|
Post by Corowa on Jun 25, 2009 11:45:15 GMT
“I am old,” Durroon said softly. “Far older than those beautiful young mares of yours, older even than you my mate.” Nuzzling him tenderly, the mare peered down at the little black colt hidden between her legs. It was for Bunderra, she had returned to the Bogong, following nothing more than stories half-told, half-forgotten by the wind. Black as he was, the colt carried not the blood of that great stallion Tingara, and Durroon had felt a son of Nevada would be driven away. The queer filly Quirindi moved closer, and the mare gave a throaty nicker of reassurance. Bracing her legs more firmly apart, Durroon dared not stir; worried she would wake Bunderra if she moved too suddenly. So it was she stood quietly, while the two foals dozed there beneath her belly.
When Nevada nipped her sharply, the mare turned about with a squeal of outrage, nipping him roughly in return. She had not thought him so nervous, but it was as if he saw strange stallions hidden behind every shadow of a snowgum, every lightly swaying tussock of grass. “Think not I would have returned had you not been the one I wanted?” the mare asked, words gentler than her furious response. “I came of my own will, and that should be enough. It is not for you to tell me to leave; I am the mare who led your mob when there was no one. I am not some pliable filly for you to coax away and then forget. So do not tell me again to go Nevada, for I will beat you as soundly as the black stallion you so fear.”
Durroon wondered if Kirrkie and Luz would return to Tingara’s mob. For even though Nevada was a fine stallion, he could not hold them should they be challenged for. His strength would return, as one day perhaps would his mares, but for now, Durroon knew it was enough he had seen them, known them to be well. Yet this was not enough for her. She had no longing to ever run with Tingara for as long as this grey stallion still lived, and old as she was, with this foal by her side, Durroon knew she would not be sought after. No more would she be fought over by stallions, no more would she know the throbbing excitement of a hunted thing. Listening to the playful whisper of wind in the thick belt of timber at her back, the mare felt suddenly saddened. For there in the rustle of those leathery leaves, the doleful warble of the currawong, she felt her time coming to a close. Never again would she answer the call of the wind, the unspoken invitation she had followed so many times before.
|
|
|
Post by Ehetere on Jun 26, 2009 10:12:20 GMT
Kirrkie glanced lovingly down at Quirindi. Nevada was right; she truly was a filly worth of pride. Kirrkie then realized one of the reasons that she preferred Nevada to Tingara; he was far more eloquent than the black King. She wasn’t even going to consider at that point that the King may have been too exhausted and overwhelmed with mares to really say much.
“I have missed all my mares more than you might realise. My heart swells with pride for our foals,” began Nevada in his regal voice that Kirrkie only now realised that she admired. “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. 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.”
Kirrkie lifted her head defiantly as Nevada told them that they should go back to Tingara. But because she respected the once handsome grey stallion, she was going to humor him… or at least pretend to. She had no intention whatsoever or returning to him; and knew that she had Luz’s support on the matter.
“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.” It sounded as though that was the grey’s final word on the matter.
All the same; Kirrkie’s heart warmed at the thought that Nevada meant to challenge the black King as soon as he was recovered. Then maybe she could finally return to a stallion she actually wanted to be around.
"It is true we'd be better off away from him," whispered Luz in her ear, "Let us take our leave when your young one had rested." Kirrkie nodded in silent agreement. For a second she was tempted to wake Quirindi up and high step out of there in a clear show of annoyance, but she knew in her heart that he was right. After all; she was a desirable mare with her flashy coat, and for a stallion like Nevada who was in such a weakened state, she would be a liability to his health. And Quirindi looked so peaceful on the grass with her half brother… It was a shame that they would both be separated so soon. If only the black King had not beaten Nevada; then everything would be perfect. The Bogong would not be silent or deserted, and there would be young things running everywhere. But what happened, happened, and Kirrkie knew there was nothing that she could really do about it, save for refusing to return to Tingara and going wandering with Luz. Together they would have adventures that they would never have been able to in a herd of mares.
|
|