young friends, [O/R]

[Corowa]

The two yearlings grazed side by side. The fine black colt lifted his head from his grazing and snorted. He stretched his nose out to the bay filly, with nostrils distended and expression friendly. The filly pricked her ears forwards and turned to rest her head on the colt’s haunches.

The stockman had chased them some twenty miles from where the two yearlings had been grazing on the rich snowgrass up near Dead Horse Hut. They had seen the stockman on his horse, a big and leggy chestnut, with a heeler dog by his side. Stockmen usually did not bother the more ordinarily coloured brumbies, but his dog had seen them and barked. Just at that moment, the stockmen had spurred his horse on, and the yearlings had scattered at the whistle of the rope.

Bunderra stood with ears sharply pricked. He swished his tail, and then dropped to his knees. The sweat had dried on him, and the colt rolled and scratched until with a grunt, he rolled onto his belly and heaved himself to his feet. He shook the dust from his coat, and his nostrils crinkled as he squealed and went up on his hind legs.

Wangnarra answered him with a loud whinny, and her heels struck his side with a ringing smack. With another half-squeal, the colt flung a foreleg over her neck, nipping and striking, so Wangnarra put down her head and all of a sudden, started to buck. The colt could not move quite fast enough, and almost fell. He propped, with legs firmly braced apart, and then both horses settled down to graze once more.

OOC: Reserved for Piringa and Kiata, but open to any other yearlings

[Tiggs]

Since the departure of her sister (assuming that happens, lols) Kiata had been starting to explore more of the world around her. She’d started with small excursions, never going from the herd, but today she’d followed her feet for hours and they had led her here, to the Brindle. She had been here many a time with the herd – it was a favourite grazing spot of her fathers – so soon the country was familiar. She picked up her pace, scaling sharp inclines and weaving the intricate paths between the rocks.

The yearling filly was happy to be out and about, and she made no secret of her presence. She bounded onto a sloping rock and poised atop it, peering down at a little gully. With her winter coat fully shed out, her pelt was mostly a neat roaning of white on orangey bay, giving her coat a dusty tan appearance. The smooth and even flecks faded into her seal point legs, and her face was that soft chestnutty colour, marked only with a small star. Her mane and tail were losing that spiky cast of foal-hood, and starting to look as neat as any wild brumby’s could. Her legs were still long and gangly, and it was clear the lithe female had much more growing to do before she would be an adult.

The sound of others met her ears, and she turned to face the sound. Below her and up the gully were two young brumbies about her age. One bay filly, and a black colt with high stockings and a white blaze smoothing most of his forehead. Kiata blinked wide brown eyes and after flaring her dark nostrils, she tossed her head and whinnied. She turned and made her way back down the rock, dipping out of the pair’s view for a moment while she traversed down the steep gully edge. She slipped and slid, picking up speed down the slope until when she came back into view, she was running.

The roan bay landed on flat ground with a grunt and turned sharply, bucking and prancing her way over to the two. Kiata slowed as she neared them, and headbutted the colt firmly on the shoulder. She was not accustomed to colts, and she did not see many up close. She gave him a good long stare, eyeing the coal blackness of his coat – something else she was not familiar with.

The filly reminded her of her mother, and she greeted her with a more polite but playful nudge when she’d finally stopped eyeballing the colt. “I’m Kiata. Who are you?” She asked them both, blinking those wide brown eyes earnestly. She could do with some playmates – her choice was very limited with the herd to one younger sister now her eldest had left.

[Ehetere]

Further back from the three yearlings, another young brumby followed Kiata’s tracks. Piringa had been making his way steadily south after being kicked out of his birth herd by his mother and father. After leaving the torrs of the Ramshead, he had passed dangerously close to man and his huts. Piringa had never seen man before, but his mother had warned him of them, and their ropes. So he had travelled along the banks of the Crackenback; roaring with the waters from the melting snows.

He had intended to scout out the Cascades and investigate the nooks and crannies of the once great Silver King, Thowra. Despite his mother’s strange dislike of these legendary brumbies, Piringa was fascinated by them and aspired to be admired in a similar way. However, his hopes had been… postponed by the presence of man, and Piringa had come to the conclusion that he would simply have to go the long way around.

He had turned southwards again as he neared the Brindle Bull, deciding that he was finally far enough away from where men might be hunting for an easily caught young colt. He had spent most of his remembered life up in the high rocky torrs of the Ramshead, and despite this country being completely new he found comfort in the familiarity of a rock face. Since he was a curious soul who liked to wander - a trait inherited from his mother, he had decided that it would be best to investigate the area. After all, any knowledge of the bush would be a valuable asset in the future, and he knew full well that his life on the Ramshead had been rather shelter in comparison to that of some of the southern herds who moved more frequently.

It was while he was carefully picking his way up the slope that he had first heard the sound of hoof beats. By the time he reached where they had been coming from, the brumby they belonged to was gone, but left behind were its tracks. Piringa dropped his head to the ground to peer at the impressions on the ground. Allirea his dam had taught him much about tracking, as well as hiding himself in the bush. He would need it, she had insisted, if he was to survive and thrive in the high country. The owner of the tracks was young from the petite size of the prints, and light too. So a brumby about his age, maybe a little older.

Piringa wasn’t used to horses his own age; he was the only foal in his herd. Consequently, he’d had no experience whatsoever with interacting with horses his own age. His mother had kept a firm hand on him, so he’d really had little chance to really play as a youngling with other horses. His father hadn’t tolerated it and his mother certainly not, so Piringa had essentially missed out on this part of his childhood. Now that he was free to do as he wished; free of the constraints of his mother and the herd, he decided that he really wanted to have some friends his own age.

He trotted up the slope, taking general care to hide his tracks but certainly not being meticulous. He would be found if another brumby was to follow the clear trail left by the other young brumby before him anyway. So way up ahead of him a brumby whinnied - a young, high pitched call that could only belong to a young filly. Piringa’s ears pricked up with interest and he began to move a little faster taking more care than before. He was close. He reached the top of the ridge blowing slightly from the rough going. He stuck to the tree line as much as possible, disguising his steadily lightening coat in the shrubbery.

Piringa watched the other young horses playing - a black colt and two fillies; a bay and a strangely coloured one that appeared like the colour of dry grass. Piringa had never come across a roan before, so did not know what this new colour was. He pranced a little, unable to contain his excitement for much longer. He burst out of the trees at a run; offering a shrill whinny as he cantered towards the little group at a fast clip.

He propped to a halt in front of them and… paused. Piringa only then realised that he had no idea what to say. He’d never actually talked to anyone outside his herd before. He swished his tail nervously and pawed at the ground a little before finally saying, “Hello… Er, I am Piringa, named for the Frost.” Bobbing his head once in greeting and asked the sandy coloured one, “I’ve never seen a coat like yours before - what is it? Have you travelled far or do you live nearby?” The black colt had a face marking similar to the elusive mare Cardinia’s now that he thought about it.

[Corowa]

The yearlings had steadily grazed their way further up the wide slope, when Bunderra lifted his head sharply and gave a loud neigh. The colt stood alert with ears pricked, and then he started forwards to investigate. Wangnarra looked on with interest, nostrils wide and eyes ringed with white. The filly whinnied, and Bunderra stopped and nickered gently to her. Then both young horses stood, heads held high and nostrils quivering, filled with excitement at the approach of the roan filly.

Bunderra rushed forwards to investigate the filly, with many squeals and snorts. Wangnarra playfully nudged the excitable yearling colt, before she stretched out her nose to the filly and greeted her with a soft whinny. “I’m Wangnarra, and I was born south in the Brolga’s Country. My mother was a silver brumby, and my sire was one of the wisest stallions in the High Country,” she boasted, and Bunderra snorted and reached over to give her a particularly hard nip.

“Hush proud one,” he said lightly. “You will not be able to fit between the snowgums with a head so great.” The bay filly protested with a squeal, and then kicked out with both hind legs at the foolish black colt. Bunderra swung his head high away from the blow, and then he dropped his nose to the snowgrass, and made a pretence of driving the filly. Wangnarra’s ears twitched and then the colt came to stand beside her as he nibbled affectionately on her mane.

In their excitement, the two yearlings had both forgotten the roan filly, but now they returned to her, bursting with their curiosity. “Who is your sire? Where have you been grazing? Is your herd nearby?” The two young horses stood nose to nose with the filly, exchanging information with flickering ears and quivering nostrils. They were interrupted by a sudden ringing whinny, and both yearlings tossed up their heads and started badly in fright.

Just then, a light-grey colt burst from the snowgums, and Bunderra pawed the ground impatiently, his whole body trembling. The colt stopped one or two yards away, and Bunderra flattened his ears and stretched out his nose to sniff at his flank. Something told Bunderra this grey yearling was not much stronger than him, and his sniffing became noisier, as he pulled playfully on the grey’s mane.

Bunderra shoved the grey yearling with his nose and with a squeal, went up on his hind legs. He whinnied shrilly, and invited Piringa to join him in a game. The other colt seemed more interested in the fillies, and Bunderra jostled and pushed, until finally the colt lashed out with his heels and caught the grey yearling a glancing blow. He plunged away and started to prance in place, his ears pricked and nostrils flared.

[Tiggs]

Kiata took the greeting from the filly with grace, but was a little taken aback by her boasting. She had no such claims to important brumbies! Her father was kind and gentle, but other than the occasional scuffle, there was really no excitement. Neither of her parents were silver brumbies, or any other strange colours. Had she realised roan was not a particularly common colour, she might have been able to boast about that, but Kiata was not really the boasting kind.

Instead she smiled politely, and hoped she looked sufficiently impressed by the fillys claims. Her friend – perhaps brother? – was much less intimidating. She watched on in amusement as he chased Wangnarra, posing like her father did sometimes. She watched the game, trying to discern the rules. She took a few steps forward, eager to join but then they were back and with so many questions! She tried to answer them as fast as they came, describing her father, her mother, the herd and their bimble. She was just explaining how she came to be here, relatively far from her herd when she was interrupted by the call of another young horse.

In unison with the other two, Kiata flung up her head, slender neck craning as she peered over her shoulder to see the approaching colt. He was dark in colour, but not solidly black like Bunderra. Her ears flicked back and forth, appearing to be both intrigued and apprehensive. Surrounded by strangers – albeit friendly ones thus far – was a new and daunting situation.

Piringa – as he identified himself – was asking much the same questions as Bunderra and Wangnarra. She reached out her nose, and playfully nipped his cheek. Bunderra was jostling Piringa, inviting him to play. The game looked rougher than Kiata was used to, but after glancing questioningly to Wangnarra, she trotted after Piringa and nipped his rump. Squealing, she shied away and turned to Bunderra, bucking as she passed and making an effort to turn the sparring into a game of chase. She squealed as she rose into a half-rear, acting almost coyly toward the two yearling colts.

She had not yet said a word to Piringa, and she hoped she seemed as interesting and exciting as Wangnarra’s tales of her mother’s kind. She might not be silver, nor look as beautiful as any other mare, but she had a heart of gold and an inquisitive mind. Perhaps the four of them might adventure for a while? She had never had a friend to explore with – Amarina had never liked to leave their parents’ side. The idea was exciting, and Kiata tossed her head, stubby mane falling every which way about her neck. With tail held high and legs prancing, she looked eager to play. More than exploring, Kiata loved to play.

[Ehetere]

The strangely coloured filly nipped his cheek in reply to his questions and Piringa jerked back in surprise. None of the other horses in his former herd had ever really played with him, so all this rough and slightly manic play was new, fantastic and exciting!

Piringa watched curiously as the black colt came to sniff at him; and he found himself studying a brother he never had. The black pulled on his mane, and Piringa squealed excitedly at the thought of having a mock-battle - and one that he might actually win too! At least it would be unlikely to leave any permanent damage or bruises.

When a blow from the other colt caught him in the chest, Piringa whinnied in acceptance of the challenge, and began posturing and following the black’s every move. He had learnt little from the fight with his father, but he had learnt none the less.

A nip on the rump caused him to whirl around and squeal in surprise. The oddly coloured filly was already wheeling away towards the black colt - bucking and teasing as she did. Even Piringa with his limited social skills recognized the invitation for a game of chase. Piringa was not sure what to do - he quite liked the idea of chasing after the fillies, however he did not want to back down from whatever sparring was being offered by the black colt. Looking between the strangely coloured filly - whose coat he decided was rather pretty - and the black colt, he finally made up his mind when the sandy filly’s playful and teasing antics got the better of him. What else was a colt to do?

He threw a playful buck in the direction of the black colt before whinnying enthusiastically while charging after the sandy filly, racing past and nipping at the bays heels - encouraging her to join in the game as well.

[Corowa]

Bunderra held his ground. He felt confident he was at least an equal match with the grey yearling, and he thought himself quite capable of beating him. The colt was only young, but he had fought in such mock battles before. In previous fights, his usual challenger had been a heavy white colt, two-years-old, and both stronger and more experienced than any yearling.

Just then, that other filly interrupted him, as she first nipped at Piringa’s rump and then galloped some distance off. It was obvious she wanted them to chase her, but Bunderra paused, more interested in fighting, than going after a filly. He turned to Piringa, and at once, noticed how longingly the grey yearling watched her. Then, in just an instant, the colt burst off into a run after the filly, with only a buck in his direction.

Bunderra probably wouldn’t have followed immediately, had not Piringa swung around Wangnarra and given her a nip to hurry her along. Instead, the yearling gathered himself like a spring, and when the bay filly started to gallop, sprung away after her. The colt was confused by his sudden fury at the grey yearling’s actions, but it was quickly forgotten, as he challenged the others to a race.

Wangnarra had watched with some interest as the two yearling colts postured in preparation for a fight. The filly had never seen how young colts wrestled before, and she was suddenly convinced Bunderra would be hurt by the other colt. Perhaps something would happen, and the tall black colt would be lamed or worse! Then all of a sudden, that roan filly rushed forwards and with a sharp nip, invited Piringa to follow her.

Wangnarra squealed and started forwards in surprise when the grey yearling plunged at her. There was a moment of confusion and then the group of young horses thundered down the slope and onto the flat. A mood of excitement had infected the yearlings and Wangnarra watched as Bunderra shot past her, to gallop side by side with the grey. The two colts were the fastest of the yearlings, and so they led the fillies on.

A young horse could run for miles and not notice the distance, and so it was that the group of yearlings ended their game of chase some miles north, just below the high mountain plains. There, Bunderra stopped with a jar, and turned about to face the grey colt. He reared up on his hind legs and begged the other colt for a game, and when the two fillies milled too close, he hurried them away with several well-placed nips.

OOC: I just had to powerplay them a bit so that we didn't have to do a boring play-by-play of the whole run there. Hope that's ok.

[Tiggs]

Kiata was blowing by the time they slowed, and her legs and chest burned in a satisfying manner. She hadn’t tired herself out so fully for a long while. She tried to thank the colts, but they were too excited and apparently still had enough energy to spar. The black hurried her away with a nip on the rump, and she complained loudly.

She turned to Wangnarra, and nudged her shoulder hesitantly. Would the filly chase her off too, or were the two friends different? The grey colt had followed her for a long time, until the black Bunderra turned it into a race between the two stronger colts and the fillies fell behind. Kiata had appreciated their stamina, and she was surprised that they could even have enough strength left to play fight.

Standing with Wangnarra, she watch the two buck and kick and squeal, and wondered if there was going to be a winner in their pretend brawl. The larger Bunderra had more strength, but the greying Piringa was lighter on his feet and turned a tighter circle. It was exciting to watch the two, and the sandy filly was soon caught up in the action.

[Ehetere]

Piringa whinnied joyfully at this new game of chase! How fun it was to be playing with many young horses like himself, for it made the game even more exciting! Oh how he loved to run as well! Chase was quickly becoming his new favorite game. The feeling of the wind in his mane, and the pounding of hooves coupled with the feeling that he could run forever… it was exhilarating.

The black colt came to run beside him, and Piringa’s heart immediately leapt with excitement. His mother had always told him that he would be swift, so swift, and now there was one who wished to challenge this! He tried to push forward, but the other colt was likely to be a little older and stronger, so he managed to match Piringa’s pace, terrific as it was. Soon he forgot his displeasure at not being the fastest it seemed and was lost in the joy of running again.

Finally the black propped suddenly and reared up in front of him, causing Piringa to squeal in surprise and skid to a sudden halt, half rearing himself with his eyes rolling. He had not wanted to stop running, but his gaze returned to the fillies who Bunderra harried away. Piringa snorted - they had wanted to play and he had wished to play with them. But the black seemed to be insisting on a fight. Stamping his foot and squealing, Piringa threw up his head. The fillies appeared not to appreciate the black’s antics much either and Piringa came dancing at him, testing his balance. If the race had told him anything the black was probably older and most certainly stronger than him. Oh well, that just made things more interesting.

This fight was far more enjoyable than the one he had had with his father before being driven out of the herd. That had simply hurt, without being enjoyable at all. The black was indeed stronger, larger and heavier than Piringa, but he seemed to be more fleet of foot, at least when it came to dodging attacks and landing them before springing away. What was it his mother had said? Strength is useless for a horse if it cannot hit its target. This was something he could practice now for later when his opponents may also be stronger than him.

Despite his determination, he received more bumps and nips than the black, and his certainly packed less punch. After shoving against the colt, Piringa turned his attention back to the fillies again, having grown rather bored with the game that wasn’t truly going anywhere. Fillies were infinitely more interesting in his eyes. He went over to them both, sniffing and nosing at them both, pulling teasingly at the sandy filly’s mane and nipping at the bay to encourage them into another game of tag. He nickered throatily, his breath coming in great breaths. He was very tired now after that long run and then the mock battle.

He settled down some, and looked curiously at both fillies. The bay seemed indifferent, uninterested. Piringa wondered why this was, for he had been told he was to be handsome by his mother, as well as swift. Perhaps he was just not handsome yet. He was curious also, to know of this lower country after spending much of his childhood up on the Ramshead range.

[Corowa]

The two yearlings whirled about in the snowgrass, shoving and pushing at each other. Since he had only ever played with the older colts, Bunderra was surprised to see just how evenly matched they both were.

By the time the two young colts backed off, Bunderra was in a lathered sweat, and his flanks heaved while he stood with head held high and nostrils wide. Bunderra thought perhaps he might have won, but the grey had still got in a couple of good bites and one strong kick.

It had been fun, and Bunderra could now see why the colts had enjoyed such games so much. While the grey headed off towards the fillies, Bunderra took a couple of minutes to show off for them, convinced they would be impressed by him. It was only when he noticed Piringa bothering Wangnarra, did the yearling decide to go and investigate.

Wangnarra had watched the fight intently, even if from time to time she had dropped her head to nibble at the snowgrass. Her ears had flicked constantly, and she had listened to each terrible sound, until finally the fight had stopped and both colts stood and faced each other.

It was obvious neither one had been seriously hurt by the other. Instead, Wangnarra looked on while Bunderra romped through the snowgrass, having decided he had thoroughly beaten the tall, lightly-built grey. But it was Piringa, not Bunderra, who first approached the fillies, and Wangnarra’s ears twitched with each swinging stride he took.

Just then, the grey yearling nipped at her, and Wangnarra let out a squeal. She flicked her head, and stood her ground as she grumpily stared down the colt. At the same moment, Bunderra had stretched his nose out to touch her flank, and the bay yearling turned her head and gave him a good bite.

Bunderra regarded the colt and two fillies good-naturedly. He was still confused by the other colt’s interest in the fillies, since they couldn’t challenge him to a fight, or even run fast enough to race him. In fact, while Piringa was occupied with the roan filly, he sniffed at Wangnarra’s flank to make sure there wasn’t something he had missed.

His nostrils crinkled at the sourness of sweat, but there was nothing to tell him what had so interested Piringa. Then, quite suddenly, before he had an opportunity to avoid it, the bay filly turned and gave him a good nip. She was obviously still cranky, even though the grey no longer bothered her.

With a loud snort, Bunderra moved a little distance away, shocked to be so savagely driven off. He watched as Wangnarra finally settled down to graze, and it was only when she had been grazing for several minutes that he started forwards again. With one ear flicked in her direction, he went and stood near the much more placid Kiata.

“So, where do you come from, grey one?” Bunderra asked, as he turned to the yearling. He had never gone any higher than the snowgrass plains of the Bogong, and he found a sudden longing for rough mountains and open country. He thought when he was older and stronger, he would go north, perhaps even visit the high tors of the Ramshead.

Bunderra didn’t notice Wangnarra grazing her way purposefully towards them, until he turned and saw her at his side, her ears pointed forwards and fixed firmly on the grey colt. Bunderra turned then, and nibbled on her shoulder, so the filly stood shoulder to flank with him, her head on his withers in a gesture of affection.