Independent in silver (Open)

[stormsnow]

OOC: To explain the weird title, it's supposed to be like "Careless in red", only different.

BIC: It was dawn. Kookaburras laughed, crows cawed, cockatoos squawked, magpies warbled and gang-gangs chattered. At the edge of the trees, on the left side of the Crackenback River, stood a young brumby. He was a colt, barely a year old, and had just left his birth herd.

Barega's flaxen mane and tail streamed liked banners behind his head. The handsome silver colt dipped his head to drink, his resolute brown eyes scanning the opposite bank for signs of other horses. At the moment, there appeared to be none around.

He was filled with the joy of spring; yet he knew he had to be careful of the stockmen who would try to catch him if they sighted him. His parents, Balendin and Taree, had found each other at the beginning of winter, having been separated from each other a full year.

Now Barega was on his own. He relished in his liberty; so utterly absolute was it. He lifted his head slowly from the water. A scent reached his nostrils, and he let out a quiet snort. He could smell another horse.

The silver colt flicked his ears restlessly, uneasily as the scent got stronger. And yet, he could see no-one. He flattened his ears to his head, then brought them for ward. He turned around slowly, not knowing what to expect.

[Ehetere]

OOC: My muse suddenly exploded - no idea where that came from XD. If I'm butting in, I can but out again if Lark's unwanted.


Lark was in a bad mood. Nothing new there. A wombat had given him a fight in the darker hours of predawn, and he had stumbled clumsily down a hill, much to the insolent creature’s amusement. By the time he’d picked himself up and had thundered up the slope with intentions of showing it who was boss, it had trundled off. So by this time of morning, he was sufficiently fuming as he followed the Crackenback River along its course.

Dawn came, with the golden light that spring brought. Lark had much preferred the wild blizzards and the biting cold of winter, and perhaps it was inherent in a family of horses who blended in with the snow and the ice and the wind itself.

Now that his shaggy winter coat was beginning to shed out, a handsome steel grey colt was beginning to emerge, though his coat was barely a few shades lighter than jet black. None the less, his grey heritage was finally beginning to show, and he was a large dark shadow moving through the trunks and river gums.

He moved without a sound, though his travels were a little more careless than they usually were thanks to his foul mood. He stuck out at a protruding root in frustration as he passed, not paying any attention to what might be up ahead.

His sensitive ears picked up the sound of another brumby’s snort, and caught his attention. Whipping his dished face around, he peered through the trees trying to see what may have smelt him - as only now he notice he was upwind of the animal. He might have continued on were it not for one thing that caught his eye - a flash of creamy hide. Silvers.

It was a well known fact that his mother Allirea was no fan of silvers - a trait she passed on to her offspring through her frequent stream of curses on them. How undeserving they were of wonder, how they were not the true silvers, and how greys, should hold the name and the wonder of all the high country. Lark though he resented his mother had this hatred rather deeply ingrown into him, for surely a horse could not be considered beautiful or desirable simply for the colour of their coat?

He made his way towards the sound - the river bank incidentally. Whether it was his hatred for all things Silver, or his curiosity that drew him forwards he did not know. He emerged from the trees a dark imposing shadow, now even at barely a year old having more solid muscle than his older brother Piringa, whom he had never met.

The nervous looking colt he came across was certainly handsome, he had to admit that. Not in the way Lark perhaps thought it should be - coming from Arabian heritage, but he was not an overly ugly colt in any way. This displeased him. Still, looks mattered more for fillies than colts, as over time battle scars accumulated and marred even the finest of coats.

Lark snorted and narrowed his eyes. The colt was probably close to his age, and had no mares. He was actually quite unsure what to do in that moment, strangely indecisive. He half glared at the colt, while he made up his mind whether to simply walk away in distaste or stay.

[stormsnow]

Barega found himself looking down- just slightly- at a colt who looked to be about the same age as himself. He had no idea why the grey colt was glaring at him- maybe he hated silver- coated brumbies?

Whatever the case, he decided against being hostile. His great-great grandfather, Thowra, had not been like that, and the silver colt had been told by his mother that he had the fabled King of Brumby's personality, as well as his basic appearance.

More confident now that he could see the stranger, he neighed, "Greetings. I am Barega, named for the wind. May I ask your name?" He had been taught to be polite in situations like this, and he saw why it was necessary.

[Ehetere]

Lark half curled his lip in disgust - the silver was named for the wind. If horses could have thrown up, he might have right then and there. How clichéd. The more time he was spending in the silver colt’s presence the more he was beginning to realise why his mother had such a dislike for them.

He held an air of superiority about him, as if he rightfully deserved this country. Lark had supposed he mightn’t hate silvers so much if they didn’t go on about their heritage so much - after all, they were all very distant descendants of an old King: their blood would be so diluted by now that surely they would be ‘equal’ with the other brumbies? Apparently not.

He laid back his ears when the colt asked for his name. He hated his name. It was completely inappropriate! How could his mother lay such a burden on him at such a young age? How was a young colt like himself supposed to make a name for himself with… well, a name like he had been cursed with. He looked nothing like a cloud, unless you were talking about the darkest of thunder clouds in a pitch black night.

“My name is… Lark,” he half snarled, unable to keep the resentment from his voice. “My mother named me for the cloud.”

The look on his face said if any humour was made of his name, there would be Hell to pay. Curse Allirea for forever branding him with a filly’s name! Curse it’s meaning! He was no wisp of air to be pushed aside! And he would prove this to the world.

[stormsnow]

Baraga was somewhat surprised when the colt spat his name and it's meaning. It wasn't what he said that startled the silver colt, it was the way in which Lark said it. He reminded himself not to act as if he was superiour to other horses- because he knew he most cetainly was not.

He relaxed his stance a little, and neighed in a voice bereft of any laughter or scorn, "I think that's a good name. More origonal than mine, anyway. I wasn't born in a storm, so how does that work?"

He continued, "I think that your name is very unique. Unlike my name, it can have a double meaning, I think. But you'd know more about that than me."

"Forgive me for acting so condescending. I have never met a horse other than my parents before, and so I am unsure of how to act."
He swished his tail to rid his rump of a fly, and gazed at the other colt.

[Ehetere]

Lark’s sour mood was not improved by the silver colt’s sympathy. If anything it worsened. He did not need pity! Curse his mother for giving him this name! Curse her! He knew full and well that his full brother Piringa had a handsome name, a name that one day should the other grey colt play his cards right, may strike fear into the hearts of many stallions across the high country. He suspected that all he would receive for his own name would be laughter. Or worse – pity.

He snorted – if the colt thought his name a good one he was clearly delusional. Or mocking him. And since when had silvers’ names ever been original? They were all named after the wind or the snow or their own beauty for goodness sake.

“Perhaps you had problems digesting your mother’s milk when you were younger,” snapped Lark in response to his ponderings on his own name. His stead fast reserve of constant bad mood was hardly going to be broken by some silver colt. Or a snappy bay filly for that matter. If there was one thing that Lark was still secretly scared of it was dominating and confident bay fillies.

Lark snorted again at the other’s logic. Double meaning maybe, but that could not possibly erase the part of his name which brumbies would be calling him. Typical, the colt had been raised by his two silver parents hidden away from all seeking eyes. How very… Silver.

“I was raised in a large herd by the wisest stallion in all the High Country,” he replied, tipping his nose up a little and sniffing. Wisest? Lark thought not. Oldest certainly. There was no way he was going to let the colt think he was above him. They were equals at the very least and Lark intended to make a point of this.

[stormsnow]

Barega frowned, not knowing what to make of Lark's negative attitude. Then he nodded slowly at the other colt's last statement. "Maybe. He was probably wiser than my father, at the very least."

OOC: No muse at the moment, sorry.