Give Me Coffee, and Ye Shall be Spared...
Wormwood has another account? Yeah, well it isn't an obsession until the
psychiatrists have to be called in. Here I'm working with a number of breeds;
and Icelandics to name a few... although the arabs are threatening a hostile
Since I'm tired of chasing down foals that have gone astray, all breedings
are now private. This means you must be on my trusted breeder's list to get
a breeding from or to any of my horses. All the specifications for getting
onto that list can be found in my journal. Please ensure you read and meet
them before Gming me. If you can't be bothered to read the guidelines, then I'm not going to be bothered responding to you.
And please, NO chatspeak.
All horses which are the result of my lines will bear an W in front
of their name. I will never attempt to take credit for other's hard work by
slapping my brand on a horse purchased from someone else's line, and I would
appreciate it if you extended me the same courtesy. If you have a horse which
was bred by me, please do not remove my brand.
You wouldn't put your name on a painting just because you bought it, would
Shetlands - My exclusively shetland account. If you have shetlands,
do the breed a favour and don't breed anymore low ranking ponies!
Gate Stable - My blue ribbon stable! A fantastic prize I won in Kelbeans'
Foal & Filler Repository - Just what it sounds like. I also use
this account to buy/rescue and retire bad examples of my favourite breeds.
There some sort of art to these things I'm sure; its just not an art I've
mastered yet. If you're reading this, I shall pre-emptively apologize for
I don't like biographies, mini or regular sized. I don't look very good
fitted into two tidy little paragraphs. That said, I think I'm moving
At the moment I'm a freelance (ie. starving) illustrator working from
home. I live with my fiance Celorn in Toronto, a city I'm dying to
from. I crave the outdoors, the country, open spaces with sparse population
density. Ideally I'd like to be a pseudo-hermit and live under a thatched
roof in a stone cottage on Manitoulin island and be entirely self
sufficient. For now, I settle for being a skinny, loud, kooky striped
stashes road kill in the back yard (much to the neighbours chagrin)
windchimes from the bones.
I exist amid a menagerie of misfit critters whom I love dearly.
I draw to excess, collect pretty stones, feathers and sticks, and make
bread as often as possible. Store bread is like baked glue; bleh.