It was quite a bit of luck that the King’s herd had passed this way. The trail was impossible to miss. Thalera had heard that there were some young fillies ripe for the picking in the King’s herd! And as they were his daughters, he wouldn’t mind so much if he gathered them all up and took them away!

The sooty palomino trotted along the group’s trail as it meandered through the scrub. He was feeling confident. He was three now, really ready to collect and hold fillies. He could feel his muscles working in his legs and hindquarters, and though there was nobody to see him just yet, he arched his neck proudly. His sooty tail flagged behind him, white-flaxen hairs mixed heavily with black. Unlike his father, his mane was clear of black hairs, it was his tail that was darker.

Finally the trail widened into a valley, and in it grazed a herd of mares and fillies. Thalera couldn’t help but stare. The mares were all very interesting, but it was the group of fillies dancing on the fringe of the herd that caught his attention. Wow. If they weren’t prime stock, he didn’t know what was! They might not have been goldens or silvers, but the collection of dark and mottled coats were just stunning. he’d never seen so many beautifully-built fillies. He supposed that’s what you got when you visited the King’s herd. Good blood.

Making his way around the adult mares, he neared the fillies (luckily downwind of the King – a happy coincidence) and began to buck and rear in his excitement. Some were only yearlings – not much point taking them yet – but the two and even three-year-olds were just what he was looking for. Cantering a circle to burn off his excess energy, he came to a halt and called to them.

He was pleased to hear that his voice was deeper now, more fitting to a stallion of his calibre. He called again, trying to be appealing as possible. It was the slate grulla and roan three-year-olds that really caught his attention. He called to them specifically, tossing his dark head so his pale flaxen mane caught the breeze. He tried a deep nicker, attempting to lure the fillies away from the yearlings.

Thalera was pleased to see that the young roan was rapt with interest: exactly what he had hoped. The grulla was promising up until the point that she nipped his shoulder. He squealed and flicked his ears back in warning but she pranced away before he could return the favour. He called her back but she raced off to the herd, though the sooty palomino was soon distracted by the younger chestnut filly.

She seemed to have no hesitancy and he greeted her with a firm nuzzle, rubbing her cheek with his dark and pink nose. He looked over to the blue roan when he rubbed the chestnut filly’s back, conveying his promise to give her the same affection in his dark eyes. The chestnut filly was a delightful little thing, but it was the three-year-old that really caught his eye. He was not the sort to pass up an opportunity, however.

As the sounds of the herd fade into background noise, Thalera ignored the sound of the yearling’s challenge and the stares of the other on looking mares. “What’s your name, filly?” He asked the chestnut, attempting to sound mature and suave. He might have managed to sound genuinely interested if he wasn’t glancing to the roan every other second.

Thalera’s antics had not gone unnoticed by the King, only ignored for the moment. The young stallion had not shown any interest in the older mares and so Tingara would tolerate him until the time came for him to step in and chase the youngster away. For the moment the black stallion grazed contentedly, still moving stiffly from his latest fight. It was a fight he did well not to dwell on for it was one that had drained him both physically and emotionally.

Eventually Tingara realised that he could not ignore the other stallion forever. Eventually he stopped grazing and wandered to where the younger horses of the herd often played and frolicked. His step was light but did not mask previous injuries, and his head was held high with pride and strength. The King regarded the pale colt, calling out a warning to him but he did not yet intervene. Instead he watched Werrilah, his pale son was so ready to challenge to stranger over Boorana. It filled the black stallion with pride to know that one day his son would make an excellent leader.

||OoC: Castelle and Cooma will come later in the thread if I remember >>;;||

Thalera paused in his affections toward the chestnut at her hard remark. His soot-smothered ears flicked back against his pale mane for a moment, and his dark eyes turned stormy. She was just a chestnut, yet she spoke as if she were the most beautiful mare in the High Country. Only a mare like that was permitted to talk to him that way. He might have scoffed at her until he reasoned that she was a King’s daughter, and while she was boring to behold, she might one day carry for him pristine foals.

His ears eased forward and his eyes softened again. “You are right – your majesty – who am I to call you ‘filly’? I am in awe, for I am faced with a multitude of princesses!” He arched his neck, pleased at the words he was crafting. She would have to believe such a convincing act. “It is only my dream that you and your sisters might run with me, for we would spread our – your – beauty across the High Country and be the envy of every herd!”

His attention was caught then by a white shape darting between the herd, chasing after the slate grulla who had nipped him. Another colt after the King’s fillies? The other mares did not seem bothered by him, so his protective nature over his sisters must be commonplace. After a brief evaluation, Thalera deemed the white colt handsome and young enough to beat. He threw his head high, showing his confidence over the prospect of a challenge from the white. He did not even register the uptight yearling as a potential threat.

While striking his defiant pose, he saw the roan he had been trying to impress making her way over. She seemed unsure, but Thalera was delighted. He whinned, excited and expectant. The white was getting closer, and he could see the hulking black shape of the King himself making his way over. His heart lurched with excitement, and he danced backward, still tossing his head with ears perked forward.

He called to the beautiful roan and her chestnut sister. As though he couldn’t help himself, he gave another call to the smoky grulla, and another to each of the young fillies he could see. He propped on his haunches, ran a little distance and threw a taunting neigh to the white colt. He spun, reared and called loudly for the fillies again. As soon as his pale hooves bit the earth again, he spun and ran a little more, pausing to see who might be following.