there beneath the snowgums, [R]

[Corowa]

Giant mountain ash grew around the flank of the slope in a ghostly forest. Further up, where low and scrubby snowgums merged with the rough country of the lower Cascades, the filly grazed quietly in the sunlight. When two gang gangs quarrelled noisily over their nest in the branches above, the filly nervously threw up her head and backed hastily into the cover of ti tree and snowgum. Hide prickling with the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, Gudda slipped through the trees, driven downwards by this sudden crawling dread. Sheltering in thick scrub, the filly nibbled on the snowgrass, though her heart pounded in her chest and every nerve tingled.

Stockmen had returned to the High Country, with their tame horses and loud, cracking whips. When the wind carried from the south, it brought with it the faint smell of smoke, and she had seen brumbies driven north, to the hut at Dead Horse Gap. Suddenly filled with anxiousness, Gudda lifted her head from the sweet snowgrass, and turned southwards, listening, always listening. However, there was no sound but the gentle silence of the bush, the sigh and sway of great ribbons of bark, the joyful warble of the currawong, and the soft murmur of the wind as it stirred in the leaves of the snowgums. Though sensing nothing in the quiet stillness of the bush, the filly, shy as the lyrebird’s dance, vanished into the sheltering eucalypts. For here in this deep damp gully where those great tree ferns grew, there was none to see the queer chestnut filly.

Wisely, Gudda left no tracks to mark her passing. Picking her way carefully down the steep slope, the filly stuck to snowgrass and granite tors, weaving her nimble way on through the slim pale trunks of mountain ash and candlebarks. Where the slope did not drop so sharply down, Gudda came to a standstill, for only the most surefooted of brumbies could have followed such a rough path down the mountain. Reassured, the filly lowered her head to graze, though her ears flickered constantly, and every now and then, she would give a nervous toss of her head, as if unable to stand still. Snorting softly, Gudda grazed her way towards the shelter of a massive snowgum, all gnarled and bleached with wind and snow. For there in the shade of its spreading branches, she stood and rested, a chestnut filly burning golden in the sunlight.

[Ehetere]

Orroroo trotted briskly through the dappled sunlight of the late afternoon. He was sweating with nervousness, and his body tense and tight; really to spring at the slightest sound. He had just passed right by a couple of stockmen and their horses, and being extremely freaked out, he had decided to retreat to the sheltered, scrubby mountain ash forests to lie low.

Normally he would not have ventured to such hidden and dangerous territory, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he knew that the men were far more likely to chase him than some plain, boring old bay stallion. Beauty and flashy colorings were a curse in his mind; they all attracted attention and trouble.

A branch cracked near by, and Orroroo shied violently, even if it had just been a small bird taking off. This forest was starting to creep him out. He hurried along faster, trying and failing to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t even bother about his tracks, they would all pretty much be hidden by the ferns that blanketed the ground like green snow. He once again did not really know where he was going, and was making this all up as he went along, but again assumed he was looking for food and more importantly now some water. A nice cool creek to wash himself and cool down in would be welcome right about now. Surely with all these lush ferns and other such plants there was a stream somewhere near by… Well, if there was one; it would be somewhere near the bottom of the valley, so Orroroo angled himself downwards towards the valley floor.

The going was afar rougher than Orroroo has first expected, and he kept on stumbling and knocking his hooves on rocks. All of a sudden, the scent of another horse met his nostrils and he threw up his head in alarm. Unfortunately, that took his eyes away from the rough terrain he had been navigating carefully, and he tripped on an unseen tree root, and then went tumbling over and over, down and down into the depths of the valley.

[Corowa]

The brolga gave its loud trumpeting call, circled over this rough country of mountain ash, damp gullies filled with tree ferns and blanket-woods. Gudda stilled, tensing all over. The filly stirred, nervously, suddenly sure something bad was happening, for from further up the steep ridge there sounded the distant clatter of stones. The filly leapt out from under the snowgum, galloped senselessly away down the shaley slope. Stones flying, Gudda tore along an old stockman’s track, hung over with curtains of moss and great, creaking ribbons of bark. A snowgum branch whipped her across the head, and her breath sobbed in her chest. Swinging down into the deep bush, where the track had become two, the filly didn’t slacken in her headlong gallop. Here, the slope grew rougher, and when a huge mossy log lay across the sharp-sided track, Gudda stopped dead in her tracks, whirling about with a frightened squeal.

Sweating and blowing with fear, the filly stood and listened. For when the lyrebird called, sharp as the crack of a stockman’s whip, she shied nervously away. Feeling suddenly very much alone, Gudda hid herself in a thicket of alpine ash, listening all the while for the sounds of a shod horse. However, there was no jingle of bit or hiss of rope through the air. Driven by a profound curiosity, Gudda moved silently through the trees, parallel to the stockman’s track. Picking her way carefully over the rocks, the filly crept as quietly as she could through the thick bush. For when the hop scrub and wattle merged with snowgrass, Gudda propped to a standstill. The shiny leaves of the candlebarks rustled gently in the wind, and standing absolutely still, Gudda watched from the fringe of bush. In the snowgrass glade, nothing moved, and though the filly trembled with fear, the body of the horse caught between the snowgums, remained still.

From where they perched in the branches of a whippy candlebark sapling, the pair of gang gangs playfully teased her. Tossing her head, Gudda left the shelter of the candlebark leaves, advancing slowly until she stood quite close to this stallion, lying in a huddled heap, there beneath the snowgums. Her ears flicked nervously back and forth, and half-shy, half-afraid, the filly extended a trembling nose. Breathing deeply, every nerve tingling, stiff and straining, Gudda let her nose move gently over blue-tinged ears, blowing softly through her nostrils. Raising her head, the filly looked worriedly towards the slope rising sharply above them, the precipitous overhang of granite spur. Gudda felt a cold shiver of dread run through her, the terrible sensation of slithering, sliding, of falling through the air.

Something told her this strangely marked roan was only young, and the filly had deeply missed the company of other horses. Nostrils quivering, Gudda nibbled on the sweet snowgrass, shyly watching over the young brumby till he awoke.

[Ehetere]

Orroroo felt sore and bruised all over. He didn’t want to open his eyes and face the embarrassment of tumbling headlong down a slope. He was hardly the most coordinated horse, but that was just pathetic. Just as he was about to open his eyes and get stiffly to his feet, the sound of soft footfalls met his ears and he laid absolutely still, fearing whoever, or whatever, had discovered him. But then, the softest of touches and delicate velvet lips brushed over the tips of his ears. Breathing in deeply, he could tell that it was a mare; or more likely a filly, standing over him.

He peered up through his lashes to find a pretty chestnut paint filly with the loveliest face he had ever seen. And then he realized he was still lying in an undignified heap on the ground. Grunting, she scrambled to his feet only to find that he had gotten up too fast; making the world around him spin. After staggering for a bit, he finally re-gained his balance. He shook himself off and blew upward at a leaf that was still caught in his forelock. He then turned to the pretty filly and stood up taller; puffing his chest out to make himself appear more impressive, only to fail miserably. “Why hello there!” he said, trying desperately to appear older and more mature; however he ended up only looking exceptionally dopey. He was still covered in grass and twigs; and his mane kept flopping into his eyes , so he had to shake it out each time. The filly before was lovely and beautiful and refined and sensible; things that he most certainly was not just tat the moment.