ancient tales, bush-wise mare, [O]

[Corowa]

In the soft light of a piccaninny dawn, Durroon grazed on the belly high snowgrass of the Bogong. That foal of hers, black as sallee with his queer white marking, was no more than dark heap on the ground beside her. Ears twitching nervously, Durroon lifted her head from her grazing and moved closer to her sleeping son. With an almost trembling shyness, the mare gently nosed him, blew softly through her nostrils. For though Durroon was old and bush-wise, there was always this strangeness about foals, which made every hair stand on end, made every nerve tingle so she could barely contain herself. Giving a low whicker, the mare touched the colt all over with her nose, reassured herself he was indeed real.

Stretched out on his side, Bunderra lay in the deep sleep known only to foals. With a wondering cry, he stirred, stared sleepily up at his mother through half-closed lids. Instinctively finding his feet, Bunderra stood with his legs splayed, for they were still new to him and he was not yet master of them. Swinging her haunches around, Durroon nudged the foal to find her bursting teats. Thrusting his head under her flank, he drank greedily, until he felt ready to burst with such goodness. Filled with the wild restlessness of all young creatures, he put his head down, and gave a lively buck. Then this fine black colt, inheritor to all of Durroon’s swiftness, all of her nimbleness, leapt lightly away at a gallop. His tail held high, Bunderra raced over the grassy plain, snowgrass springy underfoot, inviting him to find a faster pace. With a toss of her head, Durroon cantered after him, for there were other mobs of brumbies grazing the Bogong, and Bunderra was still much too young to meet them.

Where the flat grew rougher, scattered with scrubby clumps of snowgums, the colt propped neatly on his haunches. Stopping dead in her tracks, Durroon gave a peremptory neigh. Answering her call with his own shrill whinny, Bunderra turned and trotted back towards her. With high prancing steps, he returned to her side and Durroon was proud to see how gracefully he moved. Tired, for he had not the strength of a full-grown horse, Bunderra clung more closely to her, peered curiously out from underneath her belly. Durroon felt her heart bursting with love for him, this queer black son of hers. For Durroon was everything good in the world, and Bunderra returned her deep affection with his own fierce love.

OOC: This is thread for Durroon to meet up with Nevada once more

[Ehetere]

Kirrkie trotted slowly but proudly through the scrub with her leggy little black and white foal at her side. Quirindi had been born atop the strangest spur in the shade of a dead tree. There had been no other vegetation aside from dry grass on the plateau; so Kirrkie had decided to name her for her unusual birthplace. And as soon as the filly had been able to walk; Kirrkie had led her away; in search of her father’s old grazing place in hope of finding him once more.

Kirrkie knew that she had produced a beautiful filly foal; her unusual colouring said as much. Kirrkie had also been teaching her about the various aspects of bush life; determined to make her own filly’s childhood what hers should have been. Squealing could be heard somewhere up ahead, and Kirrkie snuck forward with increased caution and wariness. “Watch where you step now,” she instructed Quirindi, and crept forward to the very edge of the tree line; using the poor light and branches to mask her loud colouring along with her foals. But as soon as she looked out onto the Bogong, her fears were quietened. There playing in the thick grass was Nevada’s old lead mare; Durroon, and a colt of her own.

Kirrkie whinnied a greeting and emerged from the shadows, suspecting that the old wise mare already knew that she had been standing there, but announcing her presence none the less. If anyone would know where to find Nevada, it would be Durroon. Kirrkie stepped proudly through the grass, arching her neck as she showed off her lovely little filly.

[Corowa]

Durroon listened to the murmuring dawn wind, and nervously, she raised her head, ears flickering uncertainly. Bunderra stood with legs splayed, nibbling curiously at the snowgrass. With a snort, the mare called him to her. Straining her eyes, she could see no movement in the line of trees, though her hide prickled with the feeling of being watched. Telling the colt to stand and be silent, Durroon trotted out towards the trees. Then a shrill whinny rang out, and Durroon came to a standstill. Kirrkie stepped from the cover of snowgums, a foal trotting strongly at her side. Bunderra’s eyes widened when he saw the little filly, for she carried a scent he recognised in himself. Moving about restlessly, it was only when his mother playfully nipped him, did he canter forwards to greet the strange mare and her black and white foal.

Durroon called out her own greeting, and then walked carefully over towards them. Gently sniffing the young mare, Durroon soon turned her interest to the filly. Ears pricked and a soft expression in her eyes, the old mare dropped her nose down and tenderly rubbed her ears. “She is a fine foal,” the mare said. “What have you named her?” The filly was almost the same queer colour as her mother, and Durroon knew theirs was a colour, which could not so easily be hidden. “This is Bunderra my son,” she went on proudly. “He was named for the black wallabies, though he has not their shyness.” Extending his nose to this filly, his half-sister, Bunderra squealed with excitement. Rising up lightly on his hind legs, he invited the filly to play. Then away he went, leaping off at a swift gallop challenging the filly to follow.

Fondly, Durroon watched her son. Though quarrelsome, he would grow into a fine stallion, would one day perhaps challenge his sire, as was the way of the bush. With the foals having left them, Durroon turned more anxiously to Kirrkie. “You are certain you left no tracks for him to follow, no hoof-marks from the little one?” For while running with Tingara’s mob had been strangely thrilling, Durroon was worried she would be captured once more. To lose the mares and fillies he had so rightly stolen was surely too great an insult to go unanswered. But Durroon was a stubborn old mare. For old as she was, she wanted to spend her last few seasons running with Nevada. Tingara was a fine stallion, but he had mares of his own, and Durroon felt she would not be missed. However, Kirrkie was a beautiful young mare, and Durroon wondered if the stallion would come seeking her

OOC: Hope I'm not powerplaying too much to say the foals ran off together.

[Ehetere]

“I have named her Quirindi; for the dead tree atop a mountain. It was a very strange birthing place,” replied Kirrkie proudly; nudging her filly forward to show her off. Kirrkie watched fondly as her little filly cantered off with Durroon’s little black one. She admired with the slightest smugness the way that her little foal’s strange patterns moved as she ran. She would certainly be stunning as she grew older.

“Of course I left no tracks; I did not want that brute of a black stallion following me or Quirindi!” what she did not state was that she was secretly hoping to bump into her old white stallion Nevada, so that she could return to him.

Kirrkie knew that she was desirable; but did not think that the black stallion Tingara would try to come and find her. When she had left; he was in a deep slumber, and most likely would not have known she was gone for many hours afterwards. Besides; he had so many mares, many of whom were much more desirable than she (much to her displeasure). Still; her magnificence next to Durroon was plain to see; as was that of Quirindi to Bunderra, at least in Kirrkie’s opinion. Blending in with the bush had its uses; but rarely did it make a horse desirable for their colouring. Durroon was wise and elegant; but she was not flashy or eye catching like Kirrkie. Perhaps she preferred it this way. Kirrkie knew that a horses’ colour could shape its personality; but sometimes it did not. However, it seemed in Durroon’s case it seemed to have. She was very wise; wiser than Kirrkie by far, and was one with the bush - just like her dark coat.

[Tiggs]

Moving through the dawn light, Nevada was quite distinguishable from the light mist that was fast burning off with the heat of the sun. He limped through bell-high grass, his nose curled as he tasted scents in the air. It was Durroon, and a newborn colt. He shivered in anticipation, but he knew he should go. She had likely come here to birth her son, their son, as it was a familiar place. Hopefully she would be heading back for Tingara’s herd soon – he knew exactly what sort of trouble he would be in if she didn’t.

He found himself following her trail at any rate, limping at a jogging pace through the grass until it became sparse and the ground began to rise. He glanced around, but I was not Durroon he saw first. It was a white-spotted filly, frolicking with a dark colt. Huffing, Nevada drew deeply of their scents. The colt was definitely Durroon’s, but he could only guess at the filly’s dam from the lingering scent of her. Kirrkie.

Had Durroon and Kirrkie came here together to birth their foals? That was a little unusual, but plausible. He realised then, these were his son and daughter. He felt a flush of pride for Durroon and Kirrkie, especially the older mare for baring him a son. They might be a little dark for his tastes, but they were fine foals, foals to be proud of. He nickered to the playing pair but as soon as they saw him, they turned and fled.

Feeling guilty for scaring the two, he followed their course and spotted Kirrkie and Durroon not far away. He paused, unsure of whether to approach them. He sighed; it was too late now, he would have to speak to them. Limping over the scrubby terrain, careful not to put too much weight on his lame right foreleg, he approached his two mares. Well, the two mares than had once been his.

He did look in better shape then when they had last seen him, but the wounds he had received from the King’s kicks and bites had scarred – it was no wonder the foals had fled at the sight of him. His limp was the most prominent thing, and probably the reason they had not heard from him. He had been keeping a low profile while he healed, but the appearance of two of his former mares would not help matters.

For once, Nevada was not sure what to say. He was almost shy in the face of two mares who had once thought he was a grand enough a stallion to follow willingly. So he just stood there, staring across the divide between them with what could almost be described as a hopeless expression.

[yaruka]

It had been a few days since Kirrkie had left Tingara's herd to give birth. Luz had followed that night, slipping away while Tingara slept and many of the mares had gone off to have their own foals. The journey to the Bogong had taken her longer than she would have liked, but a roaming band of brumbies led by a red roan stallion had passed close by to her and she had been forced to take a detour to avoid detection. But now she was almost there, faintly she could scent Kirrkie and her foal on the wind and was glad to discover that the mare had not strayed far from their designated meeting place. She could smell Durroon and her foal too, which was strange in itself, she had never had the impression that the two mares were particularly close. But perhaps Durroon had also decided not to return to Tingara, in which case she and the pinto had something in common.

As she made her steady way towards her herdmates, Luz anxiously reviewed her departure from the herd for the thousandth time. She was fairly certain that a few of the mares had seen her go,but none had sought to stop her inspite of the fact that she was clearly without foal. One of them, Jannali,had even looked after her with the utmost longing shining in her eyes. Luz knew the other mare was restless, that it was only her half-sister and foals, including the unborn one, which caused her to stay with the relative security of Tingara's herd.

Finally Luz was close enough to the others to be able to hear the foals' excited antics. She was preparing to step from the bush and reveal herself when another familiar, though less welcome, scent, caught her by surprise. Nevada! But what was he doing here? Eyes rolling and ears pinned she slid from the brush, approaching from behind the two mares and going to stand beside them. Stallions had caused them enough trouble in the past month, and Luz, for one, was not at all pleased to see one

[Corowa]

Quirindi, so the strange coloured filly had been named. Durroon nodded wisely, for it was a good name, odd as the filly herself. “You are a foolish one Kirrkie,” Durroon gently teased, amused by the young mare’s words. “Tingara was kind a stallion as Nevada, for it is the way of the bush to take the mares of those you have beaten. Had it been Nevada who won, it would not just have been Myrrina he’d stolen.” Old mare that she was, Durroon had lived through many seasons, and had run with many stallions. She knew what it was to be stolen and captured, coaxed away by a fine stallion, mastered by the strong hand of man. Wiser now, Durroon had learned to move without sound or track, to hide in the thickest of bush and the roughest of country, where one might never be found. Never would the mare lose this wild freedom to another. For neither stallion nor man, could ever truly hold her.

Bunderra raced over the springy snowgrass, stretching his legs to their fullest, swift of foot as once Durroon had been. Bounding gaily down a wide grassy hillock, the colt pulled up abruptly when he saw the strange brumby. Nostrils curling, Bunderra realised it was a stallion, and he whinnied anxiously to Quirindi. The grey smelled familiar, and Bunderra half-wondered how it was his mother carried this same scent. Fascinated by the stallion, the colt took one slow step forwards, and then stopped, filled with the queerest of feelings. Squealing with sudden excitement, Bunderra whirled about and galloped back to his mother, heart pounding in his chest.

Bunderra’s shrill squeal reached her ears, and Durroon neighed in answer. There was the faint drumming of hooves, and then the two foals, colt and filly, burst into view. Bunderra ran straight for Durroon, thrusting his head under her belly, finding comfort in her closeness. Head held high, the mare stilled, worry visible in every proud line of her body. Then that grey stallion came into sight, stood watching the two mares and their foals. Greeting him with a whinny, Durroon pranced excitedly towards him, while Bunderra followed more nervously after. With a trembling, gentle nose, the mare anxiously snuffled her old mate all over. Bunderra, sensing his mother’s strange mood, crept shyly out from her side. For enthralled by the splendid grey, the colt stood with all four legs braced apart, a puzzled expression in his eyes.

Every muscle quivering, Bunderra stretched out his nose to the stallion and breathless with excitement, touched that ghostly white hide. The fine hair in his ears tingled, and he propped back on his haunches, shaking his head as though it bothered him. Reassured the stallion was no threat to him or his mother, the colt returned to Durroon’s side, stood on unsteady legs beside her, almost too tired to stand. “I missed you my mate,” Durroon said softly. “For I have no longing to run with any other stallion but you, foolish colt who sought to challenge the King of the High Country himself.” Nudging him playfully, the mare fondly nibbled his shoulder a moment, and then turned to the sleepy colt at her side. “This is Bunderra. He was born in the south Crackenback, and named for the black wallabies, though he seems to possess all of his sire’s boldness.”

When the leathery leaves of the snowgums rustled, Durroon stilled, one ear flicked back towards the sound. However, it was not the black stallion who stepped so quietly from the trees, it was a roan filly, ears flattened and nostrils flaring nervously. Noticing the filly’s sour expression, Durroon wondered if perhaps Tingara had quarrelled with her. Bunderra was too exhausted to investigate the strange filly, and with a grunt, he dropped into a heap at her feet. Coming to stand over him, sheltering him from the other brumbies, Durroon dropped her head to graze. Nonetheless, one black ear stayed flicked towards Luz, for the mare was still worried by the filly’s presence.

OOC: Gah, It was like the post that would not end!

[Ehetere]

Kirrkie looked up in alarm as Quirindi came tearing through the high grass with Bunderra on her heels; her eyes wild and terrified. Quirindi propped to a halt and then whirled around to face the direction she had come. Kirrkie threw her head up in an anxious, mother-y way, wonder exactly what had spooked her little angel so. The answer soon came; as a limping grey stallion emerged from the sea of grass. It was Nevada!

He seemed to pause, as if to wonder whether or not to come over, but after a few seconds began to hobble slowly over. At least he could walk; mused Kirrkie to herself. Last time she had seen the grey he had been beaten to the ground by the black King Tingara. Even now he still showed signs of this conflict; with everlasting scars marring his appearance. Kirrkie visibly relaxed; trusting that the once noble grey would be no threat to her daughter. Their daughter, actually.
* * *
Quirindi stared with bulging eyes up at the giant grey stallion. Her legs were splayed in an uncomfortable looking angle and she was breathing hard. But still her mother seemed to think that there was no threat from this great white intruder, and there was something curiously familiar about him. Which was rather odd, since the only horses she had ever met now aside from her mother were Bunderra and his funny coloured mother Durroon.

Bunderra; who had been hiding under his mother for protection, collapsed in a heap to sleep, and the second she thought about sleep it seemed that she was instantly tired. After all, she had travelled a long way, and all of that frolicking and galloping had worn her out. Paying no heed to the myriad of large horses looming over her, Quirindi trotted purposefully over to where Bunderra lay under Durroon’s belly, sniffed around him for a second before promptly dropping beside him and falling fast asleep.
* * *
Kirrkie jerked her head around as a dark shadow loomed in the corner of her vision. She rolled her eyes in fear; thinking that the black King had followed her after all, but no, it was only Luz emerging from the undergrowth. Kirrkie let out a friendly nicker in welcome before turning her attention to Nevada again. For some strange, unknown reason, she was very tongue tied in front of the grey, especially after Durroon’s wise, wise words. True wisdom did indeed come with age it seemed, and Kirrkie always found herself humbled in the brown mare’s presence.

Kirrkie snorted fondly at her little filly’s boldness, and remarked, “Greetings Nevada, I would also introduce Quirindi properly, were it not for her decision to sleep right here and now.”

[Tiggs]

Nevada relaxed slightly at Durroon’s touch, though he was acutely aware of being in the open surrounded by mares that could easily provoke another stallion to challenge him. As evidenced by his persistent limp, he could no more best them than outrun them.

Succumbing to the comforting nibbles, he greeted Durroon with a nuzzle and rested his nose on her shoulder. She then presented the dark colt, and despite his colouring, Nevada was proud of the little foal. The generous spattering of white over his legs and face made the stallion wonder if he would grey out, but only time would tell.

His worries were given substance when she spoke, and the broad stallion shook his convex head. “I have missed you also,” he glanced to Kirrkie and Luz, “I have missed all my mares more than you might realise.” He hobbled to Kirrkie and nudged her pink muzzle with his scarred one. “My heart swells with pride for our foals,” He looked to Durroon, his expression wistful, “But you of all mares should know I cannot allow you to stay here. I am still weak; I cannot possibly defend you both and our foals. It is best you both go back to the King.” He continued onward to squelch any protests, “If another stallion challenges me for you, I cannot stop them. You would have to go with them, and would rather you be with the King than some lucky upstart.”

It pained him to drive them away, especially as it seemed Luz had enough affinity with him to come with Kirrkie and Durroon, but what else could he do? It would hurt more so if they were taken from him again. He looked down at the sleeping pile of black and white limbs. Quirindi and Bunderra, a filly and a colt. He sighed. He was fairly sure Tingara was not the malicious type, and would spare the life of his foals, but Nevada could not help but feel more apprehensive about sending Durroon back with a colt in tow. What if Tingara was more angered by his thieving of Myrrina than he thought?

“I’m sorry, Luz, Kirrkie, but once Quirindi is rested you should take her back to the King’s herd. Once I am well again, I intend to fight the King once more. I will not leave my mares in his possession for longer than I can help it. Until then, you are safest with him.” He shuffled back to Durroon and gave her a sharp nip on the shoulder. In a low voice, he said, “You are a stubborn mare; I know I cannot convince you to go if you want to stay. Are you sure this battered and beaten stallion is the one you want?” He asked, hopeful despite himself that she would stay.

[yaruka]

Luz responded to Kirrkie's gentle greeting with her own soft whicker. Still, she was nothing near relaxed as she joined her friend's side, facing the once vibrant stallion. Her ears remained half way back against her skull and her dark eyes still showed their whites. Hadn't Kirrkie said they would strike out on their own? The sooner they could get going the better. Nonetheless, she listened carefully to the grey's monologue, happening to agree with a male for once in her life. They would not be safe with him, that was for sure. But Luz had long given up on relying on stallions for protection.

I’m sorry, Luz, Kirrkie, but once Quirindi is rested you should take her back to the King’s herd. Once I am well again, I intend to fight the King once more. I will not leave my mares in his possession for longer than I can help it. Until then, you are safest with him.”

Nevada had told them to go, which was just fine with Luz. She hadn't been planning on staying around with Nevada anyways. Stallions just attracted trouble. But she wasn't going back to Tingara either.
Luz glanced sideways at Kirrkie. What did the painted mare think? She seemed happier than Luz would have expected to run into her old stallion and the blue roan hoped Kirrkie hadn't changed her mind about leaving.
Catching the pinto's eye, Luz nickered gently. "It is true we'd be better off away from him," she said quietly. "Let us take our leave when your young one had rested."