Victorious Homecoming [Tingara and Herd]

[Corowa]

Durroon
Durroon snorted with amusement, for this mare seemed talkative as the gang gangs she told of! “They are both fine stallions,” she nodded wisely, warming towards the kind and gentle mare. “Surely two of the finest stallions in the High Country, and I am proud to have run with both of them.” For though Durroon would soon enough return that noble grey stallion of whom she spoke, she had forgotten this throbbing excitement, the excitement of running with one who had stolen her away.

When the wind whispered in the leaves of the snowgums, a sigh went through the grazing herd. One by one, the mares drifted towards the trees, shy Taworri amongst them. Looking on curiously, the old mare wondered whether any would return to Tingara. He had fought hard for them, had rightly won them, and so it was right those mares should run with him for a season. Such was the way of the bush, and had Durroon been once more young and beautiful, she would surely have remained in his mob, pleased to have been sought by King of all the Cascade brumbies.

Durroon was old, for she felt the stiff ache in her bones, knew she would last but a few seasons more. While she would miss her friendship with Crayola, she felt herself filled with longing for Nevada. “Those are both strong names,” she went on cheerfully, “But you would need a strong name indeed for a foal born from such as stallion as your mate.” Listening closely to the mare’s chatter, Durroon thought perhaps it would do Nevada’s mob good to run with another stallion. Those mares and fillies were only young, and it was time they learned all the wisdom the bush could teach them.

Werrilah
Nimbly, the colt galloped after Boorana. Lighter on her feet, the filly mocked him with her swiftness. For when Werrilah came to a standstill beside her, he was blowing hard. His ears pricked at the filly’s words, and he snorted scornfully. Bush wise like his mother, the colt knew much of the bush, and did not think to be afraid.

The brown filly slipped through the snowgums, and swiftly, Werrilah plunged after her. There was the glimpse of brown hide, and the colt swung about after it. Glittering brilliantly in the bars of sunlight, Werrilah felt his hide prickle queerly, felt himself strangely exposed. Whereas, Boorana melted into the scrubby stringybarks and dry eucalypt, Werrilah stood out, clear and beautiful as snow. Nose to the ground, the colt trailed the filly until he lost her tracks on the rocks. The ground grew steeper and rougher, striking sharply upwards to a shaly spur, the northernmost peak of Dead Horse Ridge. Blowing nosily through his nostrils, the colt’s ears flickered uncertainly.

Thinking perhaps Boorana had gone through here, Werrilah picked his way carefully upwards, slithering on the loose stones, stumbling over the great slabs of granite. Sweat broke out behind his ears, and his legs ached from the steep climb. Stopping to catch his breath on a narrow ledge of rock, the colt peered nervously over the edge. Backing hastily away when he saw the hillside dropping sharply down to the snowgum flat below, Werrilah went more slowly upwards. He wondered where Boorana had run to, for his straining ears heard no sounds but the gentle music of the bush.

Myrrina
Myrrina had been quietly grazing when several excited whinnies reached her ears. Throwing up her head sharply, the mare looked towards the grassy slope, where those other mares stood grazing. A small mob of fillies had gathered around the sleeping Tingara, and Myrrina gave a furious whinny. Snorting with impatience at the mischievousness of young fillies, the mare hurried towards them. “Leave him young ones,” she demanded, when she was close enough to see who stirred such trouble. “He and does not need foolish fillies worrying him. Let him sleep in peace, find one of the other mares to bother with your nonsense.”

Aware the fillies would most likely carry on their play once she left, the mare made no move to go. Ears flattened in threat, the mare stood over Tingara, dropping her nose to gently rub his ears. These daughters of Nevada were bothersome, but the mare knew in one or two seasons, Tingara would show more interest in them. Until then, she would make certain their playful teasing did not trouble him too much. The strain of that terrible fight with Nevada still showed, and Myrrina knew he would need many days of rest until he had healed.

[Tiggs]

Crayola was too distracted to notice Durroon was paying attention to the other new mares in the herd. Instead, she swished her tail gleefully. “I love naming foals,” she pawed at the group and tore up some fresh blade to chew. She couldn’t imagine not having a foal to fuss over. She would likely have nothing much to do otherwise. “Our foals will be fine friends,” she said sagely with a nod, “Just like we shall be.” She nudged Durroon’s dark shoulder, her entire posture friendly and welcoming. She was completely unaware of Durroon’s thought to leave, of course. Even if she could hear those thoughts, she would probably be just as amiable.

Meanwhile, Quinja and the other were being confronted by Mirrina. Quinja squealed, sidestepping and lowering her head. “We were just playing!” She said defensively, with guilt written all over her face. As it seemed Myrrina was not going to let their game continue, Quinja sulked off to graze mournfully at a respectful distance from the pale mare. She had preferred it when Myrrina had been quiet and nervous in her father’s herd, Quinja thought to herself spitefully. They had only been playing a game! It wasn't as if they were going to trample all over him!

Quinja fixed a wary eye on Myrrina as she hovered around the huge stallion. Huffing, the paling grey roan filly lifted her head from the grass and wandered off to find Castelle again. The spotty filly was a fun playmate and Quinja was not about to let her mood be spoilt by an uppity old mare. The yearling had a lot to learn about herd politics, and little did she know that in another year or so, Tingara would not seem so frightening. Quite the opposite, in fact. For now though, she was an adolescent and as the summer progressed, she would learn many things in her lessons disguised as play with the other foals.

OOC: Just wanted to fit a reply in here so I didn’t leave Corowa hanging. This thread next continues in Yarraman’s Valley! Any Tingara mares not already there, get to it!