Stock Still [Lark]

[Tiggs]

She was so frightened and lost. The clouds were falling, and they were cold. They were so cold they made her shake all over. The yearling filly was terrified and alone. Her pale red body shivered from the cold, and her wide blue eyes stared out at the anonymous expanse of snow with incomprehension. The white markings on her body blended with the pristine snow, her legs and face looking as if there were swallowed by the scenery.

She had no idea where she stood now. She had lost her mother when the snow started falling, and after all her searching, she could not find her again! And now the ground and the trees where white, and her feet sunk into the icy coldness up to her hocks. She could hear water, but not see it. Was it buried? Was it in front of her? Was it behind? Every question made her more and more scared. This was not the world she knew!

The world had changed so suddenly, and it isolated her. She could not even follow her tracks back, because they had been filled in! The clouds were still now, and she could see now the falling whiteness did not block her vision. But this was no help at all. She just stood and stared, completely lost.

Every sound was deafening to the poor filly, and her ears flickered at every one. Those ears and her quivering were her only movements, not even those icy eyes moved for fear she would see something else just as terrifying.

[Ehetere]

Snowflakes were falling hard and fast with the typical fury for mid winter this high in the mountains. Wombats were safe in their burrows away from the harsh cold conditions and most other animals were far down in the low country by now. There was no bush creature to disturb the layer of snow that covered the ground near Dead Horse Creek.

A dark shadow detached itself from the treeline and made its way over to the covered and frozen creek. Rearing up on its hind legs, the shape materialized into a horse which brought strond hard hooves crashing down onto the frozen surface - breaking it up. The brumby - a young colt who could have been mistaken for a much older horse from a distance - dropped his muzzle into the frigid water and drank long and deep.

He knew it was dangerous to be wandering this far up in the mountains during winter, especially with heavy snow, but this colt had been brought up on the rugged country of the Ramshead, and the high mountains were his kingdom.

He straightened up once more, shaking his mane to try and rid it of the flakes that had become stuck there. He blinked his long eyelashes to remove another white spot. He did not merge with the snowstorm and snow like his mother or father, his coat was greying very little if at all. He had remained a very dark grey throughout his first year, something his mother often lamented on. But despite this, his winter coat was noticeably lighter and did hide him in the snow a little.

His wild call was tossed away on the winds - almost sorrowful and lamenting, but filled with promise. He half reared, enjoying his newly found freedom after being forced out of the herd by his mother to make his own way in the world. Despite what some may think, this exile was actually a blessing in disguise for his mother had not treated him like other young colts, oh no. She had desperately been wishing for a filly, and not receiving one, determinedly treated her son as one instead. The steel grey colt had hated it with a passion, but could do nothing about it. Now he wanted to wander long and far and do all the things he had never been able to experience.

He walked along the creek bank, knowing exactly where to put his black hooves despite the disorientating whiteness. His mother had given him the invaluable life lesson about the ways of the bush. Lark had picked them up rather well, and he revelled in the chance to properly use them now. She had told him to memorise the country he travelled through and walk and run with a lightness so as to not leave tracks. Not that tracks were so much of a concern in this weather - the snow could cover his tracks almost as soon as his hoof had left the hollow it had made.

Up ahead, he thought he had spotted something horse shaped in the snow before the image was covered by a blanket of white once more. He peered forward, stretching his neck out, as if to try and penetrate the snow with his gaze and see beyond it. He was sure there was something there… He would investigate.

He moved with care, considering that if there was indeed a horse there, it wasn’t moving at all and that if he could see it without cover it would see him for sure. He moved silently into the windblown gums, with ice covered leaves slapping against his face and his rump. He moved around close to where he had thought he had glimpsed the barely there and he peeked out from beneath the weighed down leaves of a young gum.

There was a horse like shape there. But it was indefinite - like it was merging with the snow much more than he. The steel grey thought it might be a chestnut but he was not sure. He wondered if the smallish horse was frozen - for it was not moving. He crept out of the trees silently, and made his around to see if he could find a better vantage point. The wind was fickle, and he wondered whether the horse would have seen him moving wraithlike around it.

If it was a colt Lark would challenge it, because he wanted to test himself as soon as possible. He wanted to be strong and swift and powerful, and not a filly.

[Tiggs]

Through the snow-blasted trunks of snowgums, she thought she saw something. If she hadn’t already have been still, she would have frozen. Dread swept over her in a horrible cloud, and she felt all sense drain out of her. It was definitely not her mother – she had given up hope of finding her. She’s succumbed to that terrible truth: that she was alone, and the one horse she loved was not here to save her.

A scent came over the snow, and if it was possible her terror increased. A stallion! The young filly had a fear of stallions that surpassed this fear of being alone. Combined, she could not think, she could not even breathe. Somehow she managed a whimper, but she then fell silent, her eyes impossibly wide.

Her name was Eumina, the meaning of the name being ‘repose’. It had been a reflection of her mother on her daughters lost father, of his loss, and now his tranquility in death. Eumina herself was far from in repose. She had never been so scared, never so full of fear than she was now. It was like that time she had been chased by a stallion, but she could not see her mother up ahead. Here was nobody here to protect her now.

She wished she could free herself of all this anxiety and stress, but she could not. She was in an impossible swirling cascade of fear, and there was nothing she could do to avoid it. That shadow was coming closer, and she could not stop it. She could not run. She could only stare as her damnation came closer, and closer.

[Ehetere]

The horse shape had still not moved, but the grey had managed to pick up its scent in the swirling wind – she was a filly. He did not like fillies. As if his younger herd life had not been unpleasant enough with his mother treating him like a daughter, the fillies of the herd had teased him for his ‘girliness’. Which mostly referred to his name – Lark. How he hated that name! If he did become a powerful stallion one day, how was he to introduce himself? Or if he had jus beaten another stallion to its knees, was he really going to say, ‘From this day you will fear the very sound of my name… Lark’. He didn’t think so.

The filly responsible for most of the torture was the bay mare Uuna’s daughter, Coreen. How he hated that filly, almost as much as he loathed his own mother. He had done nothing to deserve her ridicule, and yet she’d still bullied and teased him. And so when he’d left the herd he’d made the promise to himself that no one was ever going to push him around ever again.

He loomed out of the mist with a dark expression on his face. He did not like colts, he did not like fillies. But he did want to know what she was doing up here in winter – this was not a place for any but brumbies of the storm and snow and night. Though his name meant cloud, the only cloud that would truly represent him was the black cloud of an oncoming storm.

He half reared dramatically, hoping she would see he was not one to be messed with. Already he was much taller and bigger than she, and he glared down at her now with angry black eyes.

“What are you doing up here?” he demanded, thinking that the tiny trembling thing was rather pathetic.

[Tiggs]

Oh he was coming. Coming like the storm. Coming closer and closer. Closer, closer, closer. Her trembling intensified, but still she could not move willingly. Not one leg would obey her, and all she could do was stare as he came close. So close. Oh he was almost here, he was almost upon her! She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream so loud and run far, far, far away.

But she was stuck. And he was so angry! She could feel it around him like an aura. A static heat of rage toward her for purely existing. She thought he might even kill her! She had stopped herself from imagining what he might do to her, but all manner of dark things were haunting her now. Every horrible thing she could think of personified this stallion in front of her. Because to her, it did not register that even though taller and broader than her, he was still only a yearling. Eumina quaked before him like he was the greatest most brutish stallion in all the High Country. He could be King, and she would be just as frightened.

He reared suddenly then, and the most Eumina could do was make a strangled squeak. It was a good job her legs were braced, else she would have toppled at the show of ferocity. His words boomed over her, and her ragged sobbing breaths could not form a reply. Would he punish her for not responding? The yearling filly stood so still, her last hope was that he would tire of her and leave her alone.

Her eyes had not blinked once, but they followed every movement he made, drinking him in like a thirsty man offered a poisoned chalice. That steely dark coat, those monstrous hooves, his bottomless pits for eyes. How was she ever going to escape? She was not, was the simple truth. He had caught her now, and she was his to bend and mould and break.

[Ehetere]

“Speak filly,” he said, just as forcefully when the filly neither moved nor spoke. “What is your purpose here?”

What was wrong with her? Had her tongue frozen to the roof of her mouth? Lark snorted impatiently, stamping a foot. He did not have the patience for this, and was destined to be a very irritable horse.

“Speak!” he yelled once more, nipping the filly’s shoulder not at all kindly. “What is your purpose here!”

She looked young, and he wondered why she was not with her mother tucked up sake and sound somewhere. Terror was written all over her features, and Lark rolled his eyes. She’d been standing like this since before she’d seen him too; and if she continued to stand there she would freeze to death. There’d probably be just as much action from her then as there was now.

He shoved her shoulder with a strong push from his nose. This was quickly becoming pointless – talking to a living statue was not in anyway rewarding.

“You stupid filly!” he exclaimed, walking angrily around her immobile form. He was not a colt who appreciated beauty in any of its forms, and where other colts may be thanking their lucky stars to come across a pretty filly all alone, it was just another irritation to Lark. Especially since she wasn’t doing anything! It made him want to cry out in frustration – maybe she was deliberately trying to annoy him.

[Tiggs]

Her ears flinched at his words, so she could obviously hear him, but she could only quiver and squeak in response. Teeth like stone gripped her shoulder, and he could feel her heart skip a beat. He wanted to run, escape while she still could. But she was trapped, frightened inside her mind, with only this big grey brute to hurt her.

When he shoved her, she instinctively moved one leg to keep her balance, and then visibly flinched in case he would punish her for moving. Her head had lowered at the shove, and she peered up at him with those frightened eyes as he moved all around her. His words were so alien. Stupid filly, stupid filly. Oh she was. She was so stupid. She was lost in the blizzard, and she was lost in the calm. Then came the second storm, and he frightened her more than any snow.

She was beginning to lose coherent thoughts, her mind in a panic unable to keep on one thread longer than few seconds. He just consumed her, invading every cell with his hatred. All stallions were cruel and hateful, but this one especially. If horses could cry, silent tears would be running down her alabaster cheeks right now. Her eyes would be red from them. She would cry until she had no tears left, and still it would not depict her sorrow.

[E!]

ooc; sorry for dissapearing last night on msn - internet was turned off. And I also must apologize for this crapness post >.<

[/b] she asked, her voice dangerous - her deep brown eyes even more so. Ekala was a motherly creature, and would not stand for any form of abuse toward a foal - or anyone that could not defend themselves, for that matter. Her ears were pinned angrily, she was quite a fearsome sight for the beast that she aimed her anger at. But toward the filly, she radiated that sense of protection - a safety net for her to fall into.

[/ul]

[Ehetere]

Lark could not believe it! She had still not said a word. He was running out of ideas too – yelling shouting, biting and shoving hand’ worked. She just stood there cowering and whimpering. She had moved when prompted, but other than that she’d remained in the same position he’d found her. How could any horse be that thick? She had not even made to run away.

He was about to try and start herding her – not because he wanted her, but because her lack of voice was so frustrating and he wanted to punish her by making her run through the snow. But he was stopped in his tracks by a portly blue mare who planted herself right in his way. He snorted, disgruntled, and came to a screeching halt, throwing his head up.

Her manner already was not friendly, and Lark laid back his ears threateningly. She sounded just like his mother! Lark had never liked being bossed around, but his mother had forced him into line whether he liked it or not. He liked to think that now he was free of herd life no older horse could force him to do anything ever again, but even he had to realize that they often had the brute strength to.

Still, he was a swift yearling – almost – and much lighter than she, despite being of a heavier build than his own mother. He was a fine colt, and he was free to do as he wished!

“What I do is none of your business,” he replied grumpily, glaring daggers. He did not like horses that stood in his way. This mare was a colour he had not seen before, and were it not for the unusual shade of grey – blue like a dark storm cloud he would have thought her black, only covered in snowflakes. She was probably not as large as he made her out either – he was simply used to a more lithe sort of horse with slimmer and more streamlined features, like his mother and father.

[Tiggs]

She could feel his anger rising, and she knew she was in trouble. Was is because she hadn't talked? She couldn't talk! Her throat was closed for the fear of him. She was shivering so violently it was a wonder she had not crumpled to the ground. All she could do was stare.

And then suddenly there was a barrier between them. A great wall of dark blue hide shielded her from the colt, and it was almost like he had disappeared! The mare was sturdy and large, and Eumina sucked in a great shaking breath and let it out. Without the colt staring so intently, she could breath easier.

But she knew he was just the other side of this mare. His voice was loud and impertinant. He was so angry! Eumina shook, her ribby pale red flank quivering against the larger mare's. She was still wide-eyed with shock, but with the arrival of the mare, she was not so blind with panic.

OOC: Excuse typos!