hilly terrain

Der Wolpertinger

The Wolpertinger is a fabulous animal from Bavaria, Germany. Wolpertingers are said to be omnivores, eating small animals as well as herbs and edible roots. When they are really hungry, they turn into dangerous predators. In this case, their favorite prey is the Prussian Softhead.

Almost nobody has ever seen and successfully hunted a Wolpertinger, not only because they are quite rare and very shy, but also due to the difficult hunting conditions. It is commonly said that they can only be spotted by young, beautiful virgins if they confide to a handsome, strong young hunter who knows the right place near secluded forest edges. A Wolpertinger can be captured by simply sprinkling salt on its tail. As simple as it seems, it is indeed a complicated process because the hunter does not see the animal, so his hand has to be guided by the virgin without scaring the Wolpertinger away.

Other hunters say that they only need a haversack, a candle, a stick, and a spade to capture them. The haversack is held open by the stick, and the burning candle is placed in the opening. During the twilight hours of the day, the Wolpertinger is attracted by the light and can then be shooed into the haversack by waving the spade. A fair amount of luck is needed in this procedure as the Wolpertingers tend to run over the stick, making the haversack collapse onto the candle and burning the Wolpertinger to death.

A third method relies on the alleged fact that Wolpertingers have legs of different length on their left and right sides. This way, they can only walk properly in one direction on hilly terrain. If you manage to scare a Wolpertinger enough to make it turn around, the animal will fall on its side and can be captured with ease.

Because of their rarity, their real appearance is a matter of discussion among experts. Taxidermied examples sold to tourists from abroad look quite different to the textbook figure shown above, and also differ from source to source.

For that reason, it is believed that Wolpertingers undergo multiple stages of metamorphosis as they are ageing, gaining their wings at some point in the process. According to the famous German author Walter Moers, Wolpertinger puppies are the cutest creatures in the universe, desired as pets by everyone who can afford to buy one, but frequently being abandoned as they are becoming increasingly fickle and moody in their teenage years, when they also start growing dangerous claws and teeth.

Taxonomically, Wolpertingers are closely related to the North American Jackalope, the Australian Bunyip, and the Swedish Skvader.

Has anyone had any experience with sweat patterns correlating to which muscle groups a horse uses most during work? Do horses tend to sweat in particular areas when stressed?

I’ve observed the green colts at school universally sweat over their neck and shoulders when worked. They’re worked entirely in an arena and are generally unbalanced. They’re also stalled 24/7 and very reactive overall.

Sam (who is a very fat ex-trail horse) today over a 5+ mile ride on hills of varying size in heat no less than the colts are worked in only sweated over his hindquarters from about the hip down, not over the top. He was generally quite relaxed through the whole ride and is turned out 24/7 over mildly hilly terrain.


travel times DIY

bc apparently this is all i’m thinking about right now

fair weather, flat terrain, roads

  • foot: 20 m/day
  • forced march: 30 m/day (unsustainable for long periods)
  • horse: 40 m/day
  • fast carriage: 60 m/day
  • horse relay: 80 m/day (changing horses at each town)

fair weather, hilly terrain, roads (or flat terrain, bad weather)

  • foot: 14 m/day
  • forced march: 20 m/day
  • horse: 25 m/day
  • fast carriage: 30 m/day
  • horse relay: 70 m/day

fair weather, mountainous terrain, roads (or hilly terrain, bad weather)

  • foot: 9 m/day
  • forced march: 15 m/day
  • horse: 20 m/day
  • fast carriage: 40 m/day
  • horse relay: 60 m/day

fair weather, wooded terrain, off road

  • foot: 8 m/day
  • forced march: not here you’re not
  • horse: 20 m/day
  • fast carriage: see forced march
  • horse relay: ditto

fair weather, mountainous terrain, off road

  • foot: 6 m/day
  • forced march: don’t do it
  • horse: 10 m/day
  • fast carriage: ur not getting a carriage up here m8
  • horse relay: there’s nowhere to relay ur horse up here

fair weather, experienced sailors

  • decent-sized merchant ship: 80 m/day (brig/carrack/cog type)
  • fast/unladen ship: 100 m/day (caravel/clipper/corvette type)
    • in peak conditions, you could comfortably get up to 150 m/day
    • these boat speeds include some margin for days when little progress is made vs days when lots of progress is made
  • for bad weather, just add on a day or two i guess

other modes of transport

  • horse & cart: 10 m/day
  • fully laden soldier: 15 m/day
  • rowing: 3 m/hour (quite fast, 1 mile can be covered in anything from 15 to 45 mins depending on how experienced you are/what type of boat you’re using)

things to note

  • walking speed: 3-5 m/hour (on average)
  • walking for 7-8 hours a day
  • riding speed: 25 m/hour gallop ; 13 m/hour canter ; 9 m/hour trot ; 4 m/hour walk
    • obviously it’s unsustainable to ride at a flat gallop all day, unless you’re changing horses at each town
  • riding for 10 hours a day
  • 1 knot = 1.15 m/hour

anonymous asked:

prompt 91 please 😄

91. “Can I hold your hand?”


Two months.

Only two months since Hiccup’s near death experience. Since he lost his leg. And only a month and a half since he woke up from the two-week coma.

Astrid tugged at the axe still half buried in the green tree before her. She grabbed the handle tighter and jerked back, stumbling slightly when the blade came free and knocked her off balance.

She narrowed her eyes and aimed carefully before letting the blade fly through the air and once again thump against the tree, adding the twentieth dent of splintered wood in the trunk.

“Having fun?”

Astrid whirled about, her axe at ready and poised in a tossing motion. Astrid breathed heavily when she noticed who it was, Hiccup standing awkwardly before her while Toothless padded up beside him, tilting his head in curiosity at the girl.

Hiccup blushed and eyed the axe nervously. “S-sorry… I-I didn’t mean to-“

“No…” Astrid lowered her weapon, smiling softly. “It’s fine. I’m just… rather edgy today I guess.”

Truth was, her mind had been rambling with thoughts of the last two months. Of guilt mostly, guilt for ignoring the kind, sweet, smart teen that had not only been ignored, but slightly bullied as well…

And yet he’d easily and kindly forgiven them. It confused her and made her heart ache painfully, a feeling she was not familiar with…

Hiccup nodded, his hand scrambling to find anything to do- it was something Astrid realized he did frequently. His hands were constantly moving, either playing with some tool or even a scrap of landscape, or just gesturing wildly. His hands were never still… and it was something that mesmerized her. He could have an entire conversation using only his hands.

“I…I just saw… when me and Toothless flew overhead…” Hiccup stuttered awkwardly. He grinned and rested a hand on Toothless neck, giving the dragon a little pat. “I just… thought I’d drop by.”

She nodded and stepped forward, strapping her axe to her back. “I came to practice- Stormfly flew off to eat. We agreed to meet back in Berk.”

Hiccup laughed and gave Toothless a little shove, the dragon giving a playful bark before turning and trotting off into the trees towards Berk, the dragon pausing and glancing back with tongue lolling out of his mouth as he waited for them to follow.

Astrid walked forward, falling into step beside Hiccup as the trudged through the forest, Astrid noticing with concern how Hiccup favored his left leg slightly, giving a limp whenever they passed over an extra rocky or hilly terrain.

“You sure you wanna walk..?” Astrid asked hesitantly.

Hiccup jerked his head up, his bangs flying about his face and his brows puckered in slight confusion, “Why..?”

She didn’t mean to, but her eyes darted down to his leg in a split second before returning to his face, his green eyes sparkling in sudden realization.

“Oh… nah I’m fine.” Hiccup continued on, perhaps a bit more determined than before. Astrid shook her head before following, wishing that the poor boy would just take a break, and not work so hard to prove he didn’t need help. She didn’t want to embarrass him… but at the same time she so wished to offer assistance. Especially after all that she’d done to him in the past… or more like what she hadn’t done.

Hiccup glanced back again and smiled brightly, not seeming at all bothered by his leg- although she knew he was ignoring it on purpose. He did it every time anyone was around… except for Toothless and his Dad- even Gobber. That’s where she’d heard it from, was from the blacksmith, how Hiccup had nearly collapsed while trying to work on a new tailfin for Toothless at the forge. If Gobber hadn’t been keeping a sharp eye on the lad, the boy would’ve fallen into the forge fire from the pain from his leg.

“You should…” Astrid started, Gobber’s words ringing through her brain. “Maybe… we should ride Toothless?”

Hiccup stopped, his hands playing with his vest although he didn’t turn to face her. “I’m fine, Astrid. Besides, Toothless is too far ahead anyways.”

Astrid bit her lip in worry, but didn’t protest further. She skipped over a log and dropped down beside him, glancing from behind her bangs at his face. He looked calm… a bit troubled but for the most part alright.

“I’m sorry.” She rambled. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you… or hurt you I just-“ She stopped and grabbed his arm. “I just don’t want you to be in pain and try to hide it because of me.”

Hiccup lifted his head and smiled that signature bright, happy smile of his, emerald eyes sparkling and his hands gesturing once again. “I get it… and th-thank you. That means a lot.”

She smiled and leaned towards him, giving him a sideways hug before pulling away, letting her arm drape down his shoulder and touch his hand. She felt a shiver of excitement tingle through her limb and into her chest- until it touched her heart. She let her touch linger, before hesitating- wondering if she even deserved his attention. After hardly any of the attention she’d given him over the years… after all the ignorance he’d received from her, did she really deserve to have his trust?


Hiccup was just about to step over a fallen tree trunk, but paused with one foot on the wood and his hands resting on the tree. “Yeah, Astrid?”

“Could… is it alright if-“ She laughed to cover her stuttering, silently scolding herself in her mind for making such a fool of herself. “C-Can I hold your hand?”

Hiccup looked surprised, and she knew what was passing through his mind. Heh, she’d kissed him without a second thought, and here she was, asking him for permission to hold his hand.

But… now she had time to think, and thinking told her to be careful, to tread lightly. She felt like she didn’t deserve his… attention.

“S-seriously?” Hiccup stuttered, stumbling away from the log and staring at her in disbelief.

“Yeah…” She responded, her fingers fumbling together. “I’m sorry- I get it with everything that’s happened before-“

“No!” Hiccup protested, his hands once again moving about wildly. “N-no, I’d… I’d really like that.” He added shyly, reaching for her hand. Their fingers intertwined, Astrid staring at them for a moment before slowly looking up into the red-faced boy before her. But through the burn of embarrassment he was grinning broadly.

“Home, milady?” he asked cheekily.

“Lead on, Dragon Boy.” She laughed.

More of my writing 

Breathtaking view of a futsal court located in the rural areas of Nabawan, Sabah. This photo was taken by Mohd Khairul Amin Mohammad, a teacher of SK Logongon using a Mavic Pro drone. According to the teacher, in order to get here, you have to drive two hours on logging roads using a four-wheel-drive and cross a river which can take one hour. Villagers or students must walk through hilly terrain for 15 minutes, adding that the school is located “far from the city.”

Die Lüneburger Heide is a large area of heath, geest, and woodland in Niedersachsen (Lower Saxony) in northern Germany. It forms part of the hinterland for the cities of Hamburg, Hannover, and Bremen and is named after the town of Lüneburg. Most of the area is a nature reserve with extensive areas of heathland, typical of those that covered most of the North German countryside until about 1800, but have almost completely disappeared. The heaths were formed after the Neolithic period by overgrazing of the once widespread forests on the sandy soils of the geest, as this slightly hilly and sandy terrain in northern Europe is called - this area therefore a historic cultural landscape ad is under protection. The remaining areas are kept clear mainly through grazing, especially by a North German breed of moorland sheep called the Heidschnucke. Due to its unique landscape, the Lüneburger Heide is a popular tourist destination. 

Left In The Past || @captainofthecosmos



Tony’s hands caressed her body, making her glow brighter than ever before. She moaned loudly, his touches sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. She may have been drunk off her ass, but Tony was still making her cum harder than she ever remembered. She had started off the night lonely, missing Max terribly, but it ended up better than she could’ve expected.

“Max? Max are you here?” Alumina hollered, having just arrived home from a long mission, “I am in need of one of your famous foot rubs cuz goddamn, running around hilly terrain just KILLS my ankles.” She stopped when she entered the room he was in, however, as he stood there with an absolutely terrifying look on his face.

“Max? Are you ok?”


It would come as no great surprise to an experienced traveler of Cyrodiil’s back country if I were to give them the warning, “avoid Ogres if you can. They are dangerous indeed.” Such a person may well ask for more obvious pronouncements. Perhaps “the grass is green, so be aware of that.” In fact, a legendary foul temperament and overall capacity for effective physical violence are hallmarks of the Ogre race, known all too well to woodsmen, mercenaries, and apprentice mages hoping to collect fresh Ogre teeth for bonus points in Alchemy 101.

A rather primitive race of large, brutish, vaguely humanoid creatures, Ogres seem to prefer hilly or mountainous terrain and are more common in the North, and in Colovia than in the Nibenay Basin. They are considered Goblin-ken, along with Goblins and Orcs, and Malacath is their patron deity. He considers them his ‘little brothers’ and becomes quite angry when people go out of their way to mistreat them. A popular folktale from the end of the Third Era claims that a questing hero and Malacath devotee - most often an Orc in their oral traditions - freed some Gold-Coast Ogres from a haughty nobleman who had enslaved them, and the Ogres in turn forced the nobleman to work the fields instead as they supervised him. It’s unlikely this fanciful tale has any basis in reality: such reversals are common in Colovian folk tales, and serve to impart moral lessons upon their readers and listeners.

Ogres are known to have an obsession with finely crafted human materials, and shiny things in particular, whether natural or crafted. They often steal heirloom swords and large gems to satisfy this obsession. Most Ogres wear crude hip packs and loin cloths of hide. It is speculated that they do have a rudimentary culture and can use tools, although most fight unarmed, preferring to batter opponents with their tough, rock-like fists. There are unconfirmed reports that the more intelligent members of their species can sometimes be outfitted for war in oversized suits of armor, and can be trained to wield heavy weapons effectively. There are even fanciful tales of Ogre magi casting powerful sorceries, imbued with the malice and wit of Malacath, but these are most often found in cautionary tales for children, or the epic poems of yore.

Ogre blood ancestry is unknown, but many people believe they can and do interbreed with Orcs and Goblins on occasion, and one infamous Imperial man believed his family was descended from them, although it is reported that his quest to reunite with his “long lost kin” ended in his untimely but inevitable demise. Like many Tamrielic creatures, their bodies contain magic, which can be imbued into potions. Alchemists prize their teeth and pay high prices for them, often attracting the attention of competing mercenary guilds. Adventurers questing in the Colovian Highlands and Bruma county are advised to tip their swords or arrow heads in poison as this primitive race has a particular weakness to it - one of the few pieces of folk wisdom surrounding Ogres which has been shown to be objectively true. Adventurers who believe they can confuse Ogres with riddles or bribe them with large potatoes might find that too much reliance on folk wisdom can be fatal, however.

(Writing: Pilaf the Defiler / Art: Lady Nerevar)


One of my favorite cryptids, or fearsome critters as American frontier/wilderness cryptids tend to be called, is the hoop snake. According to folklore, the hoop snake is a snake that bites its tail and rolls down hills and mountains- which is a cute image but totally not how reptiles move around. 

Fortunately for the Mount Lyell salamander (Hydromantes platycephalus), nobody has ever told it anything about American folklore. The Mount Lyell salamander lives in the Sierra Nevada mountains- very rocky, hilly terrain. It’s extremely well-adapted to this environment and can actually curl up like a wheel and roll down hills when it’s in a hurry. To do this, it needs an extremely flexible spine- not just so that it can circle up but so that it can absorb shock as it rolls along. Pretty neat!

House Brax, lords of Hornvale, sworn to Lannister

House Brax is among the chief bannermen of House Lannister. Their shield depicts a purple unicorn on silver. Hornvale the seat of House Brax, is situated in hilly and mountainous terrain near the headwaters of the Red Fork. During the War of the Five Kings, House Brax answers the call of Lord Tywin Lannister. Ser Tytos is the current lord Brax.

A Happy Accident

fanfictionfromerebor || imagine

It had been a long day of hiking with the company of Thorin Oakenshield and all were ready for a hot meal and rest. As you were moving through such hilly terrain, it was impractical to ride the ponies, so everyone was groaning about having to be on their feet all day. Thorin had called everybody to a halt, and was surveying a sheltered area at the side of a huge grey cliff that went up into the clouds. It was the only almost level land that he had seen all day and he gave the order to set camp there. Everybody rushed to get as close to the fire as possible, just like your bad luck you ended up in the spot behind Bombur. The heat of the fire would literally never reach your tired bones now. You sat down in a huff, crossing your arms and frowning. You could hear muffled laughter coming from just behind you, you turned to see Thorin trying to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

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Los Haitises” means “little hills” – so it’s easy to see how Los Haitises National Park got its name. Located in Samaná, the park is most easily accessible by boat from Samaná town. The hilly terrain is home to birds and other wildlife, as well as many caves where visitors can swim in fresh water. The ancient Taino people used some of these caves in ancient times, and their paintings and carvings can still be found throughout the national park.

“Los Haitises” significa “pequeñas colinas” – Es muy fácil de ver de dónde el Parque Nacional Los Haitises obtiene su nombre. Por su ubicación en Samaná, es más fácil acceder al parque en bote desde el pueblo de Samaná. Su terreno abrupto alberga aves y otras especies silvestres, así como muchas cavernas donde los visitantes pueden nadar en agua fresca. Los antiguos taínos usaban algunas de estas cuevas ancestrales en los tiempos antiguos y sus pinturas y tallados aún pueden ser encontrados por todo el parque nacional.

Melting Gold, Part III

A/N: Just another cute fluffy installment for Pyrrha and Ruby, the world’s most mellow and cute girlfriends, where nothing bad happens and nobody is dead.

Part I
Part II

Read on AO3

The tree bore no fruit, but every branch hung heavy with its own burden.

Holding tightly onto Ruby’s hand, Pyrrha looked up at the bowed tree, crooked and ancient. Rubber and steel swung limply on a breeze. Dozens– hundreds– of shoes hung from every limb, tied together with laces done in complex sailor’s knots. The last rite of a Signal student.

At this time of year, Signal Campus echoed emptily, felt hollow. Everyone went home for the summer, or to a Hunting Academy after graduation.

Ruby didn’t graduate with her friends.

So, stepping towards the tree, she swung her arm once and launched her boots up onto the tree. They soared through the air, spinning once before landing on a branch. It bent under the weight, groaning in protest. But it buoyed itself back up in the end and Ruby’s red boots joined the others, for as long as they could stay.

Ruby clasped her hands in front of her, eyes fixated on the tree. Her bare toes curled, digging into the black, damp soil.

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Urbanscapes of Mexico - Tijuana 

Tijuana is a relatively new city, by Mexican standards being founded only in 1889 along the United States Mexico border. It encompasses 246 square miles and has a population of more than 1.7 million people. Since the 1980′s the city’s population has nearly quadrupled in size adding stress on infrastructure and development. Many informal settlements surround the city in a central ring, though new planned suburban divisions can now be found even further in the periphery. 

Tijuana’s unique position along the American border has allowed it to become a multinational city as many people from other parts of the republic and Central America located here in hopes of achieving the Mexican or American dream. Many people who live in Tijuana work across the American border in cites like San Diego and vice versa. Many tourists visit Tijuana and surrounding cities such as Rosario adding to its international status. Tijuana like other cities in northern Mexico like Monterrey have become the new lands of opportunity though they have been been subject to cartel violence. 

The socioeconomic form of Tijuana is a mix of extreme poverty and wealth. Many new developments can be found throughout the city along side neglected properties in the urban core. The physical form of the city is influenced by its location on hilly terrain which sets a particular challenge for a cohesive urban form.  Tijuana has rapidly grown to become one of Mexico’s leading cities in what seems the blink of an eye. if current trends continue it is set to surpass other leading cities such as Puebla and Guadalajara. 

Stalling 24/7 is bad in general but if you do this with young and growing horses, you’re setting them up to have soundness issues down the road.

They need to grow and develop good bone and start to strengthen their tendons and ligaments by moving on (preferably) hilly and varied terrain or at the very least, being able to move around a significant amount throughout the day.

In The Name Of Your Father

TITLE: In The Name of Your Father


AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki is training recruits for a war that Asgard is in. Every house has to send one man to fight in the army, but your father is too old/ill to go, so you disguise yourself as a man to save him from certain death. Basically something resembling the Disney Movie of Mulan.

RATING: Teen and Up

 Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it pulsing in your throat and even in your tongue. Each step you took brought you closer to your impending doom. Until the sun had started to set, you had contemplated taking your chances and attempting to flee, as the end result if caught would be the same, death, but had where did the greatest chance of surviving lie? That was answered when several more Einharjar showed up with what were assumed to be messages from the Allfather, meaning there was next to no chance of fleeing without someone noticing. So instead you found yourself trudging through the sea of tents to the largest one which housed the Trickster Prince, hoping against hope that you would be allowed live if you were of enough use to Asgard.

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Pig Wk 18 Sunday

The Hansons prefer you do your “long” run at a pace somewhere between easy and race pace. From the chart in their book, a 2:45 marathon equates to 6:53/mi pace for these runs. Not terribly difficult compared to a 6:18/mi marathon pace, but not a slam dunk either.

Add in my recovery from injury, cold temperatures, and lots of rolling hills, and now you’ve have something to be a little nervous about. I still have anxiety before tough workouts and races. Usually I can swallow it because I know I’ve done the work and the confidence from that flows. Once I start running, it all seems to fade away.

My first mile was okay, but then the next 3 were really cruising. Noting in my head that I was going too fast and might not be able to sustain, I pulled it back for the second east loop of the Morton Arboretum. Very happy with the effort vs results, especially on the hilly terrain. The worst climbs are in miles 10 + 11, yet I still hung in there. The last mile is mostly downhill. What a blast to crush the pace at the end after being out there so long!

As I pulled back into the parking lot to wrap things up, I click my watch to stop and stare at the average pace – 6:50/mi. Hell yeah!

anonymous asked:

If Bookingham was a real place, what do you imagine it would look like?

Oh, MAN. This is like the greatest question I have ever gotten.

So first of all, because I love the ocean, Bookingham is an island. The climate is temperate, Mediterranean, the terrain hilly and rocky and studded with springs and olive groves. At the peak of the island, if you will, is the Library, Panverborum, place of all words. It’s a glittering paragon of neoclassical architecture. Of course it also serves at the Bookingham seat of government (i.e., my house, duh), but first and foremost, it’s a library. The whole place is stuffed floor to ceiling with books and plays and folios, and comfortable couches and armchairs and floor pillows and fireplaces and reading nooks. Below ground is the most glorious wine cellar the world has ever seen. 

Now, arranged in concentric rings around the library are narrow cobbled streets, with little bookshops and print shops and tea rooms and wine bars and what have you all crammed together on each side. Most of the proprietors—that is to say, the citizens—live above the shops in modest but comfortable dwellings, windows always open to welcome in a breeze, profusions of flowers spilling out of window boxes. Pets are, of course, welcome, and it’s not uncommon to see a cat leap out of one window, scurry along a wall, and be welcomed in through another. 

The farther you go down toward the shore, the farther apart the buildings are and the denser the trees get. Of course you can find statues and fountains and streams and at least one sprawling ampitheatre in the Greek style. Now, since Bookingham is a paper-and-ink economy and nobody can live on olives and wine alone (though some of us have tried and not been totally disappointed) the harbor is a busy place. We get all sorts, traders, sailors, pirates, you name it, but so long as they’re willing to abide by our laws—read books, be merry, don’t be a dick—they’re welcome to come and stay as long as they like. It’s not uncommon for them to jump ship and settle down permanently. But the ones who don’t bring goods we need and news of the outside world as well, and tell stories to eager listeners who likely as not will write their tales down and have them printed and hand them a book of their very own stories the next time they make port.

All in all it’s a pretty great place. Who wants to move here?