|
|
Post by Rivre on Mar 11, 2010 18:58:18 GMT
OOC; This thread is for Mering's herd only (oh, and Eira if you want to throw her in Ballie xD) so please stick to whatever posting order presents itself (; I also asumed that the mares were following, but it was no way an attempt to claim authority over any character, so please tell me if it was wrong of me.
bic;
It had been a time and half since Mering had traveled with company; having only met one or two horses during the featureless and rabid winter, the country devoid of it's usual beauty, stripped bare the snowgums and candlebarks which marked his coming. But now, Maia, the paint mare Embar and the lovely grey sabino Boorang, followed closely behind his slowly fading form. For with the dusk there came his invisibility – this was his hour.
It seemed to he, Mering of this queer light, that many a horse moved without sound or track these days – having been originally the creamies who traversed silently, illusive creatures that nearly every stallion sought. The ghosting greys, intelligent bays, rare silvers, lesser-spotted roans – all sorts of shape and form of the wild brumbies, now it appeared only the naive in fact moved with sound.
He thought of this, as they traveled the shaly rock track of the Brindle Bull, a far less obvious route to have taken, and one that was not openly traveled unless deliberately seeking refuge, as these four were. The scent of the fading night, swift and strong, came spinning on the wind, rising to lift grey streaked cream from sweat-ed silver neck, to blow back a banner which whipped flank and flank, so closely did they wander; grey washed pink and purple light tainting the shadows.
Every so often, he would turn to gaze at the mares who traveled in a quickly fading line behind himself, sometimes touching grey nose to silver cheek or bay flank, but forever moving up the slight but growing incline. It did not feel like his place to order these mares about, and so he continued on his purposeful trek, always aware of those who followed him, always aware of his young self, so inapt to taking charge, that he must care and fight for these mares now. He was headed for a ridge in the earth – a rock and tor spine of hidden flats that dropped away into apparent nothingness; a nothingness that hid the small grassy flat below (for the hollow cave over-hang shields it from sight if one doe snot look too far over.
Mering had not had the chance to fight many battles for mares, as of yet, and he knew that Maia was a prize many stallions would search for actively, and so he was hiding them all away, a dip in the earth which settled between two of the lesser-know ridges of the Brindle, surrounded by trees, a refuge and a place where they could grow strong over the summer. He was a stallion of the higher slopes in his own right, so in the night he would run the rocky tors with whatever company he was offered.
Slowing the pace a little, he looked back once again, barely able to see the paler ones in the near-darkness-Embar's patches of white illuminated by the odd blue and pink light- and nickered quietly for them to come closer.
“The place I seek is not far from here, but quite a number of horses have their bimbles near-by, so I ask that you try to pass as quietly as your hooves will allow.”
Under the glow of the moon, his mane turned an almost liquid silver, grey muscle defined by shadow and making him appear quite magnificent beneath the ribbon gums, built for speed and a symbol of stregth lent by the starlit heavens under which he walked.
|
|
|
|
Post by stormsnow on Mar 12, 2010 8:40:46 GMT
Another elusive horse was in the area that night; trotting silently through the Brindle Bull, she left no tracks where she walked. Occaisionaly, the moonlight caught the pale golden pelt of the filly, giving her a ghostly aura. Eria had no wish to be seen by a brutish stallion, or anything that might do her harm. It was a while since she had spoken to or come in close contact with another horse.
Her sensitive ears picked up sound nearby. Someone, a stallion, was speaking, but she could not hear his words. Staring into the darkness, she saw a small herd, not too far in front of her. They were trotting quickly and quietly along, as if hoping they would not be seen. Eria gave a tiny snort of surprise and edged forward, hoping to pass the group unnoticed.
The silver filly's cunning helped her, but as she passed the stallion, she began to feel uneasy. Hearing him pause in his speech, she froze, like a cornered womat down a caved- in burrow. She looked up at the sky, and was horrfied to see that the moon was becoming gradually visible. It would shine on her coat and give her away; but she did not dare run, for when she was this close to the stallion, he would surely hear her.
|
|
|
|
Post by Ehetere on Mar 13, 2010 10:23:42 GMT
OOC: Here's Lark to get beaten up, as promised 
In the still night where secrets were whispered on the wind, but rendered unintelligible and the mopokes called but once: a warning - beware, beware… Trees were rustling, trunks creaking and their leathery leaves brushing against one another. The moon: silver in the sky, illuminated the tors of the Brindle Bull in pale light, casting all else into sinister shadow.
The gleam of an eye: seen only for a second in a stray moonbeam, was the only indication of the steel grey colt who had hidden himself well in the darkest shadows of a gum: his silhouette invisible, his coat merging with his surroundings. Lark had learnt his lessons well, and unlike his far lighter coloured relatives, could remain unseen during the hours of darkness as well as any black horse with no white markings to shine brightly and give away his position.
A flash of silver hide caught his attention, and his head snapped in the direction the movement had come from, his dark grey ears pinned menacingly to his neck. A ghost of a silver filly passed close by him, and Lark did not move a muscle until after she was not going to catch the slightest movement in the corner of her eye. He trailed her through the bush, his long legs never brushing a bush or snapping a stray twig despite the lack of light. He had chosen his path well, and knew full well how to navigate rocky terrain in the moonlight.
The filly stopped, as did Lark, and he saw her perk up her ears - listening. Straining his own, he heard what had caught her attention in the first place: the voice of a stallion. Lark lost interesting in finding out why a silver filly was out all alone at this time of night: the answer was obvious. She had been looking for her stallion.
Lark circled around and headed up a small bluff so he might get a better look at the stallion himself. Peering over the edge he spotted a dimly lit line of mares following the grullo stallion who had been speaking. Another creamy was with this lot and Lark found himself immediately disliking the stallion - who clearly liked his silvers far more than the creamy things were worth.
Creeping down the slope again, he moved silently through the bush: stopping within the shadowy tree line near where the grullo had stopped. His mares - all of them exotic in one way or another - were huddled around him as if in a sickening trance: mesmerised by his very presence. Lark could tell almost immediately that they would never get along. If there was one thing both his mother and father had taught him, keeping control over your herd with a firm hoof was essential if you didn’t want to have foals and mares who thought far too highly of themselves.
Dodging between trunks, he moved through the bush until the stallion’s rump was facing him, and he would not be seen when he emerged from the trees. He came then, a mere colt but so filled with hate - giving that grullo rump an unpleasant bite as his dark form loomed out of the darkness before darting away, ensuring that he kept himself at least partially hidden at all times.
|
|
|
|
Post by Cheyenne on Mar 14, 2010 10:44:48 GMT
Steady hooves thudded gently beside Mering as they traveled with his herd across The Brindle Bull. Maia kept her pace light, trying to leave little marks for another to follow them in this warm summer's nights. Her silver coat was illuminated by the pale moon above them. In the distance, Maia's attention was suddenly taken to that of a rare coat that only seemed to familiar to her - another silver brumby. It wasn't often she had the chance to greet another who seemed so alike.
Maia turned slightly to Mering before turning back to where the mare was supposed to be walking but had now disappeared. Her looked for the other silver quickly and noticed that she had tried to slip by without being noticed. Maia decided that the silver had no intention of being claimed by another stallion and didn't say anything but just kept quiet.
Unseen eyes seemed to be watching the small herd as they trotted quickly to try and reach their destination without being seen but Maia knew it was useless. She stopped behind Mering and turned her fine head in the direction where a grey colt had suddenly bolted out from his hiding place and landed a strong bite on Mering's rump. The grey disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, leaving Mering no time to find out who had just attacked him. Maia lifted herself off the ground and whisked around in panic, galloping off to safety in a few quick movements.
Maia had never been a confident horse and when it came to violence, she would rather avoid it. Without realising it, the silver filly ended up stopping quite close to the other silver. She dug in her heels to avoid collision and took a deep breath to calm herself down. She would stay close to Mering but as far away from the steel grey as possible.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Post by Rivre on Mar 17, 2010 17:21:55 GMT
ooc; Yaruka will be dropping in her post when she has the time  We'll have to shift around the post order so that she comes before I go again in future okay? Good good.
bic;
The weight of the night had finally fallen, leaving dull and pale grey hide to mingle in the complete and shadowed darkness; grey steel hide was all that he saw from his backwards angle, teeth meeting rump in a vicious and cowardly assault. Throwing lobes back, he whipped his head around just in time to see darker grey fade into the snowgum shadow, Maia having flown for the cover of trees opposite, and Embar followed quietly - was that another creamy he spied beside his own, or just a trick of the light?
Spinning on his heel, Mering stayed put in his clearing, ears flickering, homing in on any sounds that may be emitted from the bush. The snap of a twig or brushing of a waxy leaf - he would hear it, for he could use his sight a quiet determination to win this battle of a hiding horse. And suddenly there was a flank! A shoulder, an ear, another ear... A nose... A horse! Snorting impatiently, he threw crest and poll into the night, rising in a half-rear, gaze menacing as the moonlight Lent him strength in his hour; it was not the salute of a young stallion to a superior, it was one that mocked the inexperience of a colt, and one he intended to drive away from his mares and never have him return.
Dropping back to the ground, he made a sudden and fleeting charge at the bushes, footing light, scarcely touching the snowgrass ground beneath his hooves as he propelled himself towards his opponent. Forelegs reined the hooves that struck with sharp and calculated blows, aiming for the young horse's shoulder. There was little power in his hits, or what he intended to be, but it was enough to teach a young one a lesson he would not forget in a while! Then he was gone, feeling the sting of new wounds on his coat, and angered even greater - but he kept silent, melting into the clearing, waiting for the youngun' to make his own move. |
|
|
|
Post by yaruka on Mar 17, 2010 22:33:32 GMT
Boorrang watched the fight with surprisng calmness in her eyes. This sort of stuff didn't really bother her, boys would be boys. She just hung out with them. Though Mering had asked them to be quiet on their walk through the night she hadn't paid him much heed, her hoof-falls were just as loud and careless as always, so perhaps it was the silver sabino's fault that Lark had found them, though of course she didn't think of this.
OOC: just to throw her in ^^
|
|
|
|
Post by Ehetere on Mar 29, 2010 0:13:14 GMT
The grullo’s mares went every which way – which pleased Lark greatly. The silver filly who had been traveling with the stallion half reared before rocketing off into the bush in the direction of the other silver he had been tailing. The other mares seemed less flighty, though they did shy in fear of his sudden appearance. If he had his way – he’d show his mother that she was wrong to wish him a filly by having his name known and feared throughout the High Country as one of its most fearsome fighters.
The stallion reacted immediately, ears flicking back and head whipping around to search for his assailant. Lark still hung to the shadows – well aware of how best to exploit his dark colouring. The stallion swung his silver grey body around then to face him – an imposing sight for any colt for sure. Lark was confident he would be able to pester him a great deal in this light however and come out not to worse for wear. He was not quite foolish enough to presume he might best the far older stallion for strength, but in his own speed and agility he was certain.
The grullo took quite some time locating him waiting there in the snowgums, and Lark smirked. He could practically taste the sweet victory. The stallion reared above him, and though Lark was bigger than your average yearling colt, he was not the big fully grown stallion he was destined to be, not yet.
He kept his head as the big brute charged towards him, easily sliding away from the first headlong assault. The weight of a heavy hoof struck his shoulder then, and a jarring stinging pain shot through his leg. Lashing out angrily with sharp teeth, he retreated further into the deeper shadow to avoid any further onslaught. He had not factored injuries into his calculations.
The grullo still seemed maddened by rage, but he wizened to Lark’s tactics rather quickly – retreating to the clearing once more where the moonlight silvered his grey coat. Lark snorted angrily – he had not wanted to leave the shadow of the trees where his form was so well concealed, but the other stallion was leaving him with little choice. His dark grey coat would show up in the moonlight rather clearly then, and he would have to rely on his footwork and litheness to scrape by.
His mother had oft lamented that he was a failed son, better to have been a filly she’d said. For his full brother Piringa was twice the colt he was – strong, handsome and quick as the whirlwind itself. Lark had always scowled and expected these tales were greatly exaggerated – he had not once met his brother to assess this for himself. However he would grow to be a more powerful horse, his fighting skills relying on strength more than any fancy footwork. And this would work against him now, as any yearling is far scrawnier than a stallion and cannot hope to best one in a contest of strength alone.
Shifting his weight from one side to another, Lark suddenly launched his grey body from the shadows, aiming for the bigger stallion’s legs. He had rather quickly reassessed his options, and was too proud to back away when a horse with more sense should have. Instead he chose the second most sensible course of action. Laming the other would certainly throw the favor back to him, and then he, Lark who was barely a yearling, might best the brute and be well on his way to building his reputation.
|
|
|
|
Post by stormsnow on Mar 29, 2010 4:09:44 GMT
Eira snorted as she saw a grey colt attack the stallion. Why did males fight all the time? She stood stock-still for a moment, undecided, then took off, away from all the other horses. She stopped, panting, in a large grove of gums. Had the stallion, or the colt for that matter, seen her? She decided that they probably had, but it did not matter now. Pricking her ears, the silver filly remained alert and silent, ready to flee if the need arose.
|
|
|
|
Post by Rivre on Mar 29, 2010 17:05:03 GMT
It was a dull fight, to be blunt; Standing, waiting in the moonlit clearing, silver muscle again defined by the shadow, as he awaited the second attack of a far younger horse. If only he knew that he stood no chance! Perhaps an arrogant thought, but true non the less - he was at least two years older than the large colt, having had that time to fill out to nearly twice his size and strength. However, he kept his breathing slow and body supple, ready to leap at the last minute, but standing still as if time had stopped, paused on his toes.
And suddenly there was a horse flying from the cover of the snowgum thicket, charging towards him with little or no attempt to keep his weight light, all shifting towards his sole intent. Ears flicking back again, he felt the first blow as horse hit forelegs, darting to the side so that although he gained a rather horrible slash, he was otherwise unharmed. Neck snaking forwards, he felt his jaws close around the withers of the younger, grip vice-like as he shook the steel grey horse, shaking from the effort. Letting his grip slip, he bit hard at his neck, anger at having been bothered on such a cool night coming through in his now more energetic attacks.
Huffing in rage, he felt teeth get a good grip on his own neck, having to pull back with some force before he ripped himself free. Snorting, he wheeled around aiming to kick at the other's haunches, again and again and again.
He knew his mares were watching from the cover of the trees, and also that a new silver was there also; he thought of the foal that Boorrang carried for him, of his family and it made him fight all the harder. To think this colt thought he even stood a chance! Of course, he was not stupid, and had gone for the obvious idea of laming him - he even thought it a shame that he could not have befriended the grey, and instead be teaching him the ways of a fight rather than fighting him as an enemy. Well he'd have to learn his lesson the hard way.
But as he fought, the silver began to move away, her beauty captured in the moonlight as it fell to her silver hide - enchanting. Calling loudly, he willed her to stay, trotting purposefully after her wraith-like form - but always at an angle, lobes flickering in case the colt attempted to bring on another onslaught; it would surely enforce his injury if he did. |
|
