Pastures New [Mering/Wilgee/Nilee/O]

[Corowa]

Wilgee extended her nose to the strawberry roan filly. Nostrils quivering, she squealed with excitement, and gave that roan hide a playful nip. “Greetings roan filly, I am Wilgee, of the yellow clay,” the mare said, filled with a profound curiosity about the beautiful filly. Wilgee heard the quiet movements of Mering behind her, the roan colt having followed her. Swinging about, she greeted him with the softest of nickers. For she noticed the yearling had left no tracks, staying to snowgrass and rock, where hoof-marks would not show. The young horse stood absolutely still, and in his stillness, Wilgee saw the stallion he would become, strong and proud. However, though she wished to run with these young brumbies, Wilgee knew that soon she would leave.

Wilgee longed for the bare snowgrass ridges and wide open country of the south Ramshead. For though, the creamy mare had been born south of the Pilot, in the grassy flats of the Quambat, she sought the high country of the Cascades. This was a longing shared by all silver brumbies, a longing for the gusting winter snows, of winds bitterly colt, a time in which a creamy hide was all but invisible. “I will travel north, to the granite tors of the Ramshead Peaks, until the swirling snow of winter drives me to lower country,” the young mare answered. She wondered whether she would see him again, this fine roan colt. Surely, in the spring she would see him, a young stallion with a mob of fillies stringing behind.

Tossing her head, Wilgee’s ears flickered back and forth. For a moment, Wilgee stood irresolute, then she gave an exuberant call, feeling suddenly, joyously alive. “Come,” the mare called, giving one lively buck and then another. “Come, run with me. Come; weave a dance through these golden bars of sunlight, while the joyful song of the currawong still sounds in the snowgums.” Mindful of the peaceful quietness of the bush, the gentle rustling of the leaves, Wilgee sprang away at a canter. With that proud, swinging step, the young creamy mare cantered a wide circle around this rough grassy spur. Then Wilgee was vanishing into the low snowgums and scrubby ti tree, plunging headlong down the rocky slope, nimble as a wild goat.

[Rivre]

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For Mering, nothing gave a greater pleasure, than the rough wilderness of the rocky mountains; his mother had always warned of hard winters when the snow came, a crisp coating of white to harden the sweet heather, the snowgrass and to lumber the great tors and spurs with a harsh, lethal coating. But was that not the fun of it? To be an elusive wisp of a silver colt, wondrous and free - one of the few survivors of the higher winter, gave meaning to the beauty of the single falling piece of snow. Yet, winter would not bless them quite so soon, for first the herds would graze themselves a hefty band, so as to enter the cold months healthy and strong, and Mering knew this, knew this well.
Peering curiously at the delicate creamy mare, Mering returned her soft, nickering, call, with a slightly more gentle one of his own, lobes quivering as he watched.
"To the Cascades? Very well" he answered, neck arched proudly and muscle jumping wildly as her rump rose, once, twice - and then she was tearing once more down the shaly rock track, nimble, graceful, and quite quiet. As he watched her flitting form, the rays of sun, gloriously magnified during his moment of enlightenment, coming to rest upon his back, he suddenly felt what it was to be free, untamed and wildly reckless as the stallions who fought so long through the spring months.
Throwing up his head and taking the time to back up a few paces, he screamed his ringing fury to the silent observers of the bush, fore-legs rising, rising higher, to rise once more; and then he was rearing, dagger-like hooves thrashing before him, the notes reverberating from deep in his throat seemed to have taken on a deeper tone, and he knew then, that this was the call of a stallion.
Finally dropping back to the ground, as soundlessly and nimble as he had came, he dipped his head once more to the roan mare, then plunged into the wattle thicket, only the rustle of the leaves, and the still echoing cry of the truly silver roan, indication there had ever been more than a filly in that clearing.
Avoiding the rubble with care, for it had become much easier with practice, he went headlong at a gallop, leaping from one shadowy snowgrass patch to another, silver snowgums and looming candlebarks seeming to thicken, the track turning out onto a grassing, narrow track - and he propped to a standstill, listening to the trickling rush of the petite creek. Snorting quietly to himself to resumed his earlier canter, often catching sight of Wilgee's cream hide, but not pushing himself so as to catch up with her. He would play a game with her, lead the dance. Slipping soundlessly into the bush and scrub on the opposite side of the flat, he trotted lithely through the shadows, weaving up the trackless incline, for he knew the forest curved up ahead to cut across the grass she galloped on. Propping once more, he let out a short but enticing call, before slipping away again. Breaking into a canter he swerved unwillingly to the left, another call. He would play a guessing game with the young mare, now she would truly see the extent of his hiding expertise.
Slowing the breath that came to him, and ensuring his hooves touched only the snowgrass, he continued purposefully onwards, not even the pale leaves, or watching kangaroos to have known he, Mering, had passed their way. This would be fun indeed.

---

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[KAREE]

“Greetings roan filly, I am Wilgee, of the yellow clay,” The odd creamy mare spoke, before turning to peer at the colt. Nilee turned her head around the body of Wilgee to, also look at the colt. She wasn't as skilled as other horses, so Nilee didn't notice that the silver roan colt was silent when he walked. She, too greeted the colt with a slightly louder nicker. She arched her neck and strode out to softly touch noses with the colt. “I will travel north, to the granite tors of the Ramshead Peaks, until the swirling snow of winter drives me to lower country,” Nilee looked around at the mare, and knew that she was no longer talking to her, but to the colt.

As quickly as she had arrived, Nilee found that the two horses were about to depart. Lonliness slipped silently over her back and chilled her. She had been alone for so long now, and when she had finally found company, they were about to leave. Nilee looked at them, and nodded silently at the blue roan, just as he had to her before he, too melted into the bush. It was not Nilee's business to go and follow them. So she swung around and walked slowly back up the hill she had come down.

OOC|| ...sorry its so crap and very rushed.

[Corowa]

Wilgee propped on her haunches when she heard Mering’s far-carrying neigh. The mare shook all over, felt within herself a sort of wild joy, which made her want to gallop and kick and play. There was the swish of branches, the crack of a twig, and then nothing. Soundlessly, the mare backed away into some thick hop scrub, moved off slowly and silently along a dried creek bed.

She stopped when there was some faint movement in the trees to one side of her, wondered if it were a brumby who stood watching before melting away. Then Mering neighed, sounding quite close, and the mare jumped, badly frightened. At once, Wilgee turned in a more northerly direction, to the wide snowgrass ridges of the lower Ramshead Range. The sweat broke out behind her ears, as she pushed upwards. She went down one steep slope of snowgrass, and splashed through the shallow waters of the Crackenback, neighed to Mering and perhaps that roan filly too, as she sprang onto the sandy bank.

Wilgee leapt up onto a high rock, gave a squeal of joy. Then she sprang from the steep ledge, down onto a rough spur of snowgrass, and away up the ridge. The trees were thinner on the grassy ridge-top, and Wilgee cantered along a narrow grassy corridor, surrounded by great slabs of granite rock. Eventually, the mare reached a sheltering band of snowgums in the centre of this wide plain, and she stopped amongst the thick leaves and silver white branches to get her breath. Then Wilgee stepped carefully from the trees, and sunlight flashed in her silver mane and tail. The mare stood on this bare shoulder of snowgrass, the granite tors of the Ramshead outlined clearly against the precipitous slopes of Mount Kosciusko.

A wind played around those rocky tors, and it seemed to carry the wild echo of a neigh – but had it been a greeting or warning that sounded on the wind. Wilgee only half-understood those voices singing in the wind, and when the wind touched her flank, it seemed to tell her to go. She doubled-back, back through that last stand of snowgums, bounded downhill to a sheltered gully, protected by an overhang of rock. Her creamy coat glistened brilliantly in the sunlight, and she felt suddenly vulnerable, creamy mare alone in this open country. Wilgee’s trembling quietened only when she was hidden by the shiny leaves of the candlebarks, swaying gently on the wind. Then suddenly, the mare gave a sobbing call, and her call contained all the longing of a young mare. From where she stood beneath the candlebark’s spreading branches, Wilgee wondered again at that challenging cry. For who had called, and why?

OOC: Ok, Wilgee’s on the other side of the Crackenback River. Don’t worry there’s no other brumbies, just perhaps Thowra’s ghost ooh haha

[Rivre]

As Mering continued silently on through the bush and scrub, his lobes flickered nervously, the sight of Wilgee's creamy hide causing him to slide to a stand-still, the silver branches snapping to his hide, their leaves to stir cautious in the gales. Her deep, thoughtful orbs penetrated him, and he knew, that if he stayed, he would not be strong enough to keep away from her; moving off soundlessly once again, he trotted onwards, half startled half amused when a blur of silver horse galloped quite quietly past himself. It appeared she were lonely.
Swerving abruptly to the side he reached the limit of the snowgums cover, breaking into a joyous canter as his attention remained focussed on the shadowy out-line of a mare atop the great incline; the springy snowgrass littered by patches of deeper heather, their purple stems seeming to golden with the time of year. Feeling the muscle ripple in his being, silver roan canvas dulled by the lack of the sun, he propped to a walk, the looming, gnarled hands of the candlebark forest greeting him, covering him, ushering him into a place he would always remain protected.
As he stood,waiting, in his small, desolate clearing, with only the wattle for company, the winds picked up once more, and a sound was carried to his keen ears; the sound of a wild, ringing challenge - or had it been? The feeble sound echoed brilliantly off the rocky tors and spurs of the Ramshead Range; accompanied by that of a wildly galloping horse. Freezing he extended his nose, pushing through the pale leaves, to spy the trembling form of Wilgee.
Walking forwards with a purpose now, the bush seemed to melt away around him, and there is was, Mering. Touching her delicate nose in greeting, he allowed himself the time to survey their new surroundings, lobes trained on nothing in particular; he had concerned himself with ghosts.
"Dear Wilgee, what has startled you so? he queried, truly and utterly bewildered by the waves of energy emitting themselves from her body.
"Did you hear that call? It came and went like the ghost of a horse...." He found his own self quivering now, but not with fear, it was with excitement that he quaked; perhaps Thowra, the king of the cascade brumbies, would finally come to roam the mountainous tors once again.


OOC| Sorry for the quality, I am really not having a writers day i.e. I have writers block.
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[KAREE]

Nilee propped to a halt, one hoof raised in the air; nostrils trembling. She turned her fine head in the direction of the call that had stopped her in her tracks. The trees below remained still, shivering occasionally as a small breeze engulfed them. Had Nilee been right to leave the other two? Had that been Wilgee calling? Suddenly feeling sure it had been one of the two horses, Nilee turned and cantered down the slope once more. She entered the trees and began the short journey to find the others.

It was more difficult than she had originally thought, as both of them had left no track. She had to go by the faint, fresh scent that still lingered in the air. She slowed down to a trot, trying to be as silent and never existing as the other two had, though it was a bit harder for Nilee; even with her small size, she still managed to crack a twig, or stamp in dirt. Nilee was almost amoung the other two when a trechrous, ringing cry made her jump wildly. It sounded so foreign, and...powerful. Tingara? She shook her head, she knew that the great king had not come by this way. He would be at Yarraman Valley, looking over the huge herd he owned. But who? Suddenly, Nilee heard a familiar voice, it was masculine and was directing his question to someone called Wilgee. Pushing past some wattles, Nilee appeared infront of them.

She blinked her blue and brown orbs and stared at them both. "Did you hear that?" She breathed, looking around herself, as if some great horse would jump out infront of them in that instance. "That...that call? It was so..." She looked at the silver blue roan colt, then to the creamy hide of Wilgee; obviously unaware of the conversation the colt had started between them. She could not find the word, so shook her head in amazement.

[Rivre]

OOC| Quick reply, as I need Corowa's reply to get any real material down.

Stifling a shocked neigh, Mering dipped his head with reason, "Yes, we heard the call," he nickered softly, lobes flickering in discomfort, "What, do you suppose, it was?".
In all his years, which, so far, only amounted to one, he had heard nothing of any elusive wisps - other than his great, great, great, uncle, the Silver King; and it was with a silent revere, that he turned his proud head to gaze with undefined curiosity atop the range.

ooc| Bad, bad, bad, rushed post -hits head-


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[Corowa]

Wilgee nibbled on the snowgrass, lifted her head every now and then to listen to the sound of the wind rustling in the leaves, the far-off sound of the river, shallow water over a sandy bed. For a while, there was no sound, but the peaceful stillness of the bush. Then, the mare threw up her head, and moved away quietly into the bush. Something told her to remain completely still, and she could feel the hairs down her back stand on end. Her ears flickered back and forth, and she stared at the movement between the dark bark of the swamp gum, the damp bracken and rough heather. Then Mering stepped from the line of trees, silver roan hide made dark by sweat, though proud looking nonetheless.

Wilgee went forward to touch her nose to his, when suddenly there was that handsome roan filly. Wilgee’s nostrils quivered in a soft greeting, and she curiously sniffed both young horses. In this snowgrass glade, the three brumbies stood, and both colt and filly seemed filled by the same trembling excitement she too had felt. Wilgee, great-granddaughter of the whirlwind himself, longed to answer that joyful challenge with her own ringing neigh. The country of the Ramshead belonged to the silver brumbies, and she too had been called northwards, to the wide stretches of snowgrass and those bare granite summits. “It might have been Wirramirra,” she said suddenly. “For he is a son of Thowra, and surely must still run up in the higher country, near the Leather Barrel Valley.”

The mare could only half-remember the tales of those other silver brumbies. Kalina born of flood, son of the beautiful mare Dawn. Then had been Baringa his sire, son of Tambo and of Kunama, and proud Lightning, son of Thowra himself. Wilgee felt driven by a profound curiosity about these silver brumbies of whom the bush still whispered. The provocative call had stirred the blood to a throb in her veins, and the mare knew she must find the one who had called. Wilgee turned to Nilee, gave the filly a playful nip. The wind sighed through the uppermost leaves, and the creamy mare tossed her head so her mane glistened like living light over the graceful arch of her neck. “I know these mountains well, and it is to the northerly slope of the Ramshead I will go. For whether it is Thowra or another who has called, only the snow can drive me down from those mountain peaks.”

[KAREE]

The wind tossled the pale manes of the young horses, standing quietly in the snowgrass clearing. Nilee's eyes were wide and bright with a kind of wonder that took over her senses. The pale dunalino mare, Wilgee told them about who she thought owned that mysterious call and Nilee could not help but shiver, in excitement and fear. Her nostrils were wide, and she glanced around the clearing, searching the trees and the sky. Was it really Wirramirra? Or had it been Thowra himself, returning to the place he belonged...Nilee knew she would never find out, she could never be that lucky.

Then Wilgee nipped her roan shoulder, Nilee looked over at her, ears pricked forward. “I know these mountains well, and it is to the northerly slope of the Ramshead I will go. For whether it is Thowra or another who has called, only the snow can drive me down from those mountain peaks.” Slowly, she nodded her fine, dished head; keeping quiet. A large shadow danced over them, it flipped and turned and drove circles around them before disappearing. Nilee watched the graceful eagle, then turned to the silver roan colt and the creamy mare. Not sure what to do, but instincts telling her to head lower before the snow began to fall.

[Rivre]

As once more the winds graced the lower plains of the open forest range, Mering allowed the memory of the thrilling call to fill his ears and burn his hooves. He allowed it to expand his curiosity, and allowed it to cause the energy flickering in his limbs to bubble in anticipation. Most brumbies of the silver nature would long for the wide open ranges of the cascades, the hilly valleys and the wild, wild tors; but he, Mering, named for the earth to which he was so accordingly attuned, longed for the mountains.
Lobes flicking absently, he listened to Wilgee's soft but duty-filled tones, the wattle, twisted so intricately between the silver barks, creaked harmoniously, in unison with the gales.
"Perhaps it is of the silver herd," he repeated, eyeing the pale roan filly as if a spectacle, his own silver hide becoming less and less noticeable in their snowgum forest, as the clouds lapped relentlessly across their horizon, the first spatters of the
dewy wet substance, staining themselves across his coat; "But if it is so, will you be following the stallion who did send it? For the wind Thowra was named, for his speed, and sharp intelligence, you, O' Wilgee of the yellow-clay, have inherited many of his cunning qualities, and it is with hope, I can assure you my assistance if you were to head in the general direction".
Arching the curvature of his neck, he pawed noiselessly at the air, rising in a half rear - the toss of his fine head causing the ripple of silver banner that was his mane, to flash like the bright, white hot light that forked the grey heavens. stopping abruptly, he raised his gaze to the sky, squinting as the heavy droplets of vapor stung his eyes, showering them more so now than before.
"It was with good reason that we sought such cover as this" he mused quietly. The ground had been deprived so long of the much-needed moisture, that it soaked hardly any of the murky substance, preferring to settle as a profound layer atop the earth, pooling at their hooves.
"It would also be wise, if we were to seek higher ground. But first, pale one, tell me of your name, then perhaps I may know of such a beauty" he nickered, extending his nose once more, jerking a little in surprise as one the pale trees dropped the weight of it's burden upon him.
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