A New Mare (Open)

[Tiggs]

Mayrah loved the High Country. Its rolling hills, winding river valleys and large flats of grass were a brumby’s haven. She spent many a day simply grazing alone, listening to the sounds of the High County and enjoying the wilderness. It was her home, and she endeavoured to explore it all with her calm fascination for all things new. That was what brought her this way to begin with. Her eagerness to see the highest point of the High Country, where men did not roam.

She had nothing to fear of men, but she steered clear of their huts and arid smoke and she stayed safe. Occasionally he might hear the sound of a whip-crack or dog bark in the distance, but she had yet to be troubled by the strange creatures. By heeding her mother’s lessons, Mayrah was a prime example of a young mare coming into her maturity. With senses of the body and mind on her side, she would roam wild and free across the High Country for many more years.

On the cusp of summer, the weather in the High Country was sublime. With the coolness of spring breezes still lingering, the heat from the sun overhead was a welcome feeling on her back. Her neck under her mane could become a little too warm, but so long as she continued to shift, fresh air would reach under and cool her pelt.

Looking up to the sky, it was a wonder to see just how far the blue of it stretched. Nearer the horizon, it was pale but up overhead where the occasional bird would soar, it was a bright almost cerulean blue. Mayrah could not look at it for long, for its brightness stung her eyes. The great blue blanket held the fiery sun, and that great ball of light shone down on them all, making every detail of the High Country crisp and perfect.

The few clouds that lingered around the horizon were wispy and white. Some were more defined than others but with so much light poured onto them by the sun, there was hardly a shadow to them. They were as crisp a colour as new-fallen snow. Mayrah wondered if the clouds were indeed made of snow, for they did drop the flakes in winter when the sun was cold, and in the warmer seasons they dropped rain – melted snow. She had never before pondered this, and the explanation came as a revelation.

Her brown eyes now brimming with discovery, she turned her gaze on the land around them. The lake shimmered behind them, its water so calm and quiet compared to the running streams of the Cascade or Crackenback. She wondered if its waters would taste different. The sun glittered like nuggets of shining golden rock that she would sometimes see in a stream bed on the lake’s surface. How deep did that water go?

She followed the curve of the basin, wondering if the curve continued under the water. She would have to test it later. The banks of the lake were littered with round pebbles and sand. Sometimes even the grass ventured up to the edges of the water, newer blades clustering around its lapping shore. Only long grasses that were tough would grow in the water. Shorter grasses that were lush to graze on grew beside water such as this, and Mayrah made a mental note to taste the grass that grew here to see how it compared to drier areas.

Surprisingly there were few bushes and trees around the lake. Perhaps the soil would not support them. It might be deep enough for grass but she knew under it was solid rock. Boulders would rise out of the ground here and there, reminding the traveller that they stood on a mountain, not the soft valleys of lower countries. When she walked, she could feel the ground was hard under the grass, and sometimes grass would not grow at all to expose large flats of stone.

It was on one of these protruding rocks that Cheyenne stood, her light chestnut coat glittering like copper in the sun. Mayrah looked up at the lithe mare, and though the chestnut was fully grown, Mayrah was surprised to see that she did not share her bulk. Mayrah was born with a broader, shorter body than most. She inherited many of her late father’s traits and before his death he had told her that he was proud to have such a beautiful daughter.

Mayrah was not vain enough to think that she was the most beautiful mare in the High Country, but she appreciated her natural gifts. Her face was slightly convex, her head noble and wide. Her neck was short but powerful, curving elegantly when she moved her head. Her chest was round and barrel-like, more suited to a young stallion than a mare but her short back and powerful hind-quarters balanced out her shortcomings.

Cheyenne was quite different. Where Mayrah was stocky and round, Cheyenne was willowy and slim. Mayrah had once been a golden-brown across most of her body and standing next to Cheyenne she would have appeared more yellow than the other mare’s orange. Now however, with white hairs peppering her body, she was lighter than Cheyenne, though darker in the legs. Cheyenne’s face was split by a blaze, crisp and bold against her pale russet coat. Mayrah shared no such marking, even under the grey hairs smothering her face. Her nose was untouched by pink, leaving her lips and nostrils dark in colour. They way she always held her tail aloft made her seem always alert, almost as if she were always in movement even though she stood still.

Overall, Cheyenne was quite a catch for any stallion, and Mayrah wondered why she was alone for such a time. Mayrah secretly hoped she did not roam alone for so many years. Despite the enjoyment she derived from exploration, she did not wish to do it alone for all of her days. She would like a mare like Cheyenne or even a stallion to keep her company.

She was glad to have met Cheyenne, but she had no time to talk to the mare before a stallion came suddenly into view. Mayrah shied away, unaccustomed to being surprised. Her brown eyes turned wary, but it was soon obvious the male meant no harm. Mayrah relaxed, her ears flicking forward and her nostrils flaring to catch a scent from him. He must have come upon them from downwind, else she would have smelt him before.

Like all stallions, his scent was strong and distinguishable. Looking at him though, he was not like many stallions. He was tall and muscled, and even though she was still young to be thinking seriously about stallions, Mayrah appreciated the view. His face and legs were black, but his body was peppered with white hairs, not unlike her own. The effect made the black look blue, and the steely colour was exotic.

It was his mane and tail though that caught her attention. Black like his face, they were both impossibly long. Her own mane and tail were of similar length, though not so shockingly black. Hers was tinted grey with white hairs and closer to brown than black where it wasn’t. She took a good long look at him while he and Cheyenne talked, and came to the conclusion that she would very much like him to talk to her as well.

She waited politely while they talked, and learnt that his name was Barwon. Named for the river. Mayrah wondered if when he ran, his mane and tail flew out behind him and he resembled the dark waters of a mysterious deep river. Like a flitting shadow in the night, his paler body painted my moonlight, his dark face and legs barely distinguishable from shadow. He would be a mystery to those that saw him. A handsome remarkable mystery.

The way he talked to Cheyenne was polite but with an undertone of excitement. Mayrah could tell he was as pleased to see another horse as Cheyenne was. The two spoke of their loneliness, and Mayrah’s heart went out to them. She had not long left her mother, and she still saw her from time to time. But these two seemed to have been alone for some time, and with a compassion that surprised her, she hoped the two would find friendship.

As Cheyenne described her adventures though, Mayrah could understand how she could stand to be alone for those years. The High Country held many secrets, and Mayrah did not kid herself that she knew them all. That was what exploration was all about. To find those hidden corners of the High Country where mystery and intrigue hid.

The way that Barwon was fascinated by Cheyenne suggested to Mayrah that he was excited by her adventures also. She could see something in his eyes that surprised her. It was a warmth she usually saw in her mother’s eyes. The emotion that came from great pride and admiration. It was warmth that Mayrah knew would grow until one day; maybe soon, it would be love.

The strength of his emotion almost embarrassed Mayrah, and she glanced away as if to give them privacy. She caught sight of Cheyenne, and saw that the older mare was interested in the stallion. It was then that Barwon’s proposal came, and Mayrah was not surprised. The stallion would collect many mares in his time, and for Cheyenne to be his first was a great milestone.

Mayrah wondered if she should leave, but she could not before she had heard Cheyenne’s response. Would she accept? Or was she too attracted to her life of adventure that she might decline the handsome stallion? She had called for company, after all, but had she thought she would attract such definite and eternal company? Mayrah waited with bated breath to hear what Cheyenne might say.

The breeze was picking up now, as if sensing the anticipation of the young mare. It tugged each of their manes and tails, tangling and lifting them, curling around them before racing away. The breeze rippled the surface of the lake, making the lapping edges slap against the shore. The mountain was waiting for an answer too, its breath not nearly so bated as the dapple grey filly’s.

[Cheyenne]

Cheyenne felt on top of the world and had the urge to leap back on to her rock and whinny out loud so everyone could hear but she kept that feeling to herself and replied "I will join you O handsome Barwon for I feel that my lonely adventures have finished and I wish to share a new adventure with someone like you". Her grin never left her face as she gave Barwon a friendly nip on the shoulder.

[tingara]

Cantering slowly down the side of a steep ridge, a bay roan stallion moved quietly amongst the rocky outcrops. He moved with a purpose, barely breaking stride even for the obstacles he encountered. Jagged pieces of granite bit at the young stallion’s fetlocks but still he kept moving at the same pace. All of a sudden Burnum skidded to a halt and threw his head into the air. Russet ears strained to catch the sounds he’d heard before and, when he was satisfied they were near, he moved off again.

The voices grew closer still as the stallion moved off of the ridge and onto a grassy, tree-lined slope. Only now did he slow to a silent walk. He left no track and made no sound as he crept towards a clearing. Finally he had faces to put with the voices he’d caught on the wind. Two mares, a pretty chestnut and grey, and a blue roan stallion were the sight that greeted the bay roan. It was the grey in particular that caught his eye but if it were possible he’d have loved to have both mares to call his own.

For a moment he debated with himself whether he risk leaving his cover and revealing himself to the other horses. He didn’t have anything or anyone to lose so why not? Proudly, with a graceful step, Burnum left his hiding place and walked out into the clearing. He called to the two mares, ignoring the stallion for the moment. ”Come with me, a prince of the High Country and together we will race the winds like no others.” The stallion was not worth a prince’s attention unless he wanted to fight; at least that was what Burnum’s current attitude was. He blamed Prisma for his lack of humility at times.

[Cheyenne]

Cheyenne stood still, not moving a muscle, and stared at the new stranger. She came to find a mate and here she had two, but she had chosen Barwon and with Barwon she would stay. She gave him another friendly nip as if to tell him that she was still his. Wondering what Mayrah would do, she turned to the other mare and waited to see if she would reply to the stallions call.

[Tiggs]

Mayrah nickered her pleasure for Cheyenne when she accepted Barwon’s offer so joyously. Her head lifted, ears perked in excitement for the chestnut mare. She was lucky to have such a fine stallion. She knew they would heave great adventures together. The dapple grey was a little disappointed that she had not been asked, but she was a young mare, perhaps not so attractive to an older stallion like Barwon. She accepted this rejection easily though, she still had the rest of the High Country to explore!

Just then, a rustle in the trees caught her attention and with a grace inherited from her mother, she turned her delicate head to the sound. Out of the bush stepped a second stallion. He too was a roan, but that was where the similarity stopped between him and Barwon. His legs were clean and black up to the knees but before the auburn of his coat could fully express itself, roan hairs turned his body a patchy white-rose. Around his rump, he was whiter than her, but he had corn spots rather than dapples, and he reddened around the chest and neck.

His face was a russet red, dark around the muzzle and lightening in a smudge of a star on his forehead. His mane and tail were short like most brumbies, and were black against his strawberry-roan body. His eyes were soulful and kind like Barwon’s, but he carried himself with more confidence, like a warrior. They seemed about the same age, but like the sense of mystery she got from Barwon, she felt a sense of feral wildness from the bay roan.

She nickered a quiet greeting to him, the sound barely clearing her nostrils as if she was unsure whether to greet him or not. She glanced to Barwon, wondering if he was worried by the appearance from another stallion. It was obvious that he too was after mares for his herd. Would Barwon challenge him?

At the bay roan’s words, however, Mayrah’s ears perked. “A Prince?” Her mother’s brother was the King. This stallion would be her cousin. She tried not to let her disappointment show. He would not want her if they were so closely related. It was a pity, he was a handsome brute. She supposed she should expect nothing less from her uncle’s line. She flared her nostrils, taking in his scent for future reference. Perhaps if Barwon did not want to take her, she could run with this distant relative of hers for a while.

[yaruka]

As the small group of young horses conversed by the lake another young mare was wandering about in the nearby brush. The sound of voices intrigued her so she wandered nearer, peering out from behind the snowgums to watch the others. It had been a long time since she'd been with other horses, and the black mare was quite lonely.

Suddenly, a bay roan stallion appeared over the crest of a ridge, skidding to a halt and scenting the air ahead of him, quite unaware, she was certain, of her prescense downwind. Her eyes glowed with warmth at a display of such energy and her eyes continued to track him as he made his way to the other group. She liked the attitude of the stallion, he seemed like fun.

As the roan reached the others and stood talking, Omaroo found she could bear being alone no longer, and, quite forgetting that she was heavily pregnant, trotted forwards eagerly. It was only when a sudden spasm of sharp pain raced down her spine that she stopped, lowering her head and breathing heavily. She didn't know why, but she kept getting these awful pains at infrequent intervals. But not to be put off, the black mare continued, though this time at a more cautious, though still spritely, walk. She called out to the others as she approached, a warm and unnervous greeting. Loneliness and spirit had made the black mare quite reckless.
----------------------
Yet another young horse was about on this fine day, though this time a stallion. Nyauwe, too, sought company, though of a different sort than Omaroo. He had caught the scent of the other horses, and as bold as brass, was trotting along the shore of the lake to where they stood. He could make out the scent of two stallions, two mares, and perhaps a third female. The scents of the strange stallions did not concern the silver bay- the way he saw it, there were three mares, and three stallions, nothing to make a fuss about. Of course, he'd prefer to pick up all three of the mares, but he wasn't going to complain at gaining even just one.

Ever confident, Nyauwe trotted down the short incline to the others, approaching perpendicular to a black mare. Stopping only a few feet from the others, he nodded grandly to them all, including the approaching mare in his gesture, before speaking.
"Greetings fine mares, and strong stallions," he said, perhaps overdoing to the formality in an attempt to compensate for his lack of cordial upbringing.
"I am Nyauwe, named for the Sun, and it is the Sun which lends its brilliance to my coat. May I enquire of you all your own names?" The stallion stood there proudly, well aware of the way the sun glinted off his copper hide and reflected in his silverly mane. He looked with warmth towards the three mares, focusing the bulk of his attention on the black and the grey, for the chestnut seemed to already be with the blue stallion.

OOC: lol, Nyawe's a bit of an idiot, but I <3 him

[stormsnow]

Barwon returned Cheyenne 's friendly nip, and replied to the friednly stallion, "Greetings, Nyauwe. I am Barwon, named for the river. This is Cheyenne, and this is Mayrah." He poined to each of the mares in turn with his nose, then stood protectively in front of them. "If you want them, O Son of the King, you'll have to fight me first!" His loud, challenging neigh was bold and unafraid. If this Prince wanted to have Cheyenne, or Mayrah, or both, he was going to get a shock!

[tingara]

Burnum regarded the curious scene; the chestnut mare who was quite obviously the one whom all the attention was going to, the grey who was off in her own little world but staring at him which was a good sign, and now the new and uninvited stallion. The bay roan pinned his ears back at both blue roans, the first one he’d come across in particular. He wanted the mares and was more than willing to fight for them but he could not take on two at once. And then there was the chance that while he and another fought, the spectator would make off with the mares himself.

”I am more than willing to fight you stranger but only once this intruder has left us. I do not intend to fight more than one horse today. If I win both these mares shall run with me and not regret ever leaving your company,” the russet prince stated boldly, holding his head high. Unlike what Mayrah had thought, there was no hint of Tingara in Burnum’s build for he was the son of the old King, the one who had disappeared mysteriously many winters ago. Tingara had merely adopted him as his own son.

For a moment, another scent on the wind distracted the bay roan. There was another mare around, very close by the smell of things. Had he come to the most populated part of the High Country or what? There were horses everywhere today. Burnum greeted her with a gentle whinny before turning back to face Barwon, determination to win set on his face. He pawed the ground, russet legs kicking up a cloud of dust. He was ready for this.

[stormsnow]

Barwon snorted. "Agreed. But I think you may be going a little to far by saying that," he whinnied challengingly, referring to his adversary's last proclamation. Turning back to Mayrah and Cheyenne, the tall blue roan whispered, "I will do my best to win, but if I lose, I truly say that I will not only lose you two, but half my heart also."

This was hardly a lie, for he was already enormously fond of both mares, and could see that the three of them, if in a herd together, would enjoy one another's company. Swiveling around once more to face Burnum, his heart pounding in his chest, Barwon shivered. Let Burnum think it was fear; it was really a shiver of excitement and nervousness, for Barwon had never been in a proper fight in his life.

[Cheyenne]

Cheyenne watched the stallions with deep interest. She had never witnessed a fight before but knew what was about to come. Knowing she should get out of the way before she got caught up in the fight, Cheyenne flicked her tail, kicked up her heels and cantered slowly towards a group of tall, white trees listening for the sounds of hooves against flesh as the stallion started to fight. She prayed silently for Barwon to win. What if he lost? She would then have to go with Burnum but she wanted Barwon and not a prince of the high country.