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I was very pleased with the hoof trim I gave Amba on Sunday and she seemed pleased as well. When I first started, her hooves were underrun and the toes were too long because Alain barely touched them whenever he trimmed. I quickly got her toes back by cutting right up to the hoof wall. However, her heels were still low. This was partially because I was trimming them as well. Less than the toe, but still too much apparently. Now I only cut her toes back to the white line with the nippers, and the sides for just as much as is needed to get rid of any flair. The heels I don't touch with the nippers at all now. If they are a tad uneven, I will rasp them until they are, but that's it. Now she is starting to build heel up again and the hoof angles are getting closer and closer to being textbook correct. I don't think not trimming the heel would be right for most horses, but it works for her. I just had to figure this out through trial and error rather than advice.
The next thing I would really like to work on is doing a better mustang roll. I can certainly round out the edges of the hoof enough to prevent chipping for a long time, but I've never been able to get that David Landreville/ Pete Ramey level of smoothness.
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^ Goals
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hyzenthlayroseart · 2 months
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Last year I drew a bunch of Disney rabbits together since it was the Year of the Rabbit and this year I decided to do the same thing but with Disney dragons for the Year of the Dragon.
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emlz · 4 months
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Various art and characters from my Wanderhome game! Mostly of my character, Amba the honey badger
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Sisu’s siblings shape-change forms. Pengu, Jagan, Pranee, and Amba.
Tried to model them off of the tribes in the film. Fang, Spine, Talon, and Tail. Since Sisu is Heart.
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amoslinger · 1 year
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Hello Empress Amba!
Redesigned for my Raya AU!
Raya and the Last Dragon: The Dragon Empire
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tae-ffxiv · 6 months
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Prompt #26: Last
Possibly the dumbest thing I've come up for any ffxivwrite prompt so far...
cw: sort-of-not-really sexuality. Talk of it I guess?
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He opens the door to an even chant - 
“One, two, three, four…”
- and glances down to see Khai and his viera… friend… sitting facing each other, hands linked together as they wave their thumbs about in a synchronized motion and chant together.
“... I declare a thumb war.”
And then all the synchronization leaves as they start flailing their thumbs about erratically, twisting their hands about as much as they can while still keeping them linked together. Dayir watches them bemusedly, elbows propped on the table. Amba’s brow furrows.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s called a thumb war.” Araz answers, appearing deeply focused on the task at hand… whatever that may be.
“What?”
“Whoever comes last, they are bottom.” Khai comments, also deeply focused.
Well that explains… absolutely nothing. Amba’s brows furrow deeper. “... What?” He turns a questioning glance to Dayir.
“Bottom as in sex.” Dayir clarifies.
Amba takes a moment to close his eyes and sigh. “I didn’t need to know that, Khai.”
Khai’s attention turns from the thumb war up to Amba, “What? But you ask.”
Araz takes the opportunity of his distraction to pin Khai’s hand with a jerk, and Khai’s attention turns back to the game.
“Ah, cheat!” He begins to twist his hand about in an attempt to unpin his thumb, but after a few seconds of struggling unsuccessfully, Araz let’s out a cheer.
“I win!” he releases Khai’s hand so he can throw both arms up in victory, “Hell yeah!”
Araz hops to his feet. “Alright, let’s go find somewhere where your brother won’t skin me alive if we make too much noise.”
As he heads toward the door, Amba shoots a glare at him that does little to disprove Araz’s theory. Khai hops up and follows after the viera, who throws the door wide open right as Khai pauses to look at Amba.
He leans toward his brother conspiratorially and lowers his voice, “<I lost on purpose.>” And then he trots out the door behind Araz.
Amba sighs loudly and calls toward his back, “I didn’t need to know that, Khai!”
Dayir, for his part, lets out a short cackle as Amba moves to swing the door shut - but not before a snippet of conversation manages to float in:
“Maybe a leash, this time…”
The door slams shut with a little more force than necessary, and Amba drops his face into a hand. He really, really didn’t need to know that.
There’s a stretch of silence as he rubs at his forehead, and shakes his head.
When he looks over, he catches Dayir grinning at him.
“Would you let me put a leash on y-”
“No.” Amba answers, before the question can even be asked. He marches off toward the basement stairs.
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teaah-art · 1 year
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Amba, Ambika, Ambalika - The Three Princesses of Kashi
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rricardo96 · 9 months
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"Pokemones legendarios por Argentina"
C.A.B.A: ¿Logras encontrar a Meloetta en el Teatro Colón? (Capital federal)
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katirabhavesh05-blog · 7 months
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micky-05 · 2 years
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Dragones de Kumandra
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thekalika · 1 year
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Meditate, O mind, on the mystery of Kali. Use any method of worship you please, or be free from methods, breathing day and night her living name as the seed of power planted by the teacher in your heart. Consider the simple act of lying down to sleep as devoted offering of body and mind to her. Allow your dreams to become radiant meditations on the Cosmic Mother. As you wander through countryside or city, feel that you are moving through Kali, Kali, Kali. All sounds you hear are her natural mantras arising spontaneously as the whole universe worships her, prostrates to her, awakens into her. Tag for Image credit 👉👉👉Follow-@thekalika
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horsesarecreatures · 2 months
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Flying horse for sale. I will consider offers of $10 million.
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teanicolae · 1 year
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in Gangotri, we hiked to a cave where it is said that Draupadī and the Pāṇḍavas spent time while on exile, and had the fortune to meet the sādhu who has been living there, entrenched in tapasya. ♥️ i have felt the Mahābhārata vibrantly coming alive for me on our yātra; from being at Gaṅgā Devī’s feet, arguably the precursor of the Mbh’s unfolding, to reaching Yamunā Devī, whose shores welcomed Ambā, who burned herself on a pyre at Yamunā’s banks to gain Lord Śiva’s boon… these mystical lands are unparalleled in beauty, significance, power and history.
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dragonmythfandom · 2 years
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Sisudatu and Pengudatu -   Raya 2024
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vedajananixx · 2 years
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okay so im writing a mahabharat sapphic fic with amba/shikhandini/shikhandi
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tae-ffxiv · 6 months
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Prompt #17 (Bonus): Chord
I am so behind this month. That's fine. I'll take my time.
*Tosses this into the void.* IDK how to write sex.
cw: sexuality (yeah it's horny roulette again)
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It starts in amicable silence. 
Near-silence. The crackle of the fire, shuffle of cloth as they sit on the cushions before it. The light clunk of bow against the body of the morin khuur as Dayir positions it to be played.
And then music. Hesitant notes at first as he drags bow over string for the first time in a half decade. Familiar chords, rough and smooth at once, guided by muscle memory eroded by long years of absence. But they smooth out - a trickle to a flow that weaves a song that Amba has only played and hasn’t had played for him in far too many years.
The ghost of a smile touches his face at the sound. A subtle joy settles in his chest as he watches Dayir’s hands play over the strings. Joy, and a certain wanting that he can’t quite describe. To have another morin khuur that he may join in. Or to lend his own low voice to the melody.
Dayir’s eyes turn up toward him, the notes falter and draw to a stop as eyes meet, something lurking in a held-breath expression. Want turns to longing as Amba reaches forward to take the bow and the instrument gently from his husband’s grasp, as he places them carefully and carelessly aside and draws in closer.
He raises a hand to Dayir’s face, brushes a thumb over the rough scales that line his jaw as he leans in to press his lips to his. A long, slow kiss that somehow sees them reclined amongst the cushions before the fireplace. That sees him with an elbow propped on the soft fur rug underneath so he may keep his weight off the person beneath him.
Had he meant for this? Not a question he could answer. Not a thought he dwells on as Dayir’s hands unknot the soft sash that holds his clothing closed and move to slide off his long vest.
The evening sees the room abandoned, the fire’s embers casting a faint glow over the similarly abandoned morin khuur, and cushions knocked askew; some few articles of clothing that had come off before they’d made their retreat behind closed doors.
The quiet of the house no longer punctuated by the crackle of flames or the chords of a horse-head fiddle, but the sound of panted breaths or stifled moans; snippets of conversation or soft laughter as they allow themselves to fall into rhythm, guided by muscle memory barely eroded despite five years of absence. 
And when they’re done and Ambaghai lays his head down upon his husband’s chest, he falls asleep fo the sound of a steady heartbeat and even breathing - to the sound of that same song hummed lazily as fingers twist gently through his hair.
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