born of mystery and snowgum, [R]

[Corowa]

The cream coloured colt grazed quietly in the scrubby clump of snowgums. Somewhere further down the slope, Mullara rested in the shelter of the trees, sides starting to widen with the foal she carried. Ears twitching, Yaraan raised his head and snorted. He had never been so far northwards, and it filled him with excitement, his very blood singing with the joy of being alive. Sunlight streamed through the uppermost branches of the trees, and it warmed his hide, which glistened near silver, for he was pale as the snowgums. When the wind stirred and the snowgrass sighed, Yaraan stood listening. Those ancient tales of silver brumbies glorious as the High Country itself, filled him with such restless longing he could hardly stand still. Tossing his head, the colt gave a sudden, shrill whinny, striking out impatiently with one foreleg.

Mullara jerked awake when Yaraan’s fierce call rang out. Answering it with her own throbbing neigh, the mare gave Thambaroo a playful nip, the stallion dozing quite peacefully beside her. Then threading her way through the slim ghostly trunks of the ribbon gums, up the rough slope of snowgrass and ti tree, the mare’s nostrils curled when the wind shifted and the faint smell of Yaraan was carried towards her. Reassured, Mullara continued upwards until the slope became a wide grassy flat, and she could once more see her creamy son between the trees. Greeting him with a soft nicker, for she had such fondness for her foolish son, the mare hurried forwards. Trembling, she extended her nose to his, picking up on his excitement so that it soon became her own.

Feeling suddenly mischievous, with the companionship of his mother on this fine morning, Yaraan kicked out lightly with his heels. However, Mullara leapt nimbly away, giving him a sharp nip in passing. Swinging her haunches about, the mare kicked out swiftly, catching him a resounding blow to his pale rump. Flattening his ears, Yaraan burst from the cover of the snowgums, teasing the mare with a laughing whinny, going up on his hind legs, brilliantly glittering in the sunlight. From where she watched in this sheltering fringe of bush, Mullara was suddenly aware Yaraan was splendid as those silver brumbies. For he seemed to draw the light to him, and the mare stood fascinated, proud of this colt who had grown into such a fine young stallion.

OOC: This is for the Mullara/Thambaroo/Yaraan mob. Ehetere's going to bring in her filly to have some fun with Yaraan, hope that's ok Yaruka.

[Ehetere]

Oora’s dark tipped ears pricked up as the sound of distant neighs reached her. It was the first real evidence of any other horses since she had been up here in the High Country, save for some old tracks. Although her bush knowledge was rudimentary at best, she had so far been able to survive quite comfortably; since her captive home had merely been a smaller version of this wide open bush. But she was lonely though, and could not help but think of her mother, who had chosen to stay with man - saying that she was too old to come with Oora on her travels.

She cantered through the tree trunks, heading in the general direction that the calls had come from. She had no desire to join some stallion’s herd, but brumbies meant company; and any sort of company was welcome after weeks of wandering alone. It was as if the other brumbies had been avoiding her. But then again, she might have just been in country that few brumbies roamed in. Her mother had always told her that the High Country had many, many brumbies in it.

Soon, the sound of thudding hooves could be heard, and more whinnies and neighs could be heard. Oora wondered to herself whether she had managed to find herself a fight. When she had been in captivity - the stallions all pretty much kept to themselves, and there had only been two of them anyway. She shivered with anticipation and excitement; wondering exactly she might find ahead of her.

She mounted a ridge and came to the edge of a copse of trees overlooking a lovely sunlight glade. And in that clearing, rearing up, was a glittering creamy colt. Oora’s breath caught in her throat for a second - thinking that he might be one of the legendary Silver Herd, of whom her mother had spoken so much. But no; one Oora’s eyes had adjusted to the glittering scene before her, she could see that the colt’s mane was actually a dark brown or black, and had silver strands thought it. This meant he was a buckskin; but at first glance had held all the magnificence of a silver.

Oora stood there watching; but knowing that these brumbies were certain to notice her presence soon, she loosed a whinny of welcome before stepping out into the bright sunshine, hoping that they all wouldn’t turn tail and flee. Her mother said that brumbies sometimes were very wary of strangers, and knew well enough that this colt would surely have his mother nearby somewhere. And probably his father too. This concerned Oora a little, but she did not flee back to the trees. She had always had somewhat of a brave streak in her and no stallion was going to stop her from making new friends in her new found freedom.

[Corowa]

When the wind shifted, Yaraan stilled, stood with ears sharply pricked and nostrils quivering, straining to pick out the strange brumby through the rough pale trunks of the ribbon gums. For a moment, there was an eerie hush, as if the bush too listened and waited. Then the filly stepped from the line of trees, and Yaraan felt his blood throbbing in his veins, suddenly so alive with joy he could hardly contain his excitement. Giving a joyful squeal, the creamy colt sprang nimbly away. Gaily he cantered over the snowgrass towards her, glistening splendidly golden in the sunlight. Propping to a standstill there in the shade of a spreading snowgum, Yaraan extended a trembling nose to the filly, invited her to join him, here where the snowgrass was springy underfoot and the snowgums teased the brumbies with the gentle swaying of their leaves.

Standing there in the cover of the trees, Mullara looked on as Yaraan danced merrily towards the filly, appearing as a wraith in this sunlit glade. Filled with a queer blending of happiness and sorrow, she neighed a gentle greeting of her own, for this filly was beautiful, and Yaraan had so greatly longed for the companionship of other young horses. However, she too had longed for the company of others, when Thambaroo had vanished into the blackness of the night, and the wind had moaned through the tors of the Ramshead so high above. Proudly, the brown mare moved from the shelter of the bush, wanting to share in the joy of her son. Tossing her head, Mullara kicked out playfully with her heels, gave one lively buck and then another. Then she was leaping away after Yaraan, the creamy colt swift as a gadfly, mocking her with a high shrill whinny.

Yaraan had been so interested in the filly he had all but forgotten the mare half-seen there in the scrubby timber. He stirred restlessly when Mullara called; reaching over and swiftly nipping the filly’s shoulder as he whinnied in answer. Throwing up his head, Yaraan swung about and then raced back to the mare’s side. Worried perhaps Mullara would drive the filly away; he arched his neck and threatened her with rolling eyes. However, the mare seemed only to want to join in his rough play, and filled with high sprits, Yaraan caught her a glancing blow. When Mullara would have struck him furiously with her forelegs, the colt danced nimbly out of reach. Then breathless, heart thumping in his chest, Yaraan threw a call to that exciting pale filly.

[Ehetere]

Oora’s heart leapt as the creamy colt danced towards her. His high pitched squeal was excited and happy; and made Oora realise exactly how much she had missed the company of other horses. She whickered softly as he approached, and trotted over to greet him. The sun overhead hade his coat glisten gold and silver, and Oora thought that surely he must be related to the Silver Herd, with a coat such as his.

A deeper neigh emanated from the trees and Oora threw her head up in alarm, only to see an interestingly coloured brown mare emerging from her cover. This must be the colt’s mother, thought Oora. She shied slightly at the unexpected bucking of the mare, but realised that it was an overreaction, perhaps in response to the peaceful stillness of the bush of which she had gotten used to. The colt nipped her; and Oora laid back her ears, not particularly appreciating being manhandled, but it didn’t feel particularly menacing - more playful. The creamy colt raced over to the mare; and Oora watched in fascination at their playful, if somewhat violent, dance. And when the colt invited her to join in; how could she not? Throwing up her head in wild abandon; Oora threw herself towards the two brumbies - overjoyed to finally be accepted by the wild horses of the high country.

Oora had dearly missed the company of the little band of horses she had led back during her time with humans. They were all pretty much related - and she had been the only filly in it. She had never found it funny that she ended up leading the other two colts, since no one had stopped her, certainly not her mother. They had often engaged in play fighting such as this; and oh how she had missed the thrill of it. The older she had become, the two colts gradually were more and more formal around her, perhaps realising that mares weren’t really supposed to go around fighting with stallions. At least this mob of brumbies had no such inhibitions. She whirled and twirled and ducked and pivoted, filled with that untameable pounding in her blood that humans had pronounced a wild spirit.

[Corowa]

Yaraan was delighted when the filly joined their playful game of chase. Flattening his ears, he galloped in a wide circle around the mare and filly, weaving a wild dance of joy and longing. Yet through this all was blended the restlessness thrumming in his blood, for there was a part of him only half understood, which claimed this mare and filly as his. Heart pounding in his chest, Yaraan was surprised to find how willingly the filly played. While he pivoted nimbly on his hindquarters, leaping aside to dodge a glancing blow from Mullara, the filly snuck in and playfully nipped his shoulder. Squealing, Yaraan jumped to one side, striking out when the dun brumby mare gave his rump a resounding kick.

Mullara stood with one ear flicked back towards the gentle slope of snowgrass and snowgum, for surely their joyful cries would have awoken Thambaroo. However, there was only the soft murmur of the wind stirring in the leaves, and the doleful song of the currawong from where it perched in the branches of the great alpine ash, further south of this high ridge. Feeling uneasy at the peaceful stillness of the bush, Mullara gave a sudden sobbing neigh. Yarran stopped dead in his tracks, and swung neatly about on his haunches, returning to his mother’s side even though the call had not been his alone. Mare and colt stood side by side, ears pricked and straining, then sensing nothing, Mullara turned to her son with a gentle nicker. “Go to her Yaraan, for I will go and graze and listen.”

Giving the mare a playful nudge, Yaraan was pleased the filly had not vanished into the bush, stood there in the shade of a snowgum, sunlight dancing in her golden mane. Beside him, Mullara dropped her head to graze, moving purposefully towards the sheltering snowgums. For a moment, fascinated by the glorious filly, Yaraan stood with cream ears twitching nervously, suddenly filled with shyness. Then, trembling he took one step forwards and then another until he reached out and touched the filly’s nose with his own. Tossing his head, the colt took a step backwards, for he was inexperienced in the ways of other brumbies.

Glancing down to where Mullara grazed in the scrubby bush, the colt wondered how it was Thambaroo had coaxed the wilful mare away. “I am Yaraan, of the snowgums,” he said proudly. “For my mother says I am pale as the snowgums themselves.” Breathing in the filly’s warm scent, Yaraan felt all the loneliness within him stilled, knew he would remember this filly for always. Yet young as he was, Yaraan knew he could not hope to hold her. For only when he was reached his full strength, would the creamy colt invite her to join him once more. However, for now it would be enough to know the name of the filly who stirred such strange longing within him. “What have the brumbies named you?” he asked softly, “For surely I stand before one of the most beautiful fillies in the High Country, splendid as Golden, mate of Thowra himself, and I cannot leave without knowing it.”

[Ehetere]

Oora watched as the creamy colt circled around his mother and herself. Cheekily, when he was dodging out of the brown mare’s way, she gave him a swift nip; just as she had on numerous occasions with her two colt friends when she had lived in captivity. She kept on running and dodging and pivoting – oh what fun it was to be playing with other horses again. Oora had always had that mischievous, playful spirit inside her that the colts from back home had seemed to grow out of as they got older. She was very displeased when they stopped play fighting with her and started fighting each other; not half in fun either. Why would to friends, brothers eve, turn on each other like that? It seemed downright silly to her, but then again she had no idea what went on in the mind of a stallion. She was very happy to see that this colt had the same free spirit that burned inside her, and was somewhat surprised and disappointed when he stopped. Mostly surprised actually, since she almost ran into his rump and had to swing away to avoid a rather embarrassing collision.

The brown mare had called out, and apparently it had been a call instructing Yaraan to come to her. Oora suddenly felt like she was intruding; it was obvious that the colt and his mother were very close to one another. She thought of disappearing into the bush; but she really didn’t want to leave, and instead opted to wait in the dappled shade of a snowgum. She watched curiously as the brown mare moved off grazing and left her son gazing in her direction. He seemed to hesitate, before slowly making his way over and reached out with his nose. She too reached out gently to meet it. The colt tossed his head and then stepped back; and it occurred to Oora that he was nervous.

“I am Yaraan, of the snowgums,” he murmured after glancing over his shoulder, “For my mother says I am pale as the snowgums themselves.” Yes, he was definitely at least a little nervous and uncomfortable talking to her. Oora found this somewhat strange, since she had always been a quite out going filly, and rarely had problems talking to other horses. “What have the brumbies named you?” asked Yaraan softly, “For surely I stand before one of the most beautiful fillies in the High Country, splendid as Golden, mate of Thowra himself, and I cannot leave without knowing it.” Oora scratched at the ground with a hoof and dropped her gaze. She was very flattered, especially since she doubted that any colt or stallion had ever looked at her that way. It was a mighty compliment anyway; being compared to the mate of Thowra was like being compared to royalty.

“I am Oora,” she replied with a quiet voice, “Named for my fiery tail and according to my mother my fiery temper. But I should tell you now; I am no brumby. My mother was before she was captured, which was where I was born. I escaped a while ago, at the beginning of spring, and have been making my way towards this fabled country ever since. I have been told so many stories of the High Country and its legends, it is now somewhat surreal to be here; and perhaps meeting some legends myself.”

[Corowa]

For a moment, there was nothing but the gentle stillness of the bush, and then her nose was touching his and Yaraan trembled, let his nose move gently over the filly’s ears in the softest of caresses. The wind stirred in the snowgums, stirred this queer longing in his blood, so Yaraan tossed up his head and stood, shaking all over. How he longed to touch that soft nose once more, to feel every hair stand on end, every nerve tingle with breathless excitement. Giving a wondering sigh, Yaraan knew some day he would call her, and his call would be of a stallion to his mate. Oora, this filly coloured by the living light of the sun.

He had been so intrigued by the beautiful filly; he barely heard what had been said. Then a shiver of cold dread passed through him, for some knowledge the colt had not known he possessed, told him to go. Yaraan backed with a squeal, every line of his body questioning, demanding, though such questions perhaps could never be answered. Remembering her gentle touch, the colt remained motionless, stood poised to vanish on the wind. However, so strong was his interest in the filly, Yaraan realised he could never leave her. “I had not realised you were once tame,” he said truthfully, “I thought you a brumby wild and free as the very winds.” The colt’s ears twitched nervously, for never had he been more aware of his creamy coat, glistening silver in the sunlight. Hide pricking with the feeling of being watched, Yaraan wondered suddenly whether this filly had led man to them.

Ears straining, he listened for the sharp crack of the stockwhip, the sound of shod hooves on rock, the hiss of the rope through air. For every part of him stood searching, listening, and only when there came no answer but the whisper of the wind, did Yaraan feel the terrible pounding of his heart steadied. Though his eyes still showed the whites, muscles rippling beneath his creamy coat, the colt quietly advanced so once more he stood close to her. "I was raised in a deep sheltered gully to the north of the Ramshead, where no stockman could find us,” he said shyly. “I have lived all my life there, and know only what my mother has told me of the bush. However, I know men are feared by all brumbies; for we smell the smoke of his fires, run from his tame horses and his dogs. For man hunts the brumby, drives mobs of us into yards where he breaks us, tames us, so we might never race the winds over snowgrass and mountain again.” Hoping he had not frightened Oora, Yaraan stretched out his nose, nuzzled the filly reassuringly. “But for all this, I would lead a hundred stockman on a chase through the High Country, if I could but run with you for a season.”

From where she grazed in the scrubby shelter of snowgums, Mullara watched her pale creamy son, and this filly, paler still. Ears curiously pricked, the mare felt a strange thrill run through her when she realised this filly was no brumby, was tame and perhaps pursued by men. Throwing up her head nervously, Mullara wondered whether she should call Yaraan away, melt into bush without sound or track. However, she had seen his fascination with this filly, knew with a sudden ache of sadness, the colt would be loath to answer her call. Drifting through the snowgum glade, towards the steep ridge-top, the rough and shaly stockman’s track, Mullara stopped suddenly and gave a ringing neigh. Then, filled with loneliness, and longing for Thambaroo, the mare turned and vanished, down into the shadowy snowgums far below.

[Ehetere]

Oora let out a hurt cry as the colt backed away from her in fear. “I had not realized you were once tame. I thought you a brumby wild and free as the very winds,” he said finally. Anger coursed through her now and she exclaimed, “Tame? I have never been tame in my life! Never once has a man ever ridden me, and it is my intention that they never will!” She knew well enough that the humans that had previously contained her certainly would not have sent anyone out to look for her, at least not this far up into the mountains. They let their herds run semi-wild, the only difference between living in her previous existence and up here in the wild mountains was the fences stopping them from running too far and extra food in winter so that they would not starve.

"I was raised in a deep sheltered gully to the north of the Ramshead, where no stockman could find us. I have lived all my life there, and know only what my mother has told me of the bush. However, I know men are feared by all brumbies; for we smell the smoke of his fires, run from his tame horses and his dogs. For man hunts the brumby, drives mobs of us into yards where he breaks us, tames us, so we might never race the winds over snowgrass and mountain again,” continued the colt, and Oora then understood why he was frightened and wary of her. He had probably never even seen an escaped brumby before, let alone a man. “But for all this, I would lead a hundred stockman on a chase through the High Country, if I could but run with you for a season.”

Oora felt that strange shyness wash over her again at the compliment. But she also knew that for all Yaraan’s gallant bravery, he could not hold her should she be sighted. But he was still living with his mother and father; who were both bush wise and strong-willed. Or at least she assumed that his father was; being able to keep such a willful mare like Yaraan’s brown mother. “You know that you will not be able to stop a stallion from stealing me if he sees me alone with you,” said Oora gently, butting his nose playfully, “But if we stay with your mother, and your father, I can run with you. You can teach me about the ways of the bush; as I still have much to learn aside from my mother’s basic teachings.” She added this last part in to hopefully allay his fears of them being followed and her captured by men. She had never been tame and never would be. And now hopefully she would get to explore the high country with a creamy colored colt and his willful brown mother, who reminded her quite a lot of her own.

[Corowa]

Proudly, Yaraan raised his head and arched his neck so that his mane played like the silver of the snowgums over his creamy coat. This filly, this beautiful cream coloured filly was his, and the colt’s nostrils quivered with excitement so that he longed to throw his ringing challenge to the wind, to proclaim this filly, the very High Country, as his own. “Mullara is a wise mare, for I have learned much from her, although I did not always listen,” he answered, nibbling purposefully on her shoulder, glad for the closeness of her. Remembering the sensation of both excitement and fear, of every nerve tingling, every hair standing on end, when her nose touched his.

From further down the slope there came a throbbing neigh, and Yaraan blew softly through his nostrils, creamy ears flickering back and forth. Head held high, the colt glanced nervously towards the line of snowgums and rough tor, not surprised to see Mullara had vanished. For melting away into those gnarled grey trunks, the mare had undoubtedly returned to Thambaroo once more. Feeling he too should leave this snowgrass glade, where his creamy hide glistened brightly in the sunlight, Yaraan answered with a gentle neigh. Then stepping lightly forwards, nickered softly to Oora, indicating the filly should come. For tossing his head, the colt seemed to float over the snowgrass, so proudly did he step.

Standing there on the fringe of bush, the air full with the sweet scent of wattle, Yaraan listened with ears straining. Then there was the faintest answer, drifting upwards from the snowgums below, and then the colt was plunging down the rough slope, thinking of the Hidden Flat, of precipitous hillsides dropping sharply down to snowgrass far below. Ribbon gums reaching up from the shade of this narrow ridge surrounded him, and the colt wove a path through their slim white trunks. Feeling the presence of the filly close behind him, Yaraan went faster, suddenly filled with wild joy. For even though it would be many years until the creamy colt reached his full strength, in this one glorious moment, Yaraan felt strong as those stallions of the old bush tales.

OOC: I hope it’s not powerplaying to assume Oora followed. Did you want to post once more and wrap this thread up so we can start another with Yaruka?