, and the silence was broken only by the distant hoot of a night bird and the muffled chant of men in the darkness. He could feel eyes on him, the island itself watching, waiting.

The Red Serpent’s encampment lay in a hollow beneath the cliff, a ring of torches casting long, jittery shadows on the walls. Men in tattered coats moved like ghosts, their faces hidden behind bandanas stained with the sea’s red tide. Jack crept along a narrow ledge, his boots silent over the damp stone, his mind replaying every story of Elizabeth’s stubborn bravery. He had to find her before the tide rose and washed away any chance of escape.

A sudden clatter—an overturned crate, a splintered branch stilled his heart. A guard turned, eyes narrowing. Jack’s hand slipped to his cutlass, but he raised a palm instead.

“Gentlemen,” he crooned, his voice smooth as dark rum, “I’m a humble traveller seeking shelter from the storm. Might you spare a weary soul a night’s rest?”

The guard snorted, but before he could answer, a second voice rose—sharp, familiar, edged with fury.

“Jack!” yelled Elizabeth

It was Elizabeth, the sound carrying across the clearing like a lighthouse. She stood on a stone slab, bound but defiant, a thin scar of blood staining her cheek. Her eyes, bright as the Caribbean sun, locked onto his.

The guard’s hand tightened on his sword, but the moment stretched a heartbeat, a breath before another figure lunged. Gibbs, hidden in the foliage, sprang forward, club in hand, smashing the guard’s weapon against the stone. In the chaos, the Red Serpent’s leader, a scarred man named Calico Reyes, emerged, his saber flashing.

Jack slipped the cutlass from its sheath, the metal singing in the night. “You’ve got the wrong captain,” he whispered, stepping into the circle of firelight. Their blades met in a spray of sparks, each strike echoing like the crash of distant surf. Jack’s dance was reckless, his footwork a drunken waltz that left the enemy disoriented.

He ducked under a thrust, drove his blade into Calico’s thigh, and kicked the man back onto the sand. The other guards fell one by one. Gibbs’s club, Elizabeth’s quick jab with a hidden dagger, and Jack’s ruthless precision. When the last torch guttered, the clearing fell into a breathless quiet.

Jack rushed to Elizabeth, cutting the rope that bound her wrists. She stumbled, caught herself, and smirked, “You always take the longest route to the rescue, Jack.”

He brushed a stray lock from her forehead. “And you always make it worth the trouble,” he replied, his grin as crooked as the horizon.

They headed back to the Black Pearl as dawn painted the sky in purples and gold. The sea, now calm, reflected their silhouettes and two conspirators against the world’s endless tide.

As the Pearl slipped away, the island receded, its secrets once more swallowed by the mist. Jack tipped his hat to the rising sun, a faint chuckle slipping from his lips.

“Another day, another debt paid,” he murmured, the promise of rum and adventure already humming in his veins. The Caribbean whispered behind them, its waves a reminder that danger never truly sleeps, but neither does the heart of a pirate who loves the chase.

Kobold's Revenge

The stable had stood for generations, its foundation built on respect - offerings of milk left in corners, acknowledgment whispered to the unseen. The kobolds had been there longer than the horses, tending the stables in their own way, accepted and honored.

Ten years ago, the younger generation took over. Modern. Efficient. Automated waterers, programmed lights, technology over tradition. They laughed at the old ways, at spirits and offerings. Superstition, they called it.

The kobolds did not forget.

It started small - systems failing at exactly 12:01am, offline for precisely ten minutes. One minute for each year of disrespect. Workers hired to maintain the technology suffered strange accidents, never fatal but increasingly frequent. The older generation knew. They recognized the pattern, the anger. But the young ones refused to listen.

Then she was born.

A maiden mare, never covered by human hands, bore a foal dark as earth itself. The kobolds had taken their revenge into their own hands, breeding her to a horse of fae blood. The result was unmistakable - too intelligent, too wild, too other to be controlled by those who'd forgotten how to see magic.

"Untrainable," they declared. "Cursed." Despite her dam's prestigious bloodlines, they wanted nothing to do with her. She was sold at a weanling sale, cast out like the traditions they'd abandoned.

But Darkhollow's trainer saw her and knew. Recognized the mark that only those who still honored the old ways could see. She wasn't cursed. She was exactly what she was meant to be.

At Darkhollow, where mist clings to ancient trees and the veil runs thin, where respect for what cannot be seen still matters - Kobold's Revenge finally came home.

( Kobold's Revenge #465946 )

In a world where monsters roamed free and special skills and abilities to destroy them were highly coveted, Satrou Gojo was born . He was born into a highly prominent family that was one of the top 3 families in the world known for having very powerful and unique abilities passed down to only few of the family members, despite being born into this family as a young child Satrou Gojo was fairly sheltered to protect him from anyone or anything that might was to bring him harm, even so as he grew he began to understand that he was special and incredibly strong. His abilities grew stronger the more he trained, and with that came some arrogance and him thinking he was basically untouchable which in turn changed his entire mindset about himself and the people around him. Everyone told him he was special, everyone told him he was the strongest so that means he must be right?

Once Satrou Gojo grew up and was finally able to go to a proper school to continue to refine his abilities he met his best friend who also had abilities but never nearly as strong as his own, different personalities but still a powerful duo they went on missions together to destroy the monsters, as time went on their different personalities and difference in opinions on how to navigate the world became more of a challenge. It all came to a head when Satrou Gojo’s  friend chose to go down a bad path and do something unforgivable they had one last conversation, his friend knowing of his past being sheltered and having no friends going up, but still knowing that he came from such a highly prominent family asked him one final question, “Are you the strongest because you’re Satrou Gojo, or are you Satrou Gojo because you’re the strongest? “ Questioning if his best friend was only strong because of his birthright or because he is strong because of who he is as a person. Floored by this Satrou Gojo knew then and there he had lost his best friend, he vowed to never see him again.

Regardless of his upbringing and his fallout with his one and only best friend he was still very outgoing and wasn’t a bad person, he loved to help kids so he became a teacher at the very school he was trained in ,he helped  younger generations hone their abilities so they could reach their full potential because the world needed as many people as possible to help those with no abilities from the monsters that roamed the world and protect the weak at any cost. 

In the beginning there was the sea and the sky, bound to the earth but almost never able to touch, so they found small ways, the rain falling from the sky into the sea, lightning cracking against the sky just begging to touch the ground, mountain peaks reaching with longing to touch the sky, volcanos erupted with passion, the winds gently pushing the clouds, feeding their love and longing for one another, Then one day the found they could touch but only on the horizon and not for but a moment, a green flash appears and in that instant a child is born, one of both sea and sky a beautiful creature black as night, fast as lightning and as light on their feet as the breeze that moves the clouds, with a fierce attitude that mimics the volcano’s eruption. She is equally the whole of two sums of her parents, guardian of both now the sea and the sky. 

She roams the earth keeping the balance of nature. Even though she is strong willed and headstrong she has a kind passionate heart and usually helps anything in need. Her duty is to keep the balance of the earth and if you end up on her bad side there will be hell to pay,  injustice will not be tolerated in her realm. It's her divine duty to protect all nature and will do anything to maintain the karmic balance.

 SEA IN THE SKY--https://horsephenomena.com/horses.php?id=465987

Phew, that took a while xD creative writing has never been my strong suit...

Solano's Backstory

Solano #202857

”Dance with the waves, move with the sea, let the rhythm of the water set your soul free.”
-Christy Ann Martine

Stardust Backstory

Stardust #202859

They don’t stay little forever….

People always say life moves way too fast. As for Cosmo, who’s been alive for millions of years and has seen life come and go, the one he wasn’t prepared for was Timmy Turner growing up and getting older. Life with the boy seemed to last so much longer than any other kid Cosmo and Wanda had been around. Cosmo was able to open up and be his crazy, goofy self for the first time in a long time. Timmy just didn’t feel like his god child of sorts, but his best friend.

They don’t stay believing…

Something that Cosmo never thought would happen, but the older Timmy got, the less he needed them; or believed in them. It was like watching your heart break, one little piece at a time. Cosmo had never felt something like that, because all the other kids before Timmy had grown and Cosmo and Wanda were on their way to their next home or the next person that needed them.

To say Cosmo had grown a little more attached to Timmy as he had all the others before him was an understatement. Seeing Timmy fade away wasn’t the only thing Cosmo and his wife went through. It seemed like the further they lost Timmy, the less their powers became. Storms ignited across the world, bringing hurricanes and tornados, and eventually..

The void…

Fighting through the current, pulling him under, twisting and turning him for what felt like hours, or days; Cosmo finally found himself deep in a forest. He was covered in deep wounds, mud caked into his skin, and through his mane. The glow of neon was duller than it had been, barely visible underneath the muck. He tried and tried again with all his might to pull the power from deep within him, but nothing worked.

For the first time in his life, Cosmo was alone, unsure of where he was, and he was scared. However, he didn’t give up. Slowly he made his way through the dark depths of the forest hoping and praying that something would surface. He didn’t give up on the love he had for Wanda and wouldn’t let himself think of the fact that he may never see her again.

The neverending…

It felt like years had gone by for Cosmo in his new dull and dark world. He barely survived on the vegitation and berries that he could find. He was a pitiful thing. No longer the bright and cheery crazy individual that he had been so long ago. There was no green glimmer in his eye or the mischievous grin along his lips. Instead he moved, head down, dragging his feet to another destination. It didn’t matter how tired he was, because Cosmo still wasn’t going to give up.

Finding himself in a clearing with plum grass and finally the sun that peaked through the trees, Cosmo slowly allowed his large frame to lie down. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad place to die, he thought. He had been struggling for awhile now. With no magic, he was just an ordinary horse with no means to keep going. Laying back, Cosmo closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, intent on laying there as long as the sun wanted to soak into his weathered bones.

I can hear you.. My ever oasis…

Was he dreaming? I wouldn’t be the first time that Cosmo has dreamt of hearing Timmy’s voice calling his name. It seemed so much closer, so much louder though. It stirred in through his sleeping conscious, but Cosmo didn’t want to open his eyes for fear that he’d be brought right back to reality. It wasn’t until those sweet vocal cords hit his ears that Cosmo allowed his eyes to peak open, catching a glimpse of the pink hues of none other than Wanda herself.

Pulling himself up to sit, Cosmo’s eyes grew as Wanda, Timmy, and a little boy seemed to be walking towards him from the other side of the clearing.Glancing at his sides, it was like magic as the dirt and muck slowly faded, the green glow got brighter as they got closer. Gathering himself, Cosmo got to his feet and closed the distance between himself at the others.

All isn’t lost… as a new generation begins…

Cosmo:

https://horsephenomena.com/horses.php?id=465975

And I don’t feel right,

When you’re gone away..

Losing something so important to you is like wounds all over your body, scabbed over and bleeding all over; yet you never die. That’s what Wanda felt when her whole world shattered around her and she lost literally everything she ever cared about. The joys of being a fairy godmother and a loving wife. Even if Timmy and Cosmo drove her up the wall at times, she’d never once in her life wished that it could be different.

Then it all seemed to happen at once. She went from being happy and taking care of her little family - to feeling as though everything had been ripped away in the matter of seconds. All the power she’d once had; gone. 

You’ve gone away,

You don’t feel me anymore..

It felt like years and years, battling the currents and the pull of the ocean that Wanda found herself stranded on a remote island. By herself. It took so long to find herself again. To bring herself back from what felt like the brink of death. She learned to adapt to the island and keep herself alive. With the fading hope of ever seeing her family again, Wanda pushed herself forward. She had to know that something would happen. Someone would find her. She’d be with Cosmo again.

Hearing a voice into the night, Wanda found herself moving along the sandy beach, following the light out in the middle of the ocean. As the light grew brighter to her astonishment it was a grown Timmy Turner and his young son, Jimmy. As much as he’d sworn that Cosmo and Wanda were only part of his imagination, it had been the birth of his son that had him realizing that it was true and he’d set on a journey of his own to find both of them.

I’ve come for you love,

We’ll never be apart again.

The longer she stayed with Timmy and his son, Wanda felt herself getting stronger. The glows of pink in her hair and her eyes seemed to pulse the closer the found themselves to Cosmo. It was like a pull inside her heart; leading her to him. Once her eyes landed on him after so long of longing and searching, Wanda couldn’t help the soft curve of her lips at the sight of him. All the lost hope dissipated and Wanda finally had her family back again. Something she’d never take for granted ever again. No matter how much they annoyed her to no end.

Wanda:

https://horsephenomena.com/horses.php?id=465982

Osha (#202852)

The wind howled outside. The snow hadn’t let up the past three days and the chill began to seep into the den. It had been five months since her mother had passed, leaving her alone. Five months since anyone had been hunting and the stores were growing thin. At first Osha hadn’t left the den much out of grief, preferring to stay surrounded by what remained of her mother's scent, but now that the ground was covered in feet of snow she was worried she’d get lost. Osha wasn’t like other foxes who had keen eyes that could see prey such as voles moving miles away. Osha’s vision was limited to no more than 20 feet in front of her, so unless she just happened to stumble upon a nest, it was nearly impossible for her to hunt. Sure, her hearing and sense of smell could rival any fox, but with it being so deep into the cold months the winds howled night and day bringing even colder temperatures and muffling scents or sounds.

Osha’s stomach growled as she lay there huddled up against the furthest wall from the entrance to the den. She sighed and squeezed her eyes tight trying to will her hunger away. Only one more night she thought to herself. Then I can polish off the rest of my food and go hunting tomorrow. She knew it was only a matter of time before the growling evolved into gnawing pains and with pain came more challenges like dizziness and even more fatigue that would make hunting impossible. As she lay there, her mind wandered to springtime as a kit when the flowers had just begun to bloom and the world was awash with all manner of scents and sounds to explore. As she began to doze off, entering that space between being awake and restfulness she saw herself In her memories sitting alone next to a creek watching a sapphire blue butterfly lazily flutter its way closer as it dipped in a low arch finally settling on her nose. She watched crosseyed and intently as it used its front legs to clean its antenna. She felt each leg as the butterfly shifted, tickling her and causing a building sensation. She sneezed loudly, jolting herself awake. Her eyes scanned her den, as she inhaled deeply in an effort to calm herself down when she saw it. 

A blue shimmering glow was coming from behind a small rock near the entrance to the den. “Wh-whose there?” Osha asked, inwardly cursing herself for how scared she sounded. She waited in silence watching the light as it began to tremble.

“I… I… uh didn’t mean to disturb you” the light began. “I’ve been flying for so long in this storm, and I got turned around and lost the rest of my flutter. When I stumbled upon this hole it looked like a good place to rest and get my bearings. I thought it was empty, so imagine my surprise when I found you.” A musical laugh came from the light. “You just looked so cozy and warm… so I figured what harm would it be if I just snuggled up beside you and shared in your warmth…” the light began to trail off.

“You were trying to sleep next to me?” Osha asked in wonder.

“Yes!” The light exclaimed excitedly. “Only, I think I might have accidentally gotten some dust up your nose, which caused you to sneeze, you see.” 

Dust? Osha thought to herself. “I didn’t know lights had dust.”

“Lights? Oh! No, no, no, I’m not a light silly fox” it chucked. “I’m a fairy!”

“A fairy, I’ve never heard of such a creature.”

“Oh. Well, we’re quite small and not local to these parts so I guess that makes sense.”

“What do fairies look like?” Osha asked, bringing herself up on all four paws.

“Each fairy has its own unique look, but we all have wings and are all small. In fact some of us are so small that they’re not bigger than a speck of dirt.” The fairy prattled on.

“You sure emit a lot of light for being smaller than a speck of dirt” Osha crept forward slowly, her fear completely overcome by her curiosity.

“Me? Oh no! I’m not that small.” 

Osha stopped a few paces away from the rock. It’s obvious this creature is quite timid. I wouldn’t want to startle her. “W-would you mind coming out from behind that rock?” she asked.

“You promise?” The voice asked nervously.

“Yes of course. Here.” Osha flattened herself to the ground, laying her snout between her paws. “Now it would be harder for me to hurt you even if I wanted to.” There was a silence that stretched on as Osha waited patiently for the fairy to reveal herself. She heard a small sharp inhale and quick exhale of breath, then the fairy peered out from behind the rock. Her small face was hairless outside of the top of her head where she had long fur that ended at her shoulders. She stood on two of her paws instead of four like Osha, and her front paws had five long toes that she used to grip onto the rock. Behind her were two large sapphire wings with black lines of all sizes creating intricate designs. “Oh” Osha breathed “You’re just as beautiful as the butterfly from my dream!”

The fairy giggled “Well, thank you. Butterflies are quite pretty.” The fairy came out fully from behind the rock and nervously shifted on her feet while Osha watched her. After a few moments of silence the fairy cleared her throat. “Um. If it’s not too much trouble, would you happen to have any food to spare? It’s been a long journey from the vale, and I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” 

“Of course.” Osha answered, quickly remembering her manners. “But… Uh… it may be slim pickings. I planned to go out tomorrow once the wind dies down to get more.” Osha led the fairy to the area where she kept her last bird. While the fairy dined they talked about her home and Osha talked about her mother. As the cave grew darker the fairy stifled a yawn. 

“I should really get some sleep. Would you mind if I slept next to you?”

“Of course not” Osha said, leading the fairy to her nest within her den. The two of them settled down together and before long both drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

The pair woke up the next morning to find the wind was even stronger than the day before, and visibility, even to the fairies' good eyes, wasn't much further than a foot in front of them. Osha's stomach growled and she groaned aloud “Oh no. I don’t know if I can last another day without food.”

“Wait a minute” the fairy cried. “Did you give me the LAST of your food?”

“Well…” Osha started sheepishly. “You had traveled so far last night and it was apparent that you needed it more -”

“When was the last time you ate?” The fairy interrupted.

Osha thought for a minute. “Probably like three days ago?”

“THREE DAYS!? You mean to tell me that you were here starving and let me eat all you had?” The fairy asked incredulously. Osha stared back at her, unsure of what to say. She really had thought that the weather would have let up enough today for her to have hunted or at the very least scavenged off of animals that weren’t fortunate enough to make it through the storm. The fairy paced back and forth running her hands through her hair in an agitated manner. A small whine escaped Osha at the sight and the fairy suddenly paused. She stared at Osha for a few moments before a look of realization crossed her features. “I’ve got it.” She said, snapping her fingers. “Fairies have the ability to impart magic on those who help us. Since you helped me last night by offering my food and shelter, I can give you some of my magic!”

“That sounds painful” Osha muttered.

“It’s not,” The fairy said in earnest. “In fact you won’t feel a thing!”

“Well then, alright. If it could help our situation, I don’t see why not” Osha said. The fairy flapped her wings and settled onto Osha’s nose. She pulled a small pouch from her waist and grabbed a fistful of small sparkling dust. “What is that?” Osha asked.

“It’s magic” the fairy said. “Now, hush and close your eyes. I’m going to sprinkle this into your nose and I need you to take a deep breath in. Whatever you do, try not to sneeze ok?” Osha did as she was told and inhaled deep. The powder tickled her nose and she found herself feeling like she did yesterday when she first met the fairy although this time she was determined to not sneeze. As the feeling subsided she heard the fairy say “Ok, we’re all done.” Osha opened her eyes and noticed the fairy had moved from her nose to sit upon the same rock she had found the fairy hiding behind last night.

“Ok… now what?” Osha asked.

“Well unfortunately, fairy magic isn’t as straight forward as other magics” the fairy began. “You can’t just click your heels and wish for something to come true. It takes an offering of something you consider precious in order to work.”

Osha thought for a long while on what was most precious to her. This summer she would have said her mother without hesitation, but now that she was gone all that she had left of her besides her fading scent in the cave was the stories that she told Osha. Just then it hit her, the best offering she could give would be stories of worlds she’d dreamed of all these years. So she closed and began to tell the fairy a story of a great feast. As she told the story she imagined what the feast would smell like and how each food tasted. 

Just as she wrapped up her story she heard a small gasp. She opened her eyes to see that all around herself and the little fairy was a food of all different kinds just like she had described in her story. “Osha” the little fairy whispered in disbelief “you were granted the magic of storytelling. Any story you share will transport others into the worlds you create.” Osha grinned at the fairy and laughed. She finally felt as safe and secure as she had before her mother died, but this time she didn’t feel like the burden she always had. She knew that she had something special she could share with others. Something that could ease their misery or suffering by giving them a chance to escape into another world with her.

On a cold February morning on a generational countryside farm known for raising working champions, near the back edge of the property, in an old and weathered barn -- a litter of pups was born.

The roof of the barn had some small holes that light would pour through, illuminating every dust particle, spider webb, and dusty remaints. The holes in the roof have been formed over the years from harsh weather exposure (and even a hunting incident...but that's a story for another time!)

The countryside farm, known as Grace Place, had been producing exceptional working Border Collies for generations! In fact, this new litter was the 6th generation of this amazing working line, and everyone had amazing high hopes for each of these pups. 

As the puppies grew, they each chased the sheep, watched the others work the fields, and learned to be the best...another round of champions! 

Except there was this one puppy that did things a bit different....born in that rusty old barn, refusing to follow that status quo, was Rustic Reign (aka "Rusty"). 

If all of the other pups were out chasing sheep, you'd look around and just see Rusty way out there studying the rhythm of the land. This little whimsical, way-too-energetic, red and white fluff ball danced to her own tune. 

While most dogs would bark for attention, Rusty just commands it! She knows her voice and she is not afraid to use it, but she also has an amazing understanding that she can use her eyes in a way never seen before. 

As a sixth generation Border Collie born at Grace Place, Rustic Reign has brought an unusual, yet highly appreciated and desired personality and skillset to the countryside. Local ledgend is turning into a global phenomenon and the world cannot get enough of Rustic Reign aka "Rusty"!

Rustic Reign #202856