Wild And Innocent (Open)

[aquiladorado]

A grey sky spanned endlessly above the Australian Outback. Clouds blocked the warm rays of the sun from reaching the ground below, and a strong wind had picked up. Such was the possible preparations for a storm in the unpredictable springtime, but one could never tell if it would move off or hit. The Palomino mare that traveled under these conditions was restless – a storm warning placing her further on-edge.

Serrulata had no sense of direction at this time. She had wandered aimlessly for months now, and with no destination, was seemingly lost. The distant look in her eyes could only confirm that. The once golden mare, her coat now covered in filth and irregular patches of past winter fur, was looking nothing like the wild Brumby she had once been. Wild by definition, yes, as she was undomesticated – but not free-roaming. For years and years she had followed stallions, if not faithfully, and mothered foals that had matured well and left her in what seemed like no time at all. All of her children had different sires. Serrulata had been passed on from one stallion to another through fight losses or of her own accord, and had yet to be given the chance to stay with one permanently.

The Palomino mare had finally grown tired of being forced to leave a good stallion due to a momentary flaw in a battle. When she had been moved to her last band stallion while she was heavy with foal, Serrulata made up her mind that she would deal with this kind of a life no more. The mare took her foaling leave and vowed to herself that she would not be going back. As if she was plagued for the decision, she ran into birthing complications. The foal was set to be born during the day, but was instead delivered under the cover of a dark night yet still fairly easily. Too easily, as the foal was born still. Serrulata had stood over her foal, prompting it to get up although she knew it never would.

It was only when the light of dawn came around that she could think of what to do, and the Palomino had no choice but to leave the motionless creature behind. She regretfully turned away from her small foal, able to become nothing more than food for the Dingoes. The mare was devoid of emotion after the tragedy. She did not know what to do next – she had no herd, no stallion that she was willing to return to, and no child to look after.

Since that day, Serrulata has longed for the company of someone to heal the still open wounds that resided on her heart, someone that would not throw her away so willingly. The Palomino had recently traveled North from the outskirts of the Brolga’s Country, following the creek, and continued on through Yarraman’s Valley to end up on the raised lands of Dead Horse Ridge. She stood close to its edge, listening to the distant sound of water cascading over the rocks of the creek and letting it ease her troubled mind. The weather looked as if it would hold for the day. Serrulata scanned her field of vision, searching for any hint of movement. It would be hard to pick out a single Brumby beneath her from the height that she stood at, but that was not what she was looking for. The Palomino was looking for a herd. She knew not whether she would find one here, but she hoped she would. The last time she had seen a large group of Brumbies, traveling as a loyal family that she had always hoped to be part of, was almost a faded memory. Without even being able to see the regal black King’s large herd anywhere nearby, Serrulata knew her chances would be slim.

[Rivre]

If had not been for the recent melting of the snow in the higher country, perhaps Mering would not have traveled so, up through the Brolga's country and onto Dead Horse Ridge; but he also knew, even if the snow had been there, that it would not have been enough to stop him going, for he longed to feel the breath of the outback tumble through his mane, a mane turned to silver in the curious light.
Furls of wavering mist covered the ground, only some being thick enough to encase his slate grullo hide, but it was enough to hide him, to mask his travel.

Springing forwards and into a gentle canter, his hooves fell easily to the snowgrass which would hide his tracks, only the occasional indent of a heel and one that would quickly rise up again being visible if muzzle was pushed right through the dense fog. As he roamed, a rogue scent wafted lazily to his nassal passage, carried with the mists, and he drank it in, filling himself with the sweet scent of company. A mare? Was she alone out here?
Throwing up his head in silent protest, he changed his course, slipping neatly into a different funnel of smoke, his deep brown orbs penetrating the ground before him, so as to stop himself from tumbling off the ridge.

Slowing to a trot he snorted loudly, moving into a patch of the land which held only the odd rays of sun, falling eagerly to the white substance and winning some sort of silent battle.
Raising his muzzle once more, he called a throbbing call to the silence, "It is I! Mering of the Earth!"

[aquiladorado]

The mist that had been moving in eventually blocked her vision of the valley beneath, and Serrulata accepted defeat and turned to leave the cliff. As she did so, a smell came to her attention that she had not noticed before and she quivered in her density. The dampness must have masked the scent, until recently where the Brumby who carried it was probably very near. The Palomino could not move – partly because one route of escape was ruled out by the cliff behind her, and partly because she could not see where the Brumby was coming from due to the mist. She stood her ground and waited, wary of what kind of situation she had gotten herself into.

Before her eyes, a shadow of a figure started to appear in the mist. Serrulata wondered if it was the King himself, for the color seemed to match, but the name that was called out would prove her wrong. Mering. She had never heard of the name before. The Palomino figured this Brumby of the Earth to be traveling alone, and she therefore called to the creature to lead him in her direction. If his presence would not bear her harm, then she was more than happy to welcome it.

[Rivre]

Through the mist which lifted occasionaly to obscure the brightening sunlight, Mering spied the shape of the mare he sought, a shadow - then heard her call and felt his heart race. He knew himself to be nearing his prime as a stallion and that this year on the range would be crucial to him and the survival of what mares he managed to gather. Although he was eager to begin his herd, he also knew himself to be cautious and picky when it came to choosing mares; for he traveled soundlessly, and he knew that to carry on being unknown in this place, that he must have a silent herd also.

Arching his neck with pride - feeling to rays of light dapple his hide that he knew would turn his mane and body a lighter silver - carrying himself proudly and so that his mane cascaded like water across his , neck, he trotted keenly out to meet the curious mare of the mists. And she was beautiful. Stopping in his tracks, he eyed the muddied mare with warm brown gaze, her smooth creamy coat and slightly extended stomach which indicated a recent foaling - but he saw no foal, and so let the thought slide away.

Her hooves were well-cut, nimble looking and as he let his gaze fall to her shoulders he knew that she would be able to hold her weight with dignified silence if they were to travel together. One foreleg raised, he dipped his head in greeting, letting it fall back to the earth almost hesitantly.
"Greetings," he nickered, offering her quivering grey nose, "I am Mering, named for the Earth to which I am so attuned. What, may I asked, were you named for? The stars? The jewels of the sky? Tell me, 'O creamy mare of Dead Horse Ridge."

[Shay]

-Slips Embar in-

From the swirling mist some distance off another figure stood watching, midnight eyes as silent as her statue like frame. Molten workings of pristine white overlapping the fiery brown that covered the majority of this mares form. It was the pattering that set her apart, there up her Right leg onward over her shoulder to hide beneath that dual toned mane was a jagged bolt of lightning. From that thick cranium hung the tattered remains of a halter. Its rope bands frayed and worn, but holding fast.

Whipcords of onyx and alabaster slap lazily at well toned flanks. The powerful muscles were a gift from her previous life, a life had changed so dramatically over a single season, for the second time in her life. It had been at the sides of her sire and dam that she had learned the skills of remaining undetected until she chose to reveal herself.

She hadn't always been a tame mare, having been raised in the wilds of the American Rockies. It had been at a round-up that the first change had come along. Thrust into ranch life, and occasionally that of the rodeo. Embar had been on her way to a new home when the ship had been struck by a storm sinking it off the shores of Australia, somehow she had survived, washed up on the sands. The mornings light found a confused soul beginning on a journey who's path had led to this point at this moment. Where stallion greeted mare.

Unwilling to intrude Embar shifted to turn away from the blurred scene, barely seen. The only sounds was tiny stones being dislodged in the unseen terrain, and the whisper of muscles sliding against muscles. At the faint sound she froze, praying she had not been discovered because of a silly mistake caused by inattention.

[Rivre]

OOC; Sorry to reply out of turn AD I swear, mouth sealed after this.

bic;;

As Mering eyed the creamy mare curiously, he felt the sudden and pulling urgency to look behind him, straining his ears back towards his shoulder - he knew that eyes were on him, the prickling of raised grey hair, and trembled with a nervous fire at it's touch. Somewhere, far far behind him, a creature was stirring rock, if not by accident then it was a crucial mistake on the watchers part.

Pivoting neatly on his heel -dipping his head in quick apology to the silver mare- he threw his fine head to the sky, eyes zoning in through the mist, trying to place the sound, a shape. And as he looked on, the idle memory of his time wandering with his mother up here drifted slowly into his thoughts; her dark smokey grey hide and his, lighter almost silver grullo cloak, wither and dither across the open snowgrass ridges, riding the winds and dancing to an unheard song.

Still he looked, and not another sound came, not the flicker of movement which would give away another, even the wind this time, seemed to be against him, blowing both mane and tail to stream behind him like two seprate banners, beakons even.
Again the urgency filled him, and he let out another throbbing cry, one filled with caution and kindness, one that told of freedom and of truth - one that sought help and gave it.

[aquiladorado]

Eventually leaving his damp veil behind, Mering came to stand before her in a dancing manner. As he looked her over and his gaze came to rest on her sides, she tossed her head and pinned her ears back. She knew what he could obviously see, and he would be smart not to bring it up. Her ears relaxed slightly when he didn’t, but still remained in a backward position as he spoke. The stallion seemed to think highly of himself – and of her. Serrulata knew that was how she ought to be thought of, but even she would have admitted that she was definitely not looking her best at that moment and the stallion’s slightly ridiculous praise seemed pointless. The Palomino mare was not one to thrive on flattery – she had heard meaningless words thrown out too often in her direction. This Mering, who looked to be no older than four, was no exception.

Normally she would have reprimanded the young stallion for speaking so forward to an older mare, but Serrulata could recall what it had been like to be at his age; her heart yearned to go back to those younger and innocent years often enough that she decided to cut him some slack. Maintaining a composure that hid her feelings, she decided to share the true definition of her name. ”For the golden honey, actually.”[/i] The mare’s correction was abrupt.

Taking a calming sigh, the Palomino tried to relax her throbbing mind and aching heart. There was no reason to take her troubles out on the kind Grullo. Softening her features, she approached the young stallion and met his extended nose with her own. ”I am Serrulata. Pleased to meet you, Mering of the Earth.”[/i] Seconds after she greeted him, the stallion seemed to feel restless. Not long after he up and left. The mare’s ears had twitched at the sound of a tumbling pebble, and she too had felt the presence, but it was not detected as a threat and Serrulata had therefore ignored it. Rolling her eyes, she watched as Mering went to investigate. Young horses are too jumpy and curious these days, she thought to herself. The mare started to wander through the mist, not sure if she was heading in the same direction as the Grullo or not, but that wasn’t the biggest of her concerns. The cold mist was only dampening her mood, and she planned to get out of it.

[Rivre]

It was a curious thing, to be walking so abstractly across the open snowgrass ridges, but it was necessary, for a wild and uncontainable excitment, one that came and was gone with the very wind of the spring, was stirring in Mering. Ears flickering back, he heard the traverse of the silver mare, wandering in her sullen state, and he decided to slow and wait for her, as would be the polite thing to do.
"Serrulata, it is a curious name, but your coat is golden also and so it was given fittingly," he nickered, watching her approach as merely a shape in the smoke, careful to retain what interest he had shown earlier, for it clearly irritated her. "I must apologise for my behaviour, but with the spring there comes the need for me to travel with a great speed and care throughout our country, to the Ramshead and Brindle Bull of the main range. There I will wait out the spring with what mares I have, protecting them as I should be."

Mering knew that others thought him to be vain, self-obsessed even, but those who really took the time to get to know him, to run with him a while, they would come to learn that it was not with vainity that he sought out mares who would travel like him. Was it not, the great legend Thowra's way also? For he chose only the most beautiful of mares for himself, knowing that one day he would take the place of the then great stallion the Brolga. Perhaps Mering would one day stand a chance of yearning that title? Shaking his head roughly at the stupid thought, he let his attention refocus on Serrulata.
"And what bring you here, Serrulata of the golden honey?

[Shay]

Barrel heaved in a heavy silent sigh as twins flicker back in annoyance at the mistake, as it became obvious that both the unfamiliar mare and stallion made their way towards her private little patch of mist. The stallions call was answered with a slight hesitation. It wasn't that she was an unfriendly mare, quite the opposite actually. It was simply that she didn't belong in this land, had yet to gain a true bearing despite the friendly overturns of a previous acquaintance. The champagne mares interest in the strands of rope hanging from her face had been amusing, not to mention she simply just liked the curious creature and hoped their paths would cross again someday soon.

Embar knew that any moment they would reach the distance where the mist would part enough to reveal her dual toned form. For a moment lids would slide closed over optics of dark brown, bracing herself for the expected reaction. They would dance one of two ways, either of the path of fear and disgust or the second, curiosity. She had yet to cross a creature who was willing to help her finish removing the contraption before she rubber her cheeks raw on whatever rough surface she could find. An attempt to fray and cut through the last hold man had on her. Until it was removed she'd never truly feel free. Not to mention a horse running wild with a halter tended to attract unwanted attention from the hairless wonders.

The murmur of the conversation they held slowly became defined as they drew closer. Not for the first time did she curse this mist and her careless mistake. Soldiers came to attention while that gaze held only silence in their depths. Whipcords of alabaster and ebony slapped at fiery red-brown flanks of its own accord. The only movement in the waiting fae.

[aquiladorado]

With the apology of the young stallion, Serrulata managed to control her own emotions and plod her way through the mist in a relaxed fashion. The swirling clouds that surrounded her were still quite annoying, but the Palomino made her way toward the Grullo easily once she had gotten over her urge to leave. She marveled at his intentions – the North was far, and without any apparent mares, Serrulata could not see any pressing reason to leave this part of the country. Then again, perhaps his plan was to collect a herd on the way there.

When Mering voiced the same question that she had been asking herself, it took a while for the mare to piece an answer together. ”I – I don’t know. There was no reason for me to come to this ridge, other than the possibility of finding an escape.”[/i] Her voice was quiet and uncertain, almost a whisper. Serrulata was weary, the depression on her mind exhausting her. Yet she moved without a hint of fatigue in the direction of the scent that had become stronger in her nostrils.

The golden mare swiftly passed the young stallion and almost bee-lined to the figure that was slowly becoming more solid in the mist. Serrulata knew it was not another stallion – a testosterone-filled creature would not have waited to be approached, and therefore it was more than likely this Brumby was a mare. The smell confirmed her hypothesis. Picking up a slow trot, the Palomino entered the final curtains of mist with a new hope and old longing driving her forward. How dearly she missed the mares of her previous herds, and all the comfort they offered. It was about time that she came across one.