lost to the winds, [R]

[Corowa]

Boolee grazed his way purposefully down the south side of a snowgrass spur. The spur was steep, dropping down to a grassy basin where a few small snowgums grew between the rocks. On the high plains, snow fell heavily, and the wind had become a gale, wailing round those bare snowgrass ridges and rocky summits. Where he stood, sheltered by a ridge of rock, Boolee had felt sure more bad weather was coming, had sensed it in the peculiar stillness of the bush around him. So, he had turned southwards, towards a gully overhung by one of those great granite tors. For when the stallion stopped to listen, stood with proud head held high and nostrils quivering, he trembled at the sound of those tearing winds. It was heavy snow for so early in winter, and Boolee knew it would be a hard winter ahead.

Suddenly too tired to move, to plod on and on through the snow, to force his way on through those buffeting winds, Boolee stopped to shelter beneath a rocky outcrop. While the blizzard roared furiously around him, the stallion stood, half-dreaming, as he lived again through the terrible fight, the frantic desperation with which he had fought, kicking, striking, anything to draw the stallion’s attention to him. Uuna, wise to the ways of the bush, had swiftly hustled the small mob of mares down the grassy slope and away. For a while, Boolee had known nothing but to whirl and strike, to leap and dodge, to swing nimbly about, to avoid those wildly flailing hooves. Then, the younger, stronger buckskin had got a hold on his withers, and completely exhausted, Boolee had been beaten to the ground. In this strange half-dream, the stallion again remembered how he had chased this other stallion over snowgrass and up rocky tor, until his shoulder had become so stiff, and he so lame, he could go no further.

The stallion stirred, sure he had hear the echo of some high, wild neigh, echoing round and round those granite tors. He stood quite still, hearing nothing but the wind, and whisper of falling snow. Then his ears twitched, and every nerve tingled, for it seemed he heard an answer borne on the winds. The stallion bounded out from under the shelf of rock, cantered on through the snow, trusting in his own nimbleness. Boolee deeply missed his mares, for he had been glad of their companionship, glad to stand so proudly by their sides, feeling for a moment, as if he were so gloriously young and strong once more. For here, galloping madly over snow, feeling the bite of the wind, so bitterly cold, the stallion could almost believe in his own strength, could believe he would be strong enough to look after his own for always. There, on one of those high granite tors, on the very horns of the Ramshead, Boolee propped to a standstill, went up on his hind legs, and sent a thrilling call ringing out over the mountains. And in his call was a proclamation, a promise, ‘You are mine.’

OOC: For Boolee to re-gather his mares, and please no one else!

[Ehetere]

The harsh white flakes swirled around her, tossing her mane and tail every which way and stinging her eyes. Her already pale grey coat was lost in the bleak whiteness, and were it not for his nose constantly brushing her flank, Allirea would have thought Piringa was lost in the blizzard. He glanced back to again see the faint dark outline of her first born son amid the flakes. Many a time that day she had questioned her reasons for being out in such appalling weather especially with her foal and the latest one on the way. But the answer was always the same; she was looking to their father.

She had barely had any time to reacquaint herself with her long lost stallion before another had barged his way in and ruined everything. She had been forced back into solitude, which when not by personal choice, was unpleasant and lonely. During this time she had brought her and Boolee’s son up as she saw fit, teaching him everything and anything he might need to know to be a successful stallion. Both she and he longed for the company of other horses, but even when she saw other herds grazing in the distance, Allirea would not approach them. There was but one herd whom she wished to be with, and that was the old grey stallion’s.

The air was beginning to become so think with flying flakes of snow that Allirea could barely see in front of her. It was dangerous to be wandering up here where the ground was so uneven when you were blind. A horse could break a leg or worse go hurtling into nothing but snow-filled air. She longed to continue searching, but realised that soon, very soon, she was going to have to stop and wait out the storm at least, for her and Piringa’s safety. But something inside her always made her call out before stopping. It was her private call for Boolee and Boolee alone.

She was beginning to doubt that she would ever hear an answer though; at least not the answer she was looking for. Although she was young, Boolee’s confrontation with the other stallion and his subsequent defeat brought into sharp relief that he was not as young as she often thought he was. Her hopes had plummeted even further as winter had finally arrived, but there was a tiny, bright glimmer somewhere deep inside her that she would find the elusive grey stallion in a snowstorm such as this. After all, it was how they had met almost a year ago.

As her longing cry echoed and died away, Allirea sighed, turning and snuffling at Piringa who stood shivering by her side. He was thinner than she would have thought healthy, and knew that she would have to go lower down soon; for both their sakes. Piringa may be the only reminder she had of her brave grey stallion, and she intended to cherish and remember him for as long as it was possible. And then there was the unborn foal that she carried, who was sired by Boolee, who needed nurturing as well. She settled as best she could while sheltering Piringa from the driving wind.

Just as she had resigned herself to a few hours of constant barrage by the wind, a noise met her ears, and stirred a response somewhere deep inside her. It was more than just a noise; it was a call. It was an answer. She flung her head up and sent out her own joyous reply, her voice could have almost been singing with happiness in that moment. Despite the fact that she was almost certain the winds had warped and shifted the answer’s original position, she rounded up Piringa and drove him onwards as fast as his tired limbs would carry him. There was no doubt in her mind’s eye of whom the call had come from.

[yaruka]

There was no denying it, this was dismal weather. Even lighthearted Tyrilly was feeling the drag of trudging through knee-high snow, buffeted by wind and icy pellets alike. But still the slender filly kept her head up, kept going.

This storm reminded her of one last winter, one where she had nearly fallen to her death on this very mountain range but, the same day found her stallion, Boolee. And though Tyrilly well knew the risks of being up here in this storm, something compelled her to continue along the Ramshead, as though the recurring theme of the snow storm could bring Boolee back to her. Boolee was the wind and the snow to the little filly, it seemed only fitting that he might somehow materialize up here, no matter that no sane horse should be wandering the mountains in such a storm. Boolee had always seemed stronger than normal horses anyway.

That was until the summer when that buckskin stallion had rent havoc on Tyrilly's peaceful existence. Tyrilly didn't get frightened or worried often, but when she realised that Boolee had lost the fight she could not help but tremble with fear. Had the buckskin stallion left him alive? And if he had, was Boolee able to care for himself? The grey had always seemed so indestructible...to recognise that he was growing older and weaker, and was surely wounded, was terrible for young Tyrilly to consider. And what was going to happen to them, his mares? On the grey stallion's command she had followed Uuna away from the clearing, away from the fight though she longed to stay and make sure Boolee was alright. Only Cardinia had remained, hidden in the brush. It had been she who the buckskin fought for, naturally the dun mare had wanted to know the outcome of the fight, though Tyrilly doubted if the mare would go with either stallion in spite of who won or not. In the summer the little band of leftover mares had been seperated, scattered by a lone wrangler. Tyrilly didn't know if the others had been caught or not, but she hoped they were okay.

As the filly continued her weary way up the side of the Ramshead a sudden noise caught her ears, made her stop dead in shock, brown ears tipped forwards. Was that not Boolee's neigh that rang across the mountains? It certainly sounded like him, though the wind and the snow distorted the call so it became impossible to tell where it had come from. Perhaps she had only imagined it, so desperate was she to find the old grey stallion. But imagined or not, the call gave Tyrilly new energy, new purpose. She continued her upwards struggle until the ground flattened out a bit. Cautiously, she crept to the edge. Then she called back to Boolee, or perhaps just the mountains, "It is I, Tyrilly! I am yours."

[Corowa]

Then, through driving snow and tearing winds, there came an answer to his far-flung cry, and Boolee stood trembling in every limb. For the strain of those few months was visible in every proud line of his body, and he had the look of one who has suffered. With a ringing neigh, Boolee plunged headlong down the side of the spur, nimble and swift as once he had been. Down and down the stallion went, trusting in his own swiftness on this rough slope, for it was so steep to fall would surely mean death. He checked on some narrow shelf of rock, gathered himself and leapt. In two more strides, he was down in the trees, felt the whip of a snowgum branch across his flanks. And now there was no sound but the falling snow, and Boolee stopped still, threw up his head and stood listening.

In the sheltering band of snowgums, the stallion stood and listened. For a moment he thought it was the wind he had heard, but then his nostrils quivered, and he sprang forwards, out into those snow-swirling winds. Boolee cantered on over wide open plains, where there was still snowgrass beneath the snow. And in the blinding whiteness of the storm, there was none to see this pale streak of a stallion. On and on he cantered, until dripping with sweat and blowing fearfully, he stopped. Then, suddenly feeling the bitterly cold winds, the stallion began to canter once more, half-afraid he should perish. He was carefully picking his way down one rough, steep tor when he saw them. Even as the mare half-faded into the grey light of the blizzard, the foal at her side stood clearly outlined by the snow. Boolee pulled up short on his haunches, wondered if he had dreamt this.

Filled with all the longing of a stallion for his mate, Boolee gave a sudden throbbing neigh. In a wide circle, the stallion swung about mare and foal, head held proudly high, ears pricked. Then he was greeting the mare in a whirlwind of joy, swiftly squealing, whirling, striking. Finally, he dropped to the ground and extended his nose to hers, breathed warm air into her nostrils. For the stallion was breathless with this sudden wild excitement, longed to throw a furious challenge to the winds, to make the high country ring with his triumphant cries. “I thought you some ghost of snow and wind,” he said at last. “But you are warm beneath my touch, and no other mare can stir such feelings within me. I would know you for always. You are mine, bound to me by all the the wildness of the winter storm.”

He remembered the black foal then, for black were the foals who would turn grey. There by her side was Piringa, and the stallion felt a sudden rush of tenderness for the wet and bedraggled foal. With a gentle nicker, he nosed around his ears and head, blowing through his nostrils as if to reassure him. The strong gusts of winds buffeted them, and Boolee moved to shelter his son from the biting cold. The snow lay in deep drifts here, and Boolee knew it was time to leave, for he could feel it would be a bad storm. “Come, let us get him to lower country,” he said, turned to encourage Piringa forward, for the foal pressed close to his side. “We do not have much longer before the snow is so deep even we cannot push through it, and I have no longing for my son or mate to perish.”

The stallion turned to leave, when a call rang out on the winds. It was not the call of a young filly, but of a mare to her mate. Boolee lifted his head, nose to the wind as he breathed in deeply. When Allirea stirred beside him, he reached over and nibbled on her shoulder a moment, wondered if this time she listen, for he could not stand to lose her. “You and Piringa should find shelter, and I will find her. I cannot leave Tyrilly alone in this storm, but if our son goes any further I worry he will be so exhausted he will not be able to stand.” Boolee nudged the foal towards his mother, and then gave her a tender nuzzle, told her he would come back. Then he sprang away at a canter, but there was no joy to his movements, only a terrible urgency, for he was tired from the long run, and nervous about his mare and foal.

Boolee was desperate to find his missing mare, and return to Allirea and her foal. Suddenly, he realised the snow was falling more heavily, so heavy for so early in the season, and the stallion knew if he could not find Tyrilly, he must led Allirea and Pirigina down from these high slopes immediately. For aware of the hushed silence of the bush, Boolee felt suddenly terribly afraid. The wind had become a clamour, and the snow stung his eyes and sides, so he could do no more than stumble blindly on. He could feel himself trembling with this terrible feeling of dread, as if he might never find his mare, but plough on and on through the drifts of snow, growing only more and more exhausted. Too tired to take one more step forwards, the stallion propped to a sudden standstill, and neighed with all his strength. He threw up his head and listened, wondered if the mare had heard his call over the sound of the wind.

OOC: Sorry it’s so long, half of it was Boolee trying to find everyone, which is rather hard in a blizzard! Also hope I’m not powerplaying Piringa too much.

[Ehetere]

Allirea pushed herself on, eventually having to lead to plough a pathway through the snow for Piringa. For an instant; the wind swirled around and Allirea was sure she saw the outline of a pale grey stallion against the cloud filled sky. The world seemed to stand still, before his proud neigh filled her ears and the snowstorm covered him once more. She could hear his excited hoof beats circling around and around until finally his soft, grey muzzle touched her own.

Allirea positively melted; a wondrous warm feeling building up in her chest as Boolee’s soft words caressed her like the cooling waters of a gentle creek on a hot summer’s day. She didn’t know how long she had waited to hear those words; how much she had fretted about never hearing them, but now she had, Allirea was sure they were perhaps the sweetest words in the world.

Boolee then turned his attention to poor wet, cold Piringa who had put up with all of his mother’s searching without complaint. Allirea’s heart swelled with pride for her son; he was sure to grow to be a fine stallion indeed. She could have told simply by his parentage - with her as his mother to guide him and Boolee as his sire, he was surely destined for great things.

When Boolee, suggested they make for lower country, Allirea nodded; agreeing wholeheartedly. Her step and spirit were boosted when Boolee named her as his mate; a title she had long since longed for. She was the mate of one of the most magnificent stallions in all the high country. But then another call rang out, and Allirea knew by now that it was Tyrilly’s. She remembered the call from that fateful day in the snow when the little patched filly had scrambled her way down the snowy slope. Although she had not found much time to get to know the little filly, Allirea had no qualms with her. She was quiet and submissive, and had never tried to make out that she was the most important mare in Boolee’s herd. And she seemed to have a kind hearted soul, so Allirea understood Boolee’s need to find her. She was well aware that he was fond of the filly; Allirea suspected for the same reasons that she was quite fond of her.

“I will stay,” she said, feeling the need to confirm this, after past incidences, “Promise me you will return safely.” She gently rubbed her muzzle alone his smooth strong face that was dampened by the swirling snow. And then he was away; disappearing into that white nothingness. Allirea threw one forlorn call after him before ushering Piringa along; hoping to spot a little bank of trees or rocks they could shelter from the wind in. In the meager shelter of some scraggly looking cradle barks, Allirea urgently nosed Piringa under her to make him drink. He needed to keep his strength up. Piringa drank as much as he could; but her milk was on the verge of running dry before he was full.

Allirea glanced into the blizzard; her expression troubled, watching for the return of her mate and the patched filly. Her instincts were screaming at her that she needed to find food soon, or both she and Piringa would starve. She had been pushing herself so hard to find Boolee that she had almost forgotten to take care of herself and Piringa. And now her mothering instincts were awakening, so much so they were very nearly overwhelming. The need to find food and feed her offspring, but her love for her mate was stronger. She called out into the storm; calling for Boolee to return.

[yaruka]

The wind had picked up, battering the little filly as she stood at the edge of the cliff. Snow stung her eyes like sand but still the little painted filly could not bear to give up.

Yet, Tyrilly knew that if there was no reply to her desperate call sometime in the very near future she would have to turn around, go back down the mountain, or risk being blown off the cliff to her death, or even being buried in snow where she stood. Just as the pinto finally accepted she would not find Boolee here and had turned to leave, another whinny rang across the moutains, one faint with exhaustion but still commanding, still compelling. The little filly stiffened, her ears pricked forwards so that they looked as though they might touch.Certainly it must have been Boolee's desperate call she had heard- for surely the wind would not be so cruel as to mimic his voice exactly, just when she was most desperate to find him?

Tyrilly threw her head up and answered, her body shaking with the effort. Then she spun about and began making her slow way down the slope, plunging through the snow drifts with new energy, in the direction of Boolee's call.

Once or twice as she struggled through the deepending snow she thought she saw the flakes swirling ahead of her solidify into the shape of a powerful grey stallion, but blinking the wet stuff off her lashes, Tyrilly would find the snow stallion gone. Still, she followed these illusions, as they seemed to be going in the direction from whence she had heard Boolee call.

Occasionally, she would pause and call to her stallion, but the wind swept her call and distorted it so that she knew any reply would not help her. Gradually, she became too tired to whinny anyway.

By now Tyrilly was going on instinct alone, for some inexplicable reason driven to follow the course she was taking, as though those teasing mirages would take her to her real snow stallion. The wind had strengthened so that it became necessary for her to duck her head and only look up occasionally, pushing through the snow blindly. One step at a time she went, until, with a startled snort she bumped into something hard and warm.



OOC: ughhh, I'm going to stop there, seeing as it took me WAY too much effort to get even that far, and make it half-way decent. bleck. I HATE writer's block. There's a huge disconnect between two of the paragraphs, a total change in style but whatever...they both sounded okayish, and apparently I am WAY too rusty....

[Corowa]

The stallion stood in the falling snow, listening intently, worried by the snow that swirled all around him. Boolee was worried by the thought of that one mare left alone in the blizzard, and the stallion struggled on through snow and wind once more, paused to get his breath and then call again. All of a sudden, the wind became a gale, the wind so strong the stallion was almost blown over, even as he stumbled on, blinded by this wind-whirled snow. Boolee was almost frantic now to find the missing young mare, for surely she would perish here in this wild blizzard. Then something moved at his side, brushed his flank so the stallion leapt sharply sideways in fright. Did he imagine the shape of a filly in this wind driven snow, or was it indeed Tyrilly?

Boolee extended his nose, quivered with sudden joy as he realised it was Tyrilly, warm beneath his touch so he knew this was not some dream of wind-swept snow and longing. When he saw how the young mare trembled, Boolee anxiously nuzzled her all over, worried for her, and indeed worried for all of them. Boolee knew these two young mares and foal were the most important things in his life. When he was convinced the young mare would follow, he gave her a gentle nudge, told her to come as he moved off. Even Boolee, who knew every rough rock tor, every snowgrass lane and wide grassy flats, found it difficult to remember where he was, for in the falling snow, nothing looked the same. But while his tracks were covered by the snow, the stallion was driven on by some wisdom, some other knowing, which led him on, even when he might have stopped and turned back in fear.

Never had Boolee been so high in the mountains in the winter, and the stallion realised the desperate importance of taking his mares down below the blizzard. The snow had become much deeper, but on the stallion walked, even when he was so tired he could barely move. Every now and then, Boolee turned to encourage Tyrilly on with gentle nickers, worried she would vanish in the snow. But still the young mare followed at his side, and it reassured him to feel her there so close, for he was not alone in this blinding world of whiteness. Suddenly the stallion stopped in his tracks, threw up his head and gave a loud neigh. There, through the driving snow, the stallion could see a scraggly clump of timber, the trees bent by the snow, hardly shelter against the tearing winds of the blizzard.

Boolee hurried forwards, and his ears twitched at the soughing of bark, as great ribbons of bark swayed in the wind. It was from here the wind-tossed call had come, and Boolee could feel his heart pounding now with excitement. There beneath the snow-covered branches, the grey mare and her foal stood huddled together for warmth, and Boolee snuffled them both anxiously. The stallion was exhausted from such a tremendous effort, so breathless and tired; he could do no more than stand listening to the sound of the storm around them. Even as the wind swirled in the uppermost branches, the stallion did not move from the sheltering stand of trees. The storm was still too rough, the snow too deep for Piringa to go any further. “When the wind does not blow so strongly and the snow does not fall so swiftly, then we will leave,” he said heavily. “But for now I must rest, for I have driven myself to exhaustion, and I am not the young stallion I once was.”

OOC: Sorry I had to sort of powerplay Tyrilly otherwise we were never going to get out of that darn blizzard!

[Ehetere]

Allirea let out a sigh of relief that was lost in the wind-blown snow as Boolee returned. His warm muzzle was like silk against her hide and she had never been more grateful to see the pale grey stallion in her life. She had been beginning to fear that he had gotten lost in the storm and that he would have perished along with Tyrilly. And then she would have perished too, for she would not have left the high mountains without him.

Allirea nickered deeply to Tyrilly as she also took shelter in the little clump of trees. She was glad for the younger mare’s company. She was a sweet little thing, and Allirea would not wish for her to perish in the blizzard. Piringa was shivering against her flank, and she lowered her neck to eat several mouthfuls of snow. Each one froze her insides, but she ate it to get the melt water from it. Piringa would need strength from her milk as there was very little else for him to live off until they were much lower in the mountains.

She listened to Boolee’s words and acknowledged their wisdom. She rested her head against his warm snow dusted neck and closed her eyes in exhaustion, hoping that their body heat would be enough to stop Piringa from freezing. Just before drifting off into a fitful sleep she whispered to the little darg grey colt, “Don’t lie down in the snow…”