Wreathed with light, [O]

[Corowa]

Warridanga grazed in the shallow snowgrass basin. To the south, the bare line of ridge fell sharply downwards to the freezing waters of Lake Cootapatamba. The slopes surrounding the lake were covered with a silver-white carpet of snow daises, dusted with spring snow. Throwing up her head in one fluid movement, sunlight rippling off her golden hide, the filly’s ears pricked curiously forwards. A gentle breeze stirred the snowgrass, and filled Warridanga with a restless excitement. The blood thrummed in her veins, and unable to bear it any longer, the filly sprang away at a gallop.

Galloping gaily over the snowgrass, soft and springy underfoot, Warridanga propped and turned, swung nimbly about towards the mist shrouded lake. When the wise grey brolga circled round the glacial lake with its harsh cry, the filly leapt sharply to one side, until breathless at last, she stopped. Thirsty, she drank deeply, ears twitching nervously as the murmuring winds broke the mirror stillness of the water. When the fine hair in her ears tingled, the filly plunged headlong into those deep cold waters.

There must have been ice beneath the lake, for it was achingly cold. With strong strokes, Warridanga swam towards the shore, found one foothold and then another. The sun was warm on her back, and the filly felt gloriously alive. For there on the shaly shores of Lake Cootapatamba, the filly pranced with joyful lightness, wreathed with these brightly glistening droplets of ice cold water, golden hide gleaming in the light.

OOC: For Ehetere and her stallion, but anyone can join who hasn't really interacted with my characters much.

[Ehetere]

Burrello cantered through the snowgums; flitting through the trees with grace and ease. Loora, his only mare, followed only not so nimbly; her heavier black form having difficulty between the dense trunks. Burrello was very proud that he had been able to find enough food for him and Loora through the winter; and already he knew his way rather well around the high country. He was fast learning the ways of the bush, and was no longer spooked when a silent own brushed his ears in flight or when a lyrebird mimicked what he knew was the sound of a creaking gate. These things no longer bothered him; and the more bush wise he became, the more his confidence did also, and here he was, galloping up and up to unknown territory and new places to explore. This new wild life was for him; it felt as though he should have been born here, for he felt that he belonged.

He burst from the trees only to come upon a rather strange and mysterious sight. Here was an enormous lake in a valley covered with snow flowers; everything was dusted with white aside from the crystal grey waters that shimmered in the early morning light. A film of mist also lingered over the water; adding to the beauty and majesty of the scene. But the most dazzling feature of all had to be the golden filly who had just stepped with such elegance from the misty lake’s surface; as if she had been born from the waters themselves. She was beautiful in a way that Loora could never be; Loora was strong and well bred, but she was also more heavily built, despite her race horse ancestry. This filly looked as though she was made from golden snow; glittering and shimmering like the surface of the lake. Loora had apparently seen her too, and had stopped on the fringe of the trees; her dark hide preventing her from showing up. Burrello’s thoughts turned to the fact that now as a four year old stallion; perhaps he should collect a herd. He could certainly see no other horses in the near by vicinity, and this mare seemed to possess the beauty of the sun and the lake combined. Burrello could simply not hold himself back, and with a quiet nicker telling Loora to stay put, he moved out into the golden light himself, trotting with his head held high, his neck arched in a powerful curve and his tail flowing out behind him.

Hoping that he would not scare the lovely mare away, Burrello simply circled around her slightly, keeping his distance, and then slowed his pace to a smooth walk as he went to the lake’s edge to drink. The water itself was rather cold, and he sneezed; blowing bubbles in the water, from the surprise. He hoped that the filly wouldn’t laugh at him - he had never been this far up before, so how he to know that there was ice in the lake somewhere? He lifted his head again, and looked at her in a respectful manner. “Greetings to you fine filly on this glorious spring morning. May I inquire as to what brings you up to such a high lake?” Burrello didn’t approve of stallions that went around prancing and screaming to collect their mares; his mother had always taught him to be courteous and polite to others, and he had no intention of breaking this golden rule now.

[Corowa]

The filly stilled for a moment, one forefoot raised. For there on one of those bare snowgrass spurs, a stallion stood. Nostrils quivering, Warridanga threw up her head and watched as he hurried down the steep slope. He was rather splendid looking, with a fine-chiselled head and high, arched neck. Nickering appreciatively, the filly felt her heart pound with excitement, longing for the companionship of other young horses. Born to the north of the Ingeegoodbee River, Warridanga had run with a mob near the Quambat, until they’d been captured in the brumby drive. The heavy winter snow had driven her down to the lower country of the Crackenback, and it was only now, the filly was finding her way back.

With a proud, swinging step, the stallion trotted around. Fascinated, Warridanga made no move to run. Suddenly, he swung sharply about, until he stopped there on the bank of Lake Cootapatamba. Curiously, Warridanga crept closer, until her shoulder bumped his and the filly felt her hair all stand on end. Then she turned, nipping him playfully for his boldness. “I am a filly of the sun,” she teased, “For it was the rising of the sun, which led me here.” When the wind gently stirred about those great rough outcrops, threaded its way through the granite tors of Rawson’s Pass, the pale grey mist swirled and vanished.

Skin prickling; Warridanga seemed unable to stand still. Sidestepping nervously, the filly tossed her head and leapt away at a gallop. Filled with high spirits, she gave several lively bucks, and then was off once more, head held high and tail streaming out like a pennant on the wind. With an impetuous neigh, she called to the stallion, called to him to join her in a swift gallop over the snowgrass.

[Ehetere]

Burrello watched that glorious golden filly creep closer and closer until her shoulder brushed against his own; just for an instant. She then nipped him; a teasing sort of nip, and proclaimed, “I am a filly of the sun, for it was the rising of the sun which led me here.” Burrello stood; rooted to the spot with wonder. A sudden wind; his wind, swirled around his ears and blew the last wispy remains of mist from the surface of the lake. It now seemed to Burrello as though there were two skies; or perhaps a pool of the sky, where the lake had been.

The sun filly then stepped away from him and galloped off up the gentle slopes surrounding the sky-lake. Burrello raised his head; alarmed, only to see the filly buck and play with her head held high and her silken tail flying free. Burrello relaxed once more and, praying that Loora would behave and not do anything stupid in his absence, sprang after the golden filly; who was as lithe and swift as a sunbeam, and doubly as beautiful.

In all his wanderings of the high country; and too his life before freedom, never had he glimpsed a horse; filly or otherwise, like she. E had been told of the Silver Herd and their beauty, but had never sighted one of them. Surely this filly equalled their told beauty, if not surpassing it! Letting out an excited snort, Burrello ran that little bit faster; his strong, long legs eating up the ground beneath him, to reach her and catch her up. Wind, created by his own speed this time, sent his mane flying and he let out a joyous neigh for exhilaration of the chase. Humans had bred him for running and he doubted that there was any brumby in the high country who could out-pace him.

[Corowa]

Squealing with delight, Warridanga tossed her head and lashed out playfully with her heels. Then the stallion was there beside her, and the filly propped and swung neatly round on her haunches. Slowing her headlong gallop, the filly gave another of those stiff-legged bucks, and then turned towards the wide slope of mountain. Trusting in her nimbleness, the filly hurtled up the steep grassy ridge. Here was the rough country of the upper High Country, the rocky tors and great slabs of granite, and Warridanga stopped. Head held high, the filly stood without a quiver.

Mocking the stallion with another laughing whinny, Warridanga plunged down the other side of the ridge. Lightly and swiftly the filly galloped, shale and gravel thrown up with each sure stride. Suddenly there was snowgrass, a sheltering clump of snowgums in the centre of this open plain. Coming to a standstill, the filly stood quietly, ears pricked sharply; sweat steaming off her heaving flanks.

Through the trunks of the snowgums, the shadows shifted and blurred. Lifting her nose, the filly looked and listened. Snorting loudly, Warridanga pawed the ground impatiently, and then cantered down the snowgrass, towards the thin line of trees. For there, between the silver limbs and wide-spaced branches of the snowgums, a mare stood and waited. Giving a queer sort of neigh, Warridanga stopped abruptly. Ears twitching nervously, the filly smelt the lingering scent of the stallion, knew this fine black mare to be his. With a gentle whicker, she threaded her way through the trees, extended her nose in greeting

[Ehetere]

Loora flung up her head in surprise as a golden filly cantred over the ridge towards her. She wanted to run, but Burrello had told her to stay put, so resolutely she did. Loora knew that her colouring hid her well in the shadows of the trees, and it wasn’t until the other filly was quite close that she finally spotted her. Loora still stayed, no longer so afraid since she was so much larger than the filly. Hell, she was bigger than Burrello for goodness sake, but still, he was much more knowledgeable and wise than she. When the mare extended her nose, Loora reached out to meet it, bold because she could see Burrello coming and knew that there was nothing to fear from this filly. Actually it was quite nice to be able to socialise with other horses from time to time; she hadn’t really talked with anyone other than Burrello since she had left the safety of her paddock for him. She would quite like some other mares to talk with. There was nothing wrong with mares; Burrello often told her that it was other stallions that she should truly be wary of.

“I am Bulooral, named by Burrello as the night owl” Loora nickered in greeting, “But you may call me Loora. That is what Burrello calls me, and I like it better since it is easier to pronounce. What is your name?”

“Hush Loora,” murmured Burrello as he joined the two mares, “Be calm.” Loora simply rolled her eyes at him and looked back expectantly at the sun filly. Burrello snorted in half annoyance and half exasperation. Loora was a rather foolish one; and that coupled with her looks could get her into some sticky situations that he would undoubtedly have to rescue her from. She really was rather naive about certain things, and had a tenacity only to remember half of what he said, especially when it was important. Until recently, she had stuck so closely to his flank that she could cause no real trouble from being terrified of this wide new world, but now that she was becoming used to it, he could tell that one day she was likely to do something really rather stupid and get himself and anyone tagging along into deep trouble.

[Corowa]

Warridanga bumped the mare’s nose affectionately, ears pricked as she gently sniffed the mare’s neck. “I’m Warridanga,” she answered proudly. “For the midday sun I was named.” From further down the flat came the drumming of galloping hooves, and then the black stallion burst into view. Throwing up her head, Warridanga peered out from between the leathery leaves of the snowgums. The stallion checked on the edge of the timber, dropped back to a swinging walk, and unable to contain her excitement, she neighed to him.

When his sweaty hide touched hers, the filly kicked out playfully, showing him a clean pair of heels. Rising lightly on her hind legs, Warridanga coaxed the stallion to play. In the grove of snowgums, silver-bleached by wind and snow, the glittering filly merrily danced. The joyful song of a currawong from those wind-tossed limbs was the only sound to break the silence of the morning. Sunlight burned on her golden coat, rippled in her silver mane and tail, and Warridanga pranced away from the line of trees.

‘Come to me,’ her throbbing neigh seemed to say. The clearer country of Lake Cootapatamba filled her with restlessness, and the filly stood, listening to the wind as it softly murmured through the leaves. Pawing the ground impatiently, she forced the stallion’s attention to her with a toss of her fine head and another of those shrill teasing whinnies. Then no longer able to stand still, she bounded away at a gallop, glad for the friendship of this fine young stallion and his mare.

[Ehetere]

The other filly bumped Loora playfully on the nose. Loora sniffed back in a friendly manner; since it looked as though Burrello was going to claim her for his herd. “I’m Warridanga,” announced the shiny filly, “For the midday sun I was named.” Loora decided that it suited her. Warridanga then threw her head up unexpectedly; which made Loora shy violently. She had always had somewhat of a flighty nature; and when she had lived with humans they had always taken special care not to spook her. Since coming to the high country, she had been forced to become more tolerant, but things still tended to scare her. Burrello’s presence always had a soothing on her, but not being able to touch him made her even more anxious.

When Warridanga kicked out at Burrello, Loora rolled her eyes in fear and fled, her nerves too shot from the unfamiliar territory for her to hold her ground. It didn’t even occur to her that Warridanga simply wanted to play; and not hurt Burrello. Loora just ran in the opposite direction as fast as her legs would take her.

Burrello watched with unconcerned eyes as Loora raced off into the bush. She was so panicked that she would not even remember that she should try and not leave a track; he doubted whether without him she would be able to hide her tracks anyway. Besides, Warridanga’s invitation to play was too hard to resist. They danced beneath the snowgums; Burrello intently watching her every move; noticing the way that the sunlight highlighted her golden coat and her mane shone like the tassels from his golden bridle humans had occasionally placed upon his head. And she neighed to him, calling him closer, whinnying in a way that he could not resist. She bounded away and he followed; racing with the wind he had been named for.

He had not learnt the meaning of his name until he came up here to the high country, and he liked it. The humans apparently hadn’t named him just at random. Warridanga would not get so far ahead this time; he was running it like a race. He charged forward, throwing his whole weight behind his legs and pushing himself ever faster. It was much easier running without a heavy human on his back, and was soon catching to her. He ran beside her, daring her to try and go faster before racing ahead and pulling up short right in front of her. He reared, calling out to Loora; telling her to be still and wait. He dropped back down on to all fours and pranced around her. When he finally stopped, he looked at her with fondness in his gaze. He lipped her ears gently, as he had often seen his father do to his mother. His mother had always been his father’s favourite, and it never bothered that him that he never really paid much attention to the other mares at the farm. Here in the high country he could care for many mares at the same time. “Perhaps we should go and find Loora before she loses herself completely,” he suggested mildly, “Come now, before she worries any more.”

[Corowa]

While Warridanga danced with high swinging steps over the carpet of snow daises, the black mare turned and fled. Pausing in her play, the filly looked on curiously, waited for Burrello to race after the terrified mare; swing her back towards the cover of the trees. When the stallion chose to answer her provocative call, to join her in a wild gallop over the snowgrass, Warridanga squealed with pleasure. Springing away after the swift stallion, swift as the winds for surely he was named, Warridanga kicked out playfully when he passed her.

Suddenly the stallion stopped dead. Throwing up her head, the filly pulled up sharply on her haunches and stood quite still. Nimbly, the stallion went up on his hind legs, and his commanding call caused a shiver of excitement to run through her. Then he was dropping to the ground, and Warridanga felt transfixed by his gaze. Taking a step back, the filly stilled when gently he touched her ears. There was something strangely possessive about his gesture, and she felt this thrilling fear run through her blood.

Tossing her head, Warridanga shied nervously away. With an uncertain twitch of her ears, the filly stood trembling all over. Every hair on her hide prickled uncomfortably, for the young filly could not understand this queerest of feelings, feverish in her veins. Heart pounding in her chest, Warridanga crept closer. Nervously, the filly touched Burrello’s shoulder with her nose. Nostrils quivering, she smelt his sweat, smelt the mingled scents of both her and the foolish black mare, Loora. Reassured slightly, Warridanga nibbled on his mane a moment then turned and teased him with a nip. “I know the High Country well,” she shyly said. “I was born to the north of the Ingeegoodbee River and travelled west from the Quambat. Yet I do not think we need such knowledge, for your mare is no ghost to move without leaving tracks.”

[Ehetere]

No, Loora can hide her tracks when she is thinking straight though; which is rarely. She panics often, and sometimes doesn’t think before jumping, but she is a kind soul,” replied Burrello, thinking fondly of his handsome black mare. Warridanga and Loora were already the beginnings of a fine herd; especially for a horse who had started off tame. Burrello arched his neck a little more; proud of his efforts. He nipped Warridanga playfully and trotted off slowly and gracefully, his legs moving in slow motion as humans had taught him. He had danced like this in a dirt arena with a human on his back when he was very young, and Loora had liked it when he danced for her like this. She had said it was beautiful, and he would just have to take her word for it. He continued the dance that his human had taught him; unable to see how the light played on his jet black coat or how his mane and tail shone like the sun’s reflection on a gently flowing creek.

Burrello finished in one of the most perfect levades he had ever performed in his life. When he was younger; he simply did not have the strength in his hindquarters to execute the maneuver. Now he was close to attaining his full strength in the high mountain country; performing his dance for a lovely golden filly. He had indeed come far from his previous life.

He whinnied in a high exhilarated voice; throwing his neigh back to Warridanga. “Come run with me!” Burrello sang joyfully, before setting off at a playful canter back down the snowgrass slope he had just galloped up in the direction that Loora had disappeared. They could pick up her track from where the trees began.