Welcome to our barn ~ I host and maintain this page because it's fun! It started years ago with the occasional emails I got from gamers who needed horses in their role playing and from individuals who show model horses, as well as many authors who needed horses for their stories, found my horses' photos on the web and wanted to use their descriptions. ~~~ Do you see one you like? Consider it yours. You're welcome to use any of these directly, use one as a template or combine traits and characteristics to create a completely new one. Many of the horses are listed under their real names. If they have a mundane name, I gave them a 'fantasy' name for this page. Authors of original works are encouraged to change the names of the horses who are named in Quenya or Sindarin or after characters in published books. Otherwise, feel free to use or change the names as is appropriate.


Fione Culina

Her name means "Flame-colored Hawk".

She's a young chestnut mare. Just being started under saddle, she's bold, anxious and eager for the work. She has a gentle nature in the stable or on the trail, but is fiercely aggressive when facing danger. She'd make an excellent war-mare and should have the speed needed for the King's courier. Her combination of talents predispose her to make an excellent roving Ranger or Hero horse, but at her age, she needs several years of light duty before being pressed into full-time service.

Fione is mechanically minded and loves to help flip switchs on the welder and carry the cables and wrenchs around. In a modern setting, she shouldn't be allow free range around any kind of machinery or equipment as you'd likely find your settings changed and various or sundry accessories relocated.



Yes, please sit down. I no longer follow the palace protocol, you know. (posturing of lethal liars!) I've sent my daughter Asila for refreshments, take your ease. It's frightfully warm this time of year, isn't it?

Well. To begin: My name is Zahrah al-Zarqa. My name means Grey Desert Flower, Blooming. Were you my beloved, you could call me Sarah. ...If you were my beloved.

You already know that I'm a royal, though now untitled, of the House of al-Sa'ud. I am descended from the fabled Al-Hamdaniyeh; my other ancestors are Taamri, Rudann, Turfa, and Fadl. There are others of course, all of them as pure as any Asil that ever lived, but for now you shall accept my purity as a given.

Indeed... would you be here if you had not already? Yes.

You ask, "What is purity?" I will tell you.

Purity is submission, willing or unwilling. Purity is rebellion, rightly or wrong. Purity is the start and end of all that is goodly, and evilish, and happyful, and despairing.

Such a polite and discrete laugh you have at my choice of words! I like you. But, listen.

Purity is the way the world looked and felt that day when I carried my wounded, barefoot beloved to the crest of that grassy ridge, where we beheld storms gathering with that muffled thump of thunder miles away. We were weak from hunger. My beloved was fouled from the flux, cramped and often retching over my shoulder. He frequently fainted and fell off. The sun was over our right shoulders making that special light of autumn at hand, and the tall dry grass waved in the wind making that dry, whispery sound. The air seemed stretched to a high keen of a pitch that can't be heard, torn between the dying heat of summer and the coming season's cool. My beloved looked through my eyes (he could do that), and for a single vanishing moment, we both felt something only distantly happy.

I mean Joy.

Of course, given our proscribed status (so unfair!) we were both certain we would shortly be killed, but looking back on that moment on the grassy ridge with my poor beloved, I now believe that, without the imminence of our murder, the moment of Joy could not have been. It was a gift, a sign. A command to be alert for greater wonders combined with deeper despair. Yes. I see it all now, safe in my exile, comfortable.

Purity is all of this, none of this, and something else again.

Ah, here are our refreshments carried by my ever-tardy Asila.

You little twit, you forgot the cakes! You what?! NO, they were NOT for you! Tell Cook to make another batch, and keep your nose out of them! Go!

Yes. Well. I love iced drinks. Especially good in this heat. Don't you agree?

There. Are you comfortable? Good. We have much to discuss. You shall be my honored guest. You are under my protection.

We shall be friends.

I insist.


Rainee was foaled in a comfortable green valley in the far north.

As the daughter of a celebrated war-mare, she was well cared-for but never loved until she was gifted, as a young mare, to the princess of a neighboring land.

She and the princess loved each other in the deeply special way that comes of being young and wild together and making mistakes and overcoming in grand and glorious ways.

They traveled the northern lands, winning accolades and acclaim for their speed and grace and beauty.

But as the princess grew, duties of the lands were heaped upon her. Responsibilities to the court and to the people kept her from the fields and Rainee languished, still loved but alone.

In time, the princess, her heart breaking, selflessly allowed Rainee to go south, to a harsh land of rock and sand and too much sun, yet to a family who already loved her.

They had known and loved her mother as an elderly mare and despaired over their failure to produce a filly. So when Rainee arrived, she was welcomed with open hearts, as one coming home after a long absence.



Her name means "Black Beauty" and she well-proved her inner strength and beauty shone as bright as her glistening coat and strong legs.

Description: Morivanya is a shining black mare with a pure white star on her forehead and a long snip of white that runs down between her nostrils. Although she’s tall enough for any rider but the tallest of Elfs, her proud beauty is such that a generous man will be compelled to gift her to his lady when he sees the sparkle in her eye and hears the catch in her breath as she reaches out her hand to stroke Mori's silken mane.

Training and experience: Morivanya is trained for battle. She’s light on her feet and has a nimble mind as well. It’s unusual to find such a strong battle spirit in a mare that has an otherwise kind and gentle nature, but the love of her rider, and their people, come through in her eagerness to charge into the fray. She’s quick to dart or lunge as needed to help her rider in the use of the lance and sword, but her eagerness and excitement make her less of a choice for an archer.

Although she’s an obedient mare, responsive to the touch of her rider’s leg and the lifting of the rein, she’s not recommended for a timid or new rider because her speed and great love of the chase typically put her to the fore of a charge. While she’s a fine choice for any experienced rider to race the wind for the sheer joy of the run, she needs a bold captain at the rein who can take full advantage for the kills when she brings him to the heat of the battle.

Mori's unstinting love and loyalty, unfailing courage and selfless nobility, in the end, became her downfall.

On a tragic moonless night raid, she burst up through the ranks, charged to the fore of the patrol and threw herself into an enemy trap, revealing a foul ambush, in order to save her companions. She suffered greatly yet without rancor as her sacrifice bought the escape of two young princesses and a matriarch of their house. Love of her fills our hearts and the pain of her loss is with us daily.



Named after the famed sword of legend, her name means "Flame of the West" and is significant in that, as the sword was reforged from an ancient weapon, so she continues the line of war-mares brought out of the desert.

Description: Anduril is a pale dappled silver mare with large dark eyes and silky black mane and tail. Her coat is mirror shiny with dense, feather soft hair. Her black hooves are hard as stone. She had a white stripe down her face as a youngster, but it is fading into the silver grey of her face as she ages, leaving a bit of pink on her nose. Her large expressive eyes drink in her surroundings, with long eyelashes and elegant black markings around the eyes. When excited by the chase or scouting ahead of the main party, her wide nostrils open like flower petals. Her ears are mobile and delicately pointed, a mirror of her thoughts. Her legs are solid and strongly muscled, her back exceptionally strong and coupled with her huge hindquarters, she is easily enough mount for the heaviest armored knight. She moves with amazing economy of motion, never a wasted step at any speed, saving her remarkable strength for the coming battle.

Training and experience: Anduril is an accomplished war-mare. In the stable, she is as gentle as a lamb with her handlers, but turns instantly into a dragon of fierce rage if irritated by disrespect or denial of her needs. Anduril is not the mare to use on a scouting expedition unless you are sure you will see action at the end. Her best use is either on a raiding party, where her blood-thirsty ways will greatly enhance your chances of returning home with great honors, or on the front lines of the main formation, where her unconquerable spirit will be an inspiration of the lesser beasts.

Anduril demands a knight equal to her own talents in battle, and will become angry and hard to control under an incompetent rider. She loves children and will gently care for them in the ring or on the trail, and she can be ridden by lesser riders on long journeys, but her competitiveness must be carefully managed by the herd-master to insure she doesn't cause undue trouble in camp and on the trail.