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.


Elbereth (Beri)

While she's fully trained in the arts of war, Beri was, unfortunately, 'pet-raised' by a family with young children who doted on her. As a result, she tends to exhibit a rather fallible sense of humor at inappropriate moments.

Most unfortunately, the children kept treats in their pockets and Beri will constantly nudge and sniff anyone (peasant or king) standing near, even to the point of lipping and tugging at their clothing. She's also prone to search any packs and bags left in her reach, either digging at them with her hoof until the contents are scattered or by nipping the bag in her teeth and tossing her head. She'll go quietly for an unsteady rider, and is unflappable in most cases, but woe betide the seasoned warrior who gives her a moment of inattention. She's accustomed to voicing her opinions on issues that are primarily the riders decision.

Of prime concern to her is the speed of travel, she much prefers a high rate. If forced to travel too slowly, she'll hang her lower lip, droop her ears to the sides, lower her eyelids as if sleepy and slow her steps, dragging her toes and working in the occasional stumble. Her preferred pace is the gallop and she embraces the wind with great exuberance, athleticism and the occasional hop and buck worked in between strides.

If the rider chances to choose the 'wrong' trail (according to her infinite wisdom), she'll show her displeasure by slowing and finally coming to a sullen and immoveable halt.

Beri is changeable, as mares are prone to be, and is known by different names according to her mood. We have AngelBeri and EvilBeri and on occasions when she's being more like herself than usual, we recognize that she's being VeryBeri.



Landroval is a striking wild bay, with a glistening deep, red coat and the typical shining dark mane and tail, but without the high black socks most bay horses have. Instead, his legs are shaded, darker toward the hoof and only shadowed up toward the knee. He has an even more unusual trait - dusted up the front of his front cannons, a sprinkling of fawn colored hairs that shimmer golden when the light catches them. With his atypical coloring and splashy white face and socks, he wouldn't be a good choice for someone who needs to remain inconspicuous because he is definitely an attention-getter and easily recognizable.

Landroval is a very kind and loving young horse, but not very brave. He would be a better choice for a courier than a knight. He's fast and very athletic, as well as quick-thinking, and might serve well as a mount for an assassin, although he's elegant enough to be an excellent choice for a traveling minstrel or even a lord's daughter.

His worst habit is an affectionate nuzzle that proceeds a nip. His long-time companion has been a cantankerous donkey and so he sometimes exhibits a propensity to want to play rough. While he needs gentle understanding to nurture his generous nature, he is still young and needs a firm hand to guide him in remembering polite behavior.



Glamdring is a big solid chestnut gelding with a heart as big as the world. He has a big splash of a star and a wide strip and snip that gives him a white nose. He has high socks on the back, a short sock on his right front and just a little dab of white on his left front that you can see from the right, but not if you're standing on his left side.

The first son of a lead mare, he'll take advantage where he can, but he's very happy to tuck in and "yes, ma'am" and "no, ma'am" when you call him on it.

He's a well-trained, well-rounded athletic, suitable for any level of rider and would be an excellent choice for a hero who's headed out on a quest. He has a big engine and will go all day at a smooth, steady pace that won't wear out the rider. He loves to jump almost as much as he loves to run, he's even been known to jump out of his corral.

Glamdring's most infuriating fault is that he loves to rub his head and has learned to scratch his bridle off. The biggest problem with that is that he's likely to hang it on something, a tree-branch or a fence post, or if you're mounted, he'll rub it off on his knees and you have to dismount to fasten back on properly.


RIFAIMA a rich chestnut mare, with a star and a stripe and just a tiny little sock on her left hind leg.

She's is a grand old lady who will certainly die with her boots on. She'd done about everything there is for a mare to do in life -- she's crossed the mountains and back again, retired from riding, she spent several years as a broodmare and is back on active duty. She loves to go - no trail is too daunting for her. Because of her age and the hard use she's seen in her life, she has a little bit of a limp on her left hind when the mornings are cold, but she doesn't like to let that slow her down.

She's a big mare and high energy. Although she can be gentle enough for beginners, she takes a light hand on the rein and a light leg behind the girth and beginners are usually too strong with their cues, and get more reaction than they meant to ask for. For an experienced rider, she's a dream come true.

She's respectful of people and easy to handle on the ground and she has a sweet habit of scruffing the end of her nose on someone to show affection.



Her name is Suhayla.

She was born a warm chestnut but has slowly faded to her natural grey color with every year. She is now a silvery grey with chestnut freckles that hint at her first color. What used to be a pronounced blaze on her face has blended with the grey and can be faintly seen by those who know it used to be there. Long eyelashes and a pink nose highlite her feminity.

She comes from a long line of royal blood and was born to the royal stables. When still a foal, her mother was killed protecting her from an attack by a pack of wolves. Barely escaping with her life, she disappeared into a forest where she was discovered by a family. They adopted this stray, and hand raised her. They named her Suhayla, which means soft and flowing, because she appeared to float as she ran. But with the family having no other horses, she never learned to be a “horse”, and is more comfortable with human companionship than with others of her own kind. Several years later, her true owners finally found her, as they had never stopped searching for the last daughter of their favorite mare. While the family who raised her loved her greatly, they gave her up so she could follow her destiny serving in the royal stables. She now has found a home with a small band, but feels more comfortable living on the ‘fringe’ of the group, rather than really being part of it.

This unique history is reflected in her personality in many ways. She is independent and not ‘herd bound’. She is a leader, confident and brave like her mother. She has led many less mature horses on a great many journeys. Horrors that send other horses spinning and bolting in fear, she will blow past without hesitation. Her one fear though are dogs or wolves, which have haunted her dreams since the wolf attack.

She tends to be serious and practical. She likes to work, and doesn’t see the point in wasting energy on something with no purpose. This means when her herd is playing and galloping around their pasture, you’ll find her on the side calmly observing. Some will think that means she’s lazy, but given a job and a challenge, she’ll push forward with relish until its done. On a journey, she won’t be the fastest horse, but her great stamina will carry her farther and longer than the others.

She develops strong bonds with one person and will tend to only listen to them.

To ride her is like floating. Her trot is soft and easy, her canter is so smooth, it’s like being rocked to sleep.

For a rider, her independent nature can be good and bad. She can easily be ridden away from others toward another path. But she will also make her own decisions on the best way to go. This may result in her suddenly choosing a shortcut through the woods when the rider is cantering down a road or thru a mass of tree limbs. She has a strong sense of direction and can find her way back to camp or home very easily. Unfortunately, she may decide the best way back is across a ravine or through a thorny hedge.

Many Thanks to Cindy Stafford for allowing Zoey to be available as a Fantasy Horse in our stable.



MIREYENION means Jewel of the Ages and she is indeed a rare treasure -- the kind of mare that countries may go to war to possess.

A unique golden bay, Miree is a true jewel, one of the rare breed who shines with an inner beauty that compliments and even enhances her gleaming, shimmering coat and deep honey-golden eyes. The regal blood of Nahar shines through in this young lady, not only in her regal nature, generous to those she loves, but in the way her coat shifts in the changing light from soft cream to a rich shimmering chocolate.

She's a young mare, still growing and just started training, but shows the promise of an elegant build that will be fleet of foot or do well in leading a royal procession. She'd be an excellent choice for an Elven-lady or Queen due to her gracious acceptance of admiration.

She's already shown the heart to be fierce in battle, but in this her beauty and rarity will be a curse as it's unlikely a king would allow such a treasure to face real danger -- if he has the choice. Miree is strong willed and strong minded and likely to take matters and handle them in her own way rather than bend to the will of someone she judges to be wrong. This bent causes problems in every way from her position in a lineup, to the color and richness of the jewels of her tack, to the order at feeding time.

While she is generous and loving to those who pay her her due, she's incitefully jealous and has been known to discipline individuals for paying too much attention to other horses while she is at hand.

Woe betide the forces of Darkness should they covet and steal this indomitable filly as she would be likely to meet the rescuing army with the Dark Lord's bloody crown proudly clenched between her teeth.



Her name means "Hunting Hawk"

Description: Fio is a liver chestnut mare who fades from chocoloate through bright red to orange in the summer sun. She has a wide blaze that covers her forehead and runs down over her nostrils. She’s of average height, but stout and full-bodied.

Training and experience: Fio is a true Alpha Mare and not a mount recommended for the faint of heart. Aggressive in battle, attacking with teeth and hoofs both forward and back, she requires that a rider match her fierce spirit, unflagging endurance and bold fearlessness. She’ll acquiesce to handling by underlings and will tolerate such with gentle nobility as long as they maintain a respectful demeanor.

Slow to show affection, she demands it be earned. And when on pasture with the herd, she rules with a firm hand. Vistors must first greet her and beg permission before haltering another mare and taking her away.

She has been kept home at times, and has produced six extraordinary foals who have grown to proven themselves as war-mares and stallions in their own right. A mare that can produce as well as she herself rides and fights is worth her weight in gold and would be worth going to war over.

Fioroimo would be the match of a bold captain, a wandering Hero or an Elf-lord as she gives as much, or more, than she demands. The warrior with the strength to ride her into battle would hold her heart and have her unfailing loyalty at his command.