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A gift by my beloved 
in this special time of the year.
An amazing illustration of my char by
in this special time of the year.An amazing illustration of my char by
It's that time of year, the end of a cycle. Cold and monochrome, winter conquers the lands and forces the inhabitants into their homes, in front of the warm hearth.
Ragenhere, however, is not bothered by the cold. He is a fjord horse. Made to withstand the frost, snow and cold, he trenching through the snow.
He is alone. He doesn't care about the feast that is drawing ever closer. Born into a pagan culture and not religious or spiritual at all, the coarse Stallion doesn't care about Christmas.
A day like any other for him, no deeper meaning, no reason to celebrate.
He has shut himself out, there's is no place for a worn destrier.
Discouraged, Ragenhere follows his nature and searches the sleeping forest for food. Conifers, bark, the squirrels' hiding places, everything serves as food for the tenacious creature. Past the skeletons of the once so green trees, a path winds its way through the snow. The lonely stallion thinks, he can't help himself. His mind never stops, never takes a break. Thoughts, images and memories are constantly flowing. The search for food fades into the background as his focus swings back and forth between more important things. Aimless, lost in thought, the fjord stallion trudges on through the snow.
The grey-white landscape has nothing to offer, nothing but the frosty blanket of Father Winter. And yet he stands still. His warm breath condenses in front of his nostrils, like vapour from a steam engine. A small storm leaves his lungs, puffing, its mist briefly obscuring his vision. An angry snort can be heard. Nobody knows why Ragenhere is so disgruntled. Because everything that burdens him remains locked deep inside his stubborn skull. The haze of his breath evaporates like smoke and a red spark can be recognised behind it. Ragenhere's ears prick up curiously. The bright red colour in the distance has caught his attention. Curious, the sturdy stallion jumps from a standing start into canter. His powerful croup lowers, his haunches bend and take the weight of his body. All the energy is stored in the strong tendons of his hind legs and catapults his body forwards in one leap. It begins to snow lightly. Small flakes dance playfully in the gentle breeze and get caught in his forelock.
Excited, the warhorse charges through the forest, hunting for a spot of colour in all the grey and white of winter.
His hindquarters drop again as he falls into trot and then into a pass. Studiously, he circles the plant that seems to thrive in the snow without ageing. A holly rises skywards from the snow. The spiky leaves sparkle deep and lush green in the pale sunlight. Small frozen crystals are caught in the slender thorns. The holly looks as if it is encrusted with hundreds of gemstones. The oval berries shimmer red like blood between the thorns. Beautiful and yet frightening in its aesthetics. Ragenhere knows this plant and remembers what Pliny the Elder said. But he also recognises the contemporary significance of this plant at this time of year. Having come to rest, Ragenhere lingers mesmerised in front of the evergreen. Once again his thoughts circle, folding and unfolding in a chaotic cataclysm. These holidays, which seem so unimportant, which have always been unimportant to him, all of this blends into a viscous emulsion in his mind.
He hesitantly lowers his angular skull and raises his pointed upper lip with the intention of touching the colourful creature. He can feel the thorns, but also the smooth leaves whose scent fills his nostrils. His ears hang from his head as if pinned as he realises something. A small detail that has escaped him. Tenderly, as if it were hurting him, his incisors enclose a shoot of holly and separate it from it's body. His massive crest rounds as a sign of appreciation as he gives the tree one last look. Then the destrier immediately bends his hind legs and stretches into gallop. Frenzied as if seized by madness
he charges through the undergrowth. Always mindful of carrying the tree's gift firmly but tenderly in his jaws. With everything he can muster, he masters the distance to his destination in just a few minutes. The edge of the forest opens up before him. Cold but tender rays of sunlight mark the boundary. His pace slows and he falls back into a trot, then after a few steps, he falls back into a pass.
In front of him, his goal. In an expansive stride, Ragenhere struts between the pillars of the forest. Close to the Spanish Pass, he lifts his forelegs, crest round and tail erect. In the manner of a proud stallion, he presents himself with the tuft of holly between his lips. With his ears almost parallel, his playful gaze wanders towards the person for whom he has brought this little gift of eternal life.
Category Artwork (Digital) / General Furry Art
Species Pony
Size 1100 x 1500px
File Size 1.04 MB
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