Pastures New [Mering/Wilgee/Nilee/O]

[Rivre]

It had been quite a while since he had stood, a wisp of pale grey, a silent statue, upon the Brindle Bull; or in fact allowed himself the time to range further and further from his original purpose, of finding himself refuge in the rocky out-crops. The flecking of his roan hide, half hidden by the the snow-gums which pervaded the slight incline, was merely visible to any on-lookers, perhaps even, too-visible. Taking a couple of backwards glances, he pushed himself father into the bush, hoping with a fury that the gang gangs he had disturbed would keep their quiet beaks.
Near-ear flicking forwards, he surveyed the mob of horses presented before him, the silence of their swishing tails, shooing the flies, almost hypnotic as they grazed their way towards the tree-line, his own dark brown orbs trained on the mass of diaphragms.
The shafts of sunlight, slanting oddly through the dense canopy, graced his coat with a natural sleekness, the rays bouncing from him in a manner of reflection to the paling barks. How he longed to be out in the open, with a herd once more, the winds of the north in his mane, and free to gallop down the perilous hillside. Or as fast as his legs would allow him.
As he stood he seemed to remain unaware that more than one stallion had settled themselves rather conveniently between himself and the escape route; his own concentration captured by a rather beautiful filly, so much so, that if the roan stallion had liked, or even acknowledged his presence, could have killed him before he had even had the chance to evade the situation, or its outcome.
Enough, he had dawdled long enough. Turning away from the herds gathered so, he continued on his way, his smart trot allowing him the distance needed between the conflict and the safety of his ever-silent forest, placing his neat hooves as soundlessly as he could manage so as not to attract attention.
The silver leaves whispered of his coming, the whip bird nestled in the nook of one of the snow-gum's branches, calling out its own message, the natural silence of the humid place, ringing in his ears as he traveled. He was traveling downwards now, the worn brumby track leading him awry in his search, branches snapped to his silver-blue rump, the rocky remains scattered about the path, becoming more and more difficult to avoid.
Slowing, he raised his hoof more carefully, quieting the pace of his breathing and so his scuffle with the protruding roots.

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[Rivre]

The bush had certainly become far denser than previously, his sleek grey coat brushing the tips of the silver snowgums, the shoots under-hoof finding neat crevices in which to hide, and so make his way all the harder. As he continued, the quite silent forest around him, seemed to come to life, and he knew with a sudden start, that he was no longer alone. Propping quickly to a standstill, his delicate head raised in fright, his deep, calm orbs, covering his nerves, surveyed the barks as if each single one held an enemy.
Once more, he had to remind himself to slow his quickened breath, nasal passages widening as he drew in the scents near-by, the over-powering mint of the looming tea-trees' irradiating any clue the wind might have held. At least he knew these parts well; if the time came, and he must run, he would turn a sharp left up ahead, towards the ravine and the Ramshead Range. There, at least, he might be safe.
Never once, had he heard of a lone yearling beating a grown stallion, not even from Thowra's time, but he was sure, that he had most certainly run from one; such as the mighty Brolga. Although of only a year, Mering had learnt to become more than nimble on his four lean legs, easily carrying himself at a speed that was not quite that of a full-grown horse - his muscle also, was actually lightly adorned, though quite possibly, not enough to hamper him in any fights; he would keep his speed.
Again, he wavered, to stay and see what had befallen him, or run, as the wind, Thowra once had?






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[KAREE]

post coming tomorrow with Nilee.

[Rivre]

ooc; Okay Karee ^^

[Corowa]

Wilgee had been grazing the northern flank of the Brindle Bull. Nosing the snowgrass around one huge spreading candlebark, the mare listened to the gentle murmur of a small bush creek, half-hidden by wattle and pimelea. When the wind blew dry and hot, Wilgee had turned south, had run the wide grassy flats of the lower Cascades for a while. However, there had been so many stockmen, and driven northwards by one on his fine brown horse, the mare had returned to the steep rough slopes of the Brindle Bull. For here, there was only the peaceful stillness of the bush, the joyful warble of the currawong nesting in the branches of the candlebarks, the warmth of sunlight on creamy hide.

From the rocky spur above, the wind carried some sound, some movement of shaly rock, which filled the mare with sudden terror. Tossing up her head, the mare’s ears twitched nervously, and her hide prickled uncomfortably so she melted into the cover of the trees, well hidden in the snowgums. Peering through those pale, rough trunks, ghostly forest curving around the base of the ridge, Wilgee glimpsed a horse picking its careful way down a narrow, shaly track. Though still breathless with this, queer blending of fear and excitement, Wilgee felt impelled by strong curiosity. For many mobs grazed the Brindle Bull, and aware this was only a young brumby, no more than a yearling, Wilgee was filled with wild joy.

Giving a glad neigh, the young creamy mare, bounded nimbly up the rough line of ridge. Having longed for the companionship of another young horse, Wilgee stepped lightly from those low and scrubby snowgums, stood glistening silver in the bars of sunlight. Ears pricked forwards, the mare extended her nose and curiously sniffed the blue roan colt. Intrigued by the yearling, Wilgee went suddenly up on her hind legs, gave a throbbing call. Then she was swinging about at a gallop, barely slackening her pace where the slope grew steeper and rougher, teasing the blue roan with a laughing whinny, inviting him for a race over snowgrass, to the higher country where the wind blew swift as a gadfly filly.

OOC: Wilgee’s a dunalino, so she’s not silver brumby even though she’s a great-granddaughter of Thowra. She’s also extremely playful.

[KAREE]

Shafts of light spread over the soft pink pelt, it scattered small glowing lights over her body, making her look exotic and remote. The mare was buried deep within a small dense area of bush, avoiding the accusing eyes of any mare and trying desperately to avoid that sick, loving look stallions got when they saw her. Even though she did love flirting and dancing and impressing that boys, Nilee found that she quite enjoyed the solitude of her thoughts and having to be herself, not impressing anyone with her built in charms.

Her ears drooped outwards and her eyelids were slowly covering her blue and brown orbs when her peace was then interupted when a lone blue roan colt appeared, then shortly after the colt's appearence a shrill whinny broke the trance of the bushes creatures. A creamy coloured mare then came and pranced around the colt in a manner that made Nilee want to vomit. Hadn't she noticed how young he was? Snorting softly to herself, she watched as the mare then galloped away, leaving the colt to follow her on a merry dance.

Rolling her eyes, Nilee melted away into the bush and followed a worn kangaroo track up onto the ridge. She passed a rolly polly wombat on the way. Nilee could still hear them stampeding about, and it took almost all of her pride not to just leap out and let out a string of calls for all to hear. Her path swung right and curved up the incline the mare had now started to climb. The areas around the worn trail where rocky and harsh. Nilee caught sight of the advancing mare in her brown eye, she stammered, before begining to climb the hill at a much faster pace, in attempt to beat the mare up there.

Then, she was at the top, she looked down at the two brumbies, then arched her slender neck. Her pale coat looked pink and her flaxen mane and tail shimmered in the sunlight that now shafted onto her. She let out a brilliant ringing neigh, not only calling to the colt or mare, but to everyone within hearing. She pretended not to notice the other two horses, she stood still and stared out over the blank landscape before her. Letting her hearing do the watching.

OOC|| What Nilee looks like so you don't get too confused about the 'pink' look. ^^;

[Rivre]

(OOC; Mering is nearly two, he will be when winter comes, he was born at an odd time of year.)

Hearing the wattle rustle as the mare trotted towards him, breaking the cover of the pale snowgums, Mering turned his fine head to greet her, their soft noses meeting in a greeting of kinds, the almost silver appearance of her coat startled him; compared to the silver roan of his own striking canvas, she were a rare thing to find. Nickering softly in return, throwing up his head in a wholly manner as she danced off, inviting him.
He had not thought, or even stopped to wonder, even a little, that a mare such as this fine one before him, would want nothing but the friendship he sought, and when truly honest it pleased him greatly. Arching his curvature with a stallions grace, he threw back his own wild call - one that he knew that mobs would hear while they grazed, wonder at what creature had come so close un-noticed, and then forget.
Striking a pose, he let the bush whisper silently around himself, lobes trained forwards seeking the mare who had rushed so. It was intriguing to say the least.
Sitting back on his haunches, he sprung, nimble for his age, after the mere flicker of a mare, neck stretched out before him, snorting quietly to himself as he placed his hooves carefully on the worn track; with many other stallions close, he was sure that the mystery mare would be grateful that he took such a care as to cover her tracks, the whining of the snowgum forest only covering the rhythmic beating of his daggers as they reached the ground.
It did not take him long to break from the feeble cover, the springy snowgrass as welcoming a sight as the small trickle of a creek which ran beside it. Slowing to a smart trot, his shook out his banner of silver/black mane, lips parting to allow him room to drink his thirsts worth. It was only now that he realized he had not yet given his name to the stranger, and neither she in return.
Moving so that he was no longer in the shadow of one of the great australian trees, he felt the sun warming his coat, its perpetual rays enough to give the same sleekness to his coat it did others, neck once more arched.
"Greetings, I am Mering, named so for the earth to which I am so attuned" dipping his skull he acknowledged the mares age with dignity, for it was respect that got you you furtherest. He did not understand the wish of most the young colts, to run with their own herd, for it was a great hardship, and one Mering intended to be accomplished, but at the pace of the bush, with only the finest of mares and fillies. It was not his want for perfection, but he had, after-all only known of a few creamy hides to mark the bush, the dunalino before him rather exquisite in her own way.
"What were you named for stranger?" he queried, extending his velvet nose once more to bop hers, ears quivering but breath at an even pace.
As he did so, another call sounded, one far more giving to any stallion who sought them, and he turned silently to see the pale pinky mare atop the Bull; he dared not call back, but he alerted himself to her showy manner, taking a step back into the bush, nibbling the mare as he went. If she valued her freedom, she would follow and melt into the bushes refuge.
"I will go to inquire what that mare wants, though probably only our company. If you wish to carry on your way, I am glad I had the pleasure of meeting you - but if you wish to travel with me a while then you may either keep your hidden status or run with me to the top of the brindle and shout your wild joy to the world, before melting away again."
As he often did himself, he thought aloud through her options, hoping that he did not appear to want to 'steal' her for any purpose.

[Corowa]

Behind her, the colt flung his ringing call through the morning air, and Wilgee went faster, knowing the yearling must surely chase her, galloping across snowgrass and candleheath, surefooted over rough granite rocks, steep rocky tors. Then suddenly the track grew narrower, turned to a grassy corridor, snowgums growing between the rocks. Breath sobbing, Wilgee stopped in her tracks where a shallow creek ran around the foot of the hill, a grassy basin sheltered by low snowgums and heather. The colt too had stopped, and whinnying softly, Wilgee came to drink beside him, her creamy coat darkened with sweat.

“I am Wilgee, named for the yellow clay of Quambat Flats. I am grand-daughter of Tambo and Wanga, daughter of Thowra,” she answered proudly, tossing her head when the colt gently touched his nose to hers, filled with a foolish excitement. Feeling suddenly playful, Wilgee, swung around with a squeal, lashed out playfully with her heels. In this snowgrass glade, the young mare pranced gaily about the colt, creamy coat burning in a shaft of sunlight. Then suddenly, a neigh rang out in the peaceful stillness of the bush, and Wilgee threw up her head to listen. For there on one of those rough grassy spurs dropping down into their sheltered gully, stood a strawberry roan brumby.

Her ears pricked, one foreleg raised, the creamy mare was filled with throbbing urgency, a longing to answer that great, challenging call with her own. Mering stood a moment, with head raised proudly, fascinated by the strawberry roan filly. Then he was there close beside her, nibbling on her shoulder as if she were his. Flattening her ears, Wilgee turned and gave him a swift nip, though she was not displeased. “It is only from stockmen I hide, ” she boasted. “Though few stockmen can catch me, for I am swift and wise, and know all the mysteries of the bush.” Then, suddenly unable to contain this wild excitement singing in her blood, Wilgee sprang away at a gallop. Plunging up the steep shaly track, to where the old snowgums grew, gnarled and huge, the mare gave another of those shrill, laughing whinnies. For only the currawong watched the creamy mare, splendid in her joyfulness, watched blue roan yearling, and strawberry roan filly.

OOC: Haha, I'll just call him yearling until then.

[KAREE]

Nilee watched the two frolick under the sun, suddenly, like the steel spur of man in her gut, she felt rather jealous. She, of course, hadn't been in the presence of any other horse for a while and she wanted the attention the mare got. Her ears pricked forward as a shrilling whinny rang out underneath her; the mare had answered her call. Arching her fine neck, Nilee struck out her long white legs; rearing. She then called again, a ringing sound that echoed out all over the Brindle Bull. Once she landed, she watched the mare flutter around the grass glade below. Snorting in distaste, Nilee quickerly leaped from her perch on the hill. She went galloping down the hill; knowing that she looked just as splendid in the sunlight as the mare. She leapt over a couple of rocks and came to a sliding halt at the bottom of the upgrade. Her flaxen mane whipped around her neck and covered her small, almost arabian-like head.

Nilee was considerably smaller than the mare, and a year younger. Though that never stopped her from doing the most immature things, but when she looked over the mare; she couldn't help but notice the beautiful shine that converted off of the mare's golden coat. And suddenly, she felt friendly. Pricking her ears forward she nickered softly to the playful mare. "Greeting O' mare who plays in the sun." She called, then glanced over to the colt who had not moved yet from his place amoung the red candlebark trees. "And greetings to you, O' colt of the shadows." She smiled sweetly. She originally was out to make trouble, but had thought better of it. A mare who was just as beautiful as Nilee herself, deserved some degree of respect; as long as the mare gave it back.


OOC|| Mering and my colt Adoni should meet up. ^.^ They'd definately get along and Adoni is only a yearling.

[Rivre]

Mering felt the ring of her heels upon his hide, and turned swiftly away.
"I did not mean to insult. But what a beautiful name it is" He answered, once more sliding into the shadows which masked his canvas so well. The soft snowgrass under-hoof felt springy and light; it was only now that he realized the small side-track covered in the substance, which would surely hide his coming and his going if he were in need. But now, he did not need the safety of the candlebarks, for as wild as he may be, he let his shrill, exhilarating call, answer that of the filly's - watching with curiosity as she greeted the creamy. Ribbons of silver bark graced his rump, and he snorted in surprise, gathering himself for his journey up the rocky spurs.
Springing forwards he went at a fast canter, making far less noise than any of the three congregated were. If only Wilgee had understood, he had been worried that this carefree filly's call would interest the near-by stallions - and if she enjoyed her freedom as much as it seemed she did, he thought she ought to be of great care. The shaly rock scattered randomly across his path, made it hard for him; so used to the flats of the cascades, to go much faster uphill than an ungraceful gallop, so he stuck to his more than graceful canter, a wisp in the coming light.
He had indeed heard her greeting, but his wished to be as swift and silent as the wind; his coat barely even a feeble flickering between the barks, his tainted pearl banner, so much alike to that of the snowgums, he raised and placed his hoof more carefully than most could have imagined; traveling in a large circle he halted, muscle rippling with displeasure at his disposition.
"And greetings to you O' filly of willy and grace, who is spirited in her beauty" he nickered, stepping from behind her to stand, a silent silver roan colt; watching with fascination the conversing of the two mares.
"I am Mering named so for the earth to which I am so attuned, it is a pleasure to meet you...?" Dipping his skull he asked politely for her name, lobes trained on Wilgee, daughter of Thowra, and a prize for most stallions. As he looked upon her, he vowed to himself; when I am as strong and as fleet as my strong-hold, the earth, I shall come back to find her, wherever she may be, and make her mine. As I will do, for this strange roan filly - so much like a creamy mare.
He had spent his last few days on the Brindle Bull, studying the landscape and the secret tors to which one could escape, until he knew the unevenness of the land as if it were his own, which, to his great happiness, allowed him to recall a good grazing spot, where perhaps Wilgee and this mare might graze... If they so wished.
"There is a secret canyon - to the west of this forest, where there is good grazing for young horses, sweet and short and covered in dew as the sun does not rise for a while more over it's spur. I may travel there soon, and you are most welcome to follow if your summer has been as harsh as mine".
Flicking his tail uneasily he threw back his delicate head, aware of how much he had grown since leaving his mother's side, perhaps he was even nearing the size of a full-grown horse... Arching his neck with pride as the sun once more broke through their canopy, shinning on him as if a spot-light, giving his coat a fire like quick-silver.
"It is your choice" he nickered, and floated out to stand beside them.


OOC; Bad post Dx