A stealing of Hearts [Yaruka] :)

[Rivre]

The rough gales seemed to steal like a stormy night sky, over the precarious land, the cliff and tor seemingly nothing to the filly who stood, outlined against a blackened heavens, upon the Ramshead Range; her hide of bright bay fury, contrasted perfectly with her silken ebony banner, the slightness of her frame and the curvature of her neck, a withheld beauty - a sore sorry sight. For she was alone.
As the burnt copper saucers which were her shy orbs, flickered to a scuttling form, a carney, the unsettling feeling which came only before a great many rains would fall, entered her gut once again, a sweat to break out on her canvas as the pituri shrub wafted lazily but firmly to her flank, causing her to start unnecessarily. She had very little cover here, the blunt rocks and narrow shaly tracks held nothing but the comfort of other horses, when she longed for the strength of gale and force of fury the Ramshead could offer. She had stood like this some while now, whole body poised to leap the small quarry of unsettled stones before her, lobes ringing with the energy which was gathering under heavy, laden clouds.
Swinging herself forwards, she cleared the gap with ease, skittering to a halt only a little way from the peak, pointed daggers knocking a few of the rubble pieces flying into the air, a sudden, joyous energy pounding through her veins. Raising her head to the skys, she scream her shrill wild cry; full of freedom and full of hope this cry was, to echo forever through the high country, for her, and her offspring, which were surely to come. As the winds lifted the black mass of mane abruptly from her dampened neck, eyes smarting into the gale, her ears flickered forwards slightly, for a reply, if even audible, was perhaps working it's way back to her.
It was a legend among brumbies, that Thowra, the great creamy king, calls through the darkest and most beautiful of nights, to lost souls, to save them once more, and carry on his wild rein, forever the king of her heart.
The air was crisp, clean, but the pressure was unbelievable, making her skip back a few steps from the perilous drop. Rain was coming.

OOC: Sorry it was so short, but there isn't much I can work with, because she is so reserved and all x).








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[yaruka]

OOC: Yarran's ready to win over some hearts ^_^ and no worries I understand, I have a few characters like that.

BIC:

It was terrible weather, typical turbelent spring. The sky was clouded, even at night, and the air was so heavy that Yarran felt he would have trouble breathing just standing still, let alone climbing one of the various peaks of the Ramshead as he was now. What had possessed him to come up here on such a night he would never know, but for some strange reason the greying colt felt compelled to visit these rocky tors on this dark night. This time last year he never would have imagined he'd still be herdless at four years of age. He didn't know how he'd ever be able to face Prisma again, let alone his sire. But Yarran had seen hardly any other horses this past year. It seemed there was a shortage of young brumbies in the High Country, the brumby drive last year was likely to blame, and the only fillies he knew of were his own sisters. With a heavy sigh the young stallion continued, finally pulling himself to the top of the outcrop he was climbing.

Cresting the edge he had a sudden surprise, he was not as alone up here as he had first assumed. For unless he was very much mistaken, the smell of a strange filly clung to the breeze that ruffled his mane and tickled his nostrils. Throwing his head up, he pricked his ears forwards curiously, straining to hear where the other horse might be. His nostrils flared, drawing in deep gulps of air as he sought to discover from where her scent had come. And then he saw her, poised on the edge of the opposite cliff, so precariously balanced he feared she might fall. A throaty nicker escaped his throat, carried in the filly's direction as the wind grew stronger and first drops of rain fell from those dark clouds above. Yarran's eyes were bright now with interest, wondering what such a filly would be doing up here on a night like this, and if indeed she was truly alone. He felt a sudden, uncontrollable urge to go to her, run, but he feared any hasty moment of his might startle her and cause he to unbalance. So instead of going to her he waited, body tense with excitement, for her response to his greeting.

[Rivre]

OOC: Ugh. I am so mad right now. I just went to delete the size of the font I'd chosen, and low and behold, it deletes my post instead. Ahhh, I'll wait till morning, then type up another one.

[yaruka]

oh no! I hate it when things like that happen!!

[Rivre]

As the mists finally cleared a path from her wide orbs, Myall was able to see the form of her replier, and put a face to the voice which rang out across the rocks; his dun hide was dulled by the creamy tides but she could see with a mare's eye, that in the sunlight the sandy coloring would play upon his back, his blackened banner streaking out behind him as he cavorted along. Not often did she credit stallions, and not often did she feel a longing to be owned or loved for that matter, but now, she wished for nothing more than the silent company of this stranger, so the pair and his herd could romp across such land as this, for only one of her mind would have come to aggravate such weather.
"It is I, Myall named for the trees in which I can hide" her whinny, caught in the wind, would be carried straight to the odd ones ears, hoping to entice him further and so enter in a conversation rather than a match of calls across the hopeless void.
Kicking up her heels she cantered playfully along the ridge, throwing in a buck or two, head tossing as she wheeled among the tasseled world, in and out of existence, a wholly opaque being.
"It is I, find me!"
As she danced, her mind wandered back to the time of spring the year previous, in a cramped yard, flanks covered in sweat, the coil of the mans whip coming down hard on her flank, the smell of fear, the feel of others hearts pounding around her - and then her mother, taken into the flight, carried away...
Now her calls carried a new meaning, a hint of desperation at being alone, her weaving becoming habit rather than out of fun; she needed him closer to her. The rubble under-hoof was not perhaps as stable as she would have liked, her feet kept slipping from under her, and now she stumbled, nearly fell onto her knees, "Come to me!".
Never again would she be caught by man, she would become cunning, seek to hide in the places where others couldn't, take advantage of situation in which she could learn of new places, belong to a herd in which she felt safe and did not feel the need to be won by another of he so wished it. She would be strong for the sake of her mother and herd, strong enough to find out what had happened that fateful day, strong enough to survive long enough to find out. This stallion would help her, perhaps even.... Offer her something she had never felt before, the pain of love.

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[yaruka]

The mare's ghostly response was carried across the gap to Yarran's ears by the wind. Shivering slightly at the strangeness of it all, Yarran watched the mare's dance with a queer fascination, his eyes tracking her nimble body as she wove in and out of the mist. A couple times she stumbled and the young stallion's heart would leap to his throat. What did she think she was doing running around at the top of a cliff? She could fall to her death at any moment.

"And I am Yarran, named for the lightning that strikes the earth during a storm," he called back to her, his eyes trained on her every move. He did not know how to tell her to stop her foolish games, she was unlikely to listen to him, but the filly's luck would only hold so long in such treachorous conditions. Could he go to her? Would she accept him or run away? As though she were answering his very thoughts the filly called again, she wanted him to go to her. The mulberry grey was relieved. Perhaps he could talk some sense into her, convince her to move away from the precipitous edge.

"I will come," he promised.

Whirling about, though he hardly dare take his eyes off her, Yarran pushed his way through the sheets of rain that stung his eyes, threatening to hinder his balance. As he trotted as fast as was manageable down the rocky slope he kept one ear trained on the mare. The bay's calls were becoming increasingly desperate, and in an effort to calm her, Yarran called again" "I will come, wait for me, and I will be there." He needed to get to her before the wildness of the coming storm led the filly to do something truly dangerous.

Hurrying, he made it down his peak and picked his way across the rocky valley below it. The rain still beat at his skin, it's droplets not gentle and cleansing but almost punishing in their aggresiveness. By now the grey was completely drenched, water was streaming down his sides and his forelock was plastered to his face. Still he struggled on, now up the peak next to him, where he hoped to find the filly but half-feared he would not, and would ascend to the top to find that she was only a dream, or worse, had fallen already to her death. As he climbed he paused once to whinny back to her, straining his ears to listen for any sound that guarenteed she was still alive. But the rain was too loud, pounding the rockface on which he climbed, filling Yarran's ears with a rushing hiss and making the rocks which his hooves clung to slippery. There was nothing for him to do put keep going and hoping for the best.

Finally the stallion pulled himself to the top, glancing about immediately for the filly. And there she was, only a few feet from him. Yarran froze, for up close she was even more beautiful than he had imagined. Lowering his head, his nostrils vibrated with a gentle nicker of greeting to her.

[Rivre]

The winds tormented her, pushing always pushing, the shaly rock beneath her hooves giving little in means of stability; her orbs trained on the grey hide of the stallion who risked all to reach her. Over and over her calls came, mane whipping up around her young features, as she awaited his arrival, ears quirked with an unquestionable interest. Waiting for the ring of his hooves against her rock and tor.
And suddenly he was there, standing before her, more magnificent than any stallion she had pondered at before, banner cascading down his curvature like paint on a canvas, his velvet nose extended to quiver in greeting.
Her own bay and black muzzle quipped forwards, darting to his with warm speed, electricity charging through her veins as the sparks from his touch engulfed her; letting out a whinny of both pleasure and shock, she was sure the mountains would know of their meeting soon, their cliff and tor to ring with her gentle call.
"I am Myall, named so for the trees in which I often hide" she nickered, although, quite aware he already knew her name from the many weary and desperate calls she had sent him.
"What might be the name of stallion so bold and so brave as to travel the Ramshead at this hour in this weather?"
Pausing she looked to the stormy sky, eyes squinting into the coming darkness, "The wind breaths my name into the night, forever calling; the rains dance upon my hide forever waiting, the sun and cloud create shadows across my life, and yet here you are, risking all to be with a mare broken by the very life she leads. It interests me more than anything."
Her earlier awe had dissolved into self-pity, and as she gazed upon his grand self, she could have sworn he would have seen the light die in her eyes.

[yaruka]

At the bay mare's gentle touch Yarran too felt the electricity course through his veins. It may only have been fromt the static of the impending storm, or perhaps it came from something deep inside of himself, something he had not yet experienced.
Suddenly he felt shy as she complimented him, but striving to appear strong, for this mare brought out a desire to impress in him such as he had never felt before, he answered "I am Yarran, named for the lightning that strikes the earth."

Before he could continue the mare spoke again, and so glad was he that she was no longer running to and fro that he was willing to stand here listening, even as exposed as they were to the rain and wind. His eyes darkened with concern at her nexts words though, and he endeavoured to lighten her mood, reaching forward shyly to rub his muzzle agains the velvet black one.
"Such a pretty mare as you I have never seen," he said, "And as for interest, you intrigue me more than any other horse I have ever met." The young grey meant it as a compliment, and it was true. For there was something about Myali that was certainly different from the rest of the mares he had encountered. A good different. But the filly's words had troubled him, he could not bear to think of what would cause such a lovely creature so much pain.

A sudden crash of thunder broke overhead, seeming to shake the very tor upon which they stood. Yarran's eyes were lit up in the flash of lightning that followed, though they would have been bright with concern regardless of the fiery light.

"Come," he said "We must move from here, or we can not hope to survive the night. The storm is very close, and I do not wish you for you to die up here. Though I am named for the lightning I can not control its actions and I fear we are in serious danger up here. We will have time enough to talk once we reach shelter below."

Turning, he started his way back down the slope, hooves sliding dangerously against the slick rock, muscles tight and hindquarters bunched so that he was not flung into the space below. He glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that the bay filly was coming, increasingly concerned that they might not survive this storm even if they left now. He hoped the fillly was as surefooted as she had seemed from across the gap, this was not going to be an easy climb.

OOC: sorry for the wait! It's a little rushed, but at least it's here :/

[Rivre]

OOC: Not at all Yaruka ^^ Reply coming tomorrow morn' as is... 11 hours? x)

[Rivre]

This grey seemed to understand her pain, and it was for that reason, which she did not turn him away; listening carefully to his thoughts on the weather, but disregarding them, for she was born of these cliff and tors, and she would die here. Throwing up her head she met his orbs with steady anger, "I shall leave my world for no-one, and no-one shall be departing with me" she whinnied, her words harsh, but her heart longing, for she needed this stallion. But he must fight her head to win her mind.
His touch was gentle, and a little scared if she hastened to add, but it was a natural fear, and it was not a fear for himself which gripped him.
"Come" she heard him call, and watched as he slipped a little down the shaly track. Whinnying in surprise, she jogged after him, leaving all her worries on the wind, the sudden crash of lighting over-head lighting a new kind of fear in her eyes, a fear for her life.
Placing her hooves into the crevices, she hurried cautiously down the incline, always a little faster than Yarran, named for their storm, always with her nose on his flank. Breath coming in heavy snorts, she felt the first splatters of rain wash the sweat from her hide, and gaze whipped to the opening heaves. This rain would carry them in the flood water to their deaths. Pushing on, she came shoulder-to-shoulder with the grey, who's own coat looked as soaked through as her.
"We shall not make it to the snow-grass on the plains if we do not hurry. We must run through the night, and if we fall, we fall together" her call came and died on the wind, but the whisper of it was still loud enough for him to hear.
He looked even more magnificent in the gale and wet than he did under the mass of cloud, and her eyes smiled a while, before she finally raked her gaze from his, and plunged at a gallop towards safety.


OOC: Sorry, but Myall has a lot of issues xD