Can you feel the hot wind blow? {Tiggs/Open}

[Ehetere]

The deafening sound of cicadas filled the air, with the sun’s rays beating down on the earth. It was a lazy afternoon in the High Country, with sleepy weather that would have anyone’s eyes dropping. The bubbling waters of Dead Horse Creek still flowed mid way through summer, enticing any hot and thirsty animal closer.

A handsome grey colt stepped out of the trees, flicking his tail at a couple of pesky flies and dipping his dished face to the water to drink. Since spring, Piringa had been growing - filling out his lithe frame a little more and rapidly shedding his dark coat for a far paler grey. He was far from bulky or well muscled, but his build did allow him to move as swift as the wind, as his wise mother had once said he would.

Spring had been a frustrating time for him, as he had been trapped further down south by rising flood waters, unable to reach his beloved high country. How he was aiming for the Ramsheads - his place of birth and childhood home. He wanted to feel the rush that came with galloping along sheer peaks where the whole world was spread out beneath you.

But he also wanted to start building a herd.

Piringa was two now - a respectable age where any colt should begin collecting fillies and thinking of starting a family. He’d seen a number of fillies during spring and investigated a couple, but soon realised he wanted to have a herd of beautiful and magnificent proportions to display his strength and abilities. So now he was seeking such mares to join him.

His mind had wandered back to the lovely filly who was the colour of sand: Kiata, whom he had romped with as a yearling. Her coat was an enchanting shade, and he would quite like to be able to find her again now that they were both two. What fun it would be for him to show the Ramshead Range and all its secret hideaways to her!

The call of a whip bird caused him to throw his head up in alarm and listen intently, ears flicking back and fourth. He was rather nearby the man’s huts, and they would have been able to return to the mountains by now. Though he knew that they would be far more likely to chase after a silver filly or colt, he was a prize none the less, so it was best to be on his guard.

[Tiggs]

As a two-year-old, Jiba could barely stand to follow the herd of her mother’s mate. Nepelle was not her father, but nor did she want him to be her mate. She had seen Fira forcing her daughter Alinta to stay, and Jiba did not want to end up like that mindless drone. So she had steeled herself and left her half-sister with her aunt and mother, escaped the reign of Fira and struck out on her own.

In the searing heat of summer, Jiba was glad for her short coat and pale body. Her head and legs were a deep brown, almost black, but from her neck down to her knees, she was a pale roan. Her mane and tail were black, though dusty from the dry ground. Her hooves were neat, and her fine legs took her in a steady trot through the bush toward the creek up ahead.

She had never been here, but the sound of water called to her, quickening her pace. When she reached it, the water was cool on her hocks and she waded to the centre, pebbles crunching together under her hooves. Due to the heat, the creek was low and barely reached her knees, but she was glad for the cooling sensation.

Before she could lower her head to drink though, the sound of a whip bird had her on alert. To her surprise, a grey colt a little further up the creek was also standing to attention at the sound, and the filly flared her nostrils to catch his scent. She was downwind, which would explain why he had not yet seen her. He seemed healthy, and by the straining of his stance, she could tell he was no fool. Though they had only been startled by a bird, they were close to the men’s huts, and there could be real danger up river.

Jiba looked at him a moment longer, noting his light grey coat and lithe figure before finally lowering her head to drink. Her ears, brown in their centre and ringed with black, were trained on him and she kept one dark eye on him while the other looked downstream. Sooner or later he would see her, and she would not object to the company. Well, not much.

[Ehetere]

Sure there were no men about to launch themselves out of the trees, Piringa’s stance relaxed a little, but he was still sure there were eyes watching him. And no, it wasn’t a pair of peeping possums either. Glancing around nervously, movement downstream caught his eye and there stood a filly drinking from the stream. And whoa, what a filly!

She was another one of those mysterious roans, and immediately Piringa’s ears perked up in interest. He wondered what she was doing there, other thank drinking obviously. Perhaps she would like to join him.

He trotted over, high stepping along the bank and showing off as any colt would do in his situation. She was indeed very beautiful: and Piringa decided then that roans were perhaps his favourite colour of mare. It was so exotic! Perhaps this was due to the fact that he had not seen any before leaving his herd, but that didn’t matter.

He nickered in a friendly manner as he got closer, still admiring her attractive frame and features. She was a prize indeed, if only she would have him! Bouncing on his hooves playfully as he stopped by her, he snorted excitedly, offering his nose out in greeting.

“Greetings to you,” he said, eyes bright and hears pricked forward. Allirea had always taught his that manners and flattery were the best ways to win over mares, and she would have given him a right nip if he was to forget this in his excitement.

“I am Piringa, named for the frost. What brings you here on this beautiful 'noon, O Filly, who would pale in comparison even the most perfect of days?”

[Tiggs]

Sure enough, when the colt had relaxed enough from the previous distraction, he turned down the creek to see her. She flicked her brown-black tail to rid her pale rump of a horsefly, and maintained eye-contact with the grey colt while he covered half the distance, then turned her eyes elsewhere as if disinterested. Jiba continued to drink until the colt reached her, then lifted her head.

He seemed overly excited to speak to her, and so Jiba maintained a stoic expression. “Greetings.” She replied, but did not offer her name as he had not asked for it. “I come for the water, to drink and cool myself in.” She replied, though she did not seem impressed by the typical question. Next he would be talking about the weather. What dross.

Now she could see him up close, she could see his coat was marked with many little flecks of black, mottling his grey pelt at regular intervals. The effect was intriguing, but she did not dwell on it longer. If the colt could not pique her interest with something other than his hide, she would become bored fast.

[Ehetere]

Piringa was a little taken aback when the filly seemed to lose interest very quickly. He had been under the impression that he was not an ugly colt by anyone’s standards, so what was that all about! He was easily more finely built than your average brumby, what more did a filly want in a stallion? Did she want him to fight for her? It was a little hard when there were no opponents in sight.

Determined now to earn her attention, he flicked his ears forward and back again at a stray noise – ever cautious. The filly did not seem at all pleased to see him – a blow to any colt’s ego. Her tone was uninterested, and anything but friendly. Were fillies really this hard to obtain! Cut a guy some slack! He was hardly a master at this winning over hearts business.

Piringa was also disappointed that she didn’t give him her name. Sure, he hadn’t asked for it, but it was kind of expected after he’d given his. At least that’s what his mother had led him to believe about manners. Clearly this filly was playing hard to get. Very, very hard to get.

“Do you have a herd nearby?” he asked, trying to find a topic that might evoke a proper reaction out of her. “Your coat is a rather curious colour – I was wondering who your sire and dam were?”

He had kind of assumed as she was alone and wandering about that she had left her herd, but it never hurt to make sure. She was young looking after all – and he had wandered plenty as a weanling.

“Also, would you give me your name? It seems fair as I have given you my own.”

[Tiggs]

“My father is dead and my mother is trapped with an oppressive stallion and it’s a wonder I escaped – is that the sort of thing you wanted to know?” The tone of voice she used suggested that pressing the matter further would earn him a kick from her flint-coloured hooves. Her black-rimmed ears flicked back, and she tossed her head. What sort of questions were these? Compliments when he didn’t even know her name? She at least felt a little satisfaction that he thought her coat interesting – though he hadn’t specified whether that was a good thing or not.

She sniffed and held her fine head up haughtily. “I think actually if you are measuring by fairness, you owe me and answer. We greet which is neutral, then you give me your name but then ask me a question. I answer it which evens it out, but then you ask three more. I have answered one, I think you can discern the answer to another, but to earn my name, you must answer some of my own questions.” Jiba was not exceptionally smug, but she liked to think she had some brains.

She eyed the colt, giving him the satisfaction of her direct attention. He was not a bad looking colt, but then despite her arrogance, she actually had very little experience with unrelated colts. She could ask him if he had a herd nearby, or who his parents were, but that seemed superfluous. What she really wanted to know was, “What are your intentions for me?”

She’d had enough of her life being dictated for her. Fira had owned the herd with her cruel tyranny, and Nepelle may as well have done the same for all he did to stop the chestnut mare. Now Jiba was free of them, she was able to make her own choices and if this colt thought he was choosing her, he better think again. If she was going to follow this colt, it would be of her own volition.

[Ehetere]

The filly’s bluntness startled Piringa, and she was indeed turning out to be quite the hard egg to crack. It was turning out to be like trying to crack a boulder actually. Seemingly impossible.

The roan filly was being very difficult, and Piringa was beginning to find the option of just walking away stunningly attractive. But the filly and her entrancing coat kept him rooted to the spot. He was stubborn in the extreme and twice as proud, which would simply not allow him to give up without a good fight first.

“It does young horses like us good to be curious,” he replied in an attempt to build arguments of his own. Clearly she’d had a bit of practice. “The more we learn increases our chances of survival. Better to be wise and irritating to handsome young fillies than stupid and oblivious.” He had to throw a compliment in there somewhere, just in case it might soften her rock hard shell a little.

“My intentions?” he repeated, cocking his head to the side a little. He wanted to start building a herd for which the whole High Country would be envious, but he doubted this response would please her. A vainer mare might have been satisfied with it, but not her. “I came south in search of traveling partners. For though I long to run amongst my beloved Ramsheads once more, I am young and in want of company of other young horses. I would very much wish it that you might accompany me – that is of course if you are partial to exploring and running?”

If only he could convince her that he was worthy of her clearly high standards he could claim a small victory at least. Her coat, he was sure, was so unique it would be a great prize indeed. Piringa did not desire Silver fillies in the way other colts may have: he did not share his mother’s hatred for them, but certainly did not see them as something to lose one’s life in a battle for. No, it was becoming apparent that these fillies with their roaned coats were far more desirable in his eye.

[Tiggs]

Her ear did give a flicker at his remark about irritating fillies. Yes, he had a knack for it, but he was persistent, and increasingly proving himself to be a little more interesting than most. She might have been amused by his comment, but it was hard to tell from her stony expression.

As for his intentions, at that she gave a mirthless laugh. “Hah, and you might have been doing well had you answered truthfully. You are a colt, a young stallion. You’d rather explore me than the High Country. Do not try and fool me with ridiculous notions of adventure. As a filly, I want protection and dependability. I want any stallion I run with to be handsome and strong, so foals when I have them will share those traits.” She gave him a hard stare. “You are not unattractive, but you are hardly authoritative or domineering.”

Jiba huffed and dropped her head. “I think I will graze here unless you see fit to tell me what you really think of me. Strength and truth are the things I admire; so far you just seem to sugar-coat your words. I know how hard the world is, Piringa, do not colour it with rainbows and smother it in fragrant blossom for the sake of small talk.”

[Ehetere]

Piringa was frustrated – it seemed that no matter how hard he tried he could not reach the heart of the filly and convince her that he would in the future be a stallion that the likes of had never before been seen. Only it seemed that his enchanting roan filly would be harder to convince than most.

Piringa was taken aback by her forwardness. His words had much truth in them indeed – if she knew more of his character she might have been more convinced. Though he did long for a marvelous herd of his own, the call of the high mountains sang to him frequently, and there was little he loved more than exploring and adventuring. He had come looking for fillies – companions he could share his heritage and love of high places with, in the hope they would come to love him.

“You judge me too harshly, too soon,” he replied with a defensiveness in his tone that gave away a little of his affront. “Yes, I am a young stallion, aspiring to the collection of a fabulous herd, but do not belittle my honor so! I was born and bred on the rough slopes of the Ramshead, and have ever been held by the longing for wild, high places. But as indeed, I am a young horse in want of company to share my adventures with, for though there is a certain thrilling joy to be felt at the feeling of being the only horse left on earth in such remote places, I cannot help but wish for the company of others. I was never brought up around other colts, and prefer solitude to their company.”

“Fillies on the other hand I find more engaging, where a game of chase does not turn into a fight and there is less rivalry between friends. You wish to know my opinion of you? When I first saw you I thought you very beautiful – as any colt would. On closer inspection, you did not turn out to be stupid – something which I admit I would value very highly in any companion I might travel with, especially at this young stage in life. A stupid horse would never learn anything, and would likely lead to the capture of us both. No intelligent young animal can deny the value of being able to conceal one’s self from pursuers, or deny the fact that young colts must be careful not to enrage the older stallions so they might kill them.”

“You see, I am no shallow colt seeking only beauty and rarity in his herd,” replied Piringa, finishing his speech on a note he never thought he’d have to. Beauty he certainly did seek, but had taken him this headstrong filly to make him realize that he did not simply want a marvelous herd, but one that was mysterious, to be envied by all for its elusiveness as well as its looks and prestige. And this could not be achieved if he did not find mares who knew the country well, who thought for themselves and learnt and remembered.

[Tiggs]

Jiba tossed her dark head and gave a mysterious smile. “So you have some brains in you, then. What you seek is company. Call it what you will – the want to run, to explore – but you crave company as much as the next lonely colt. By nature you are not meant to run alone. You prefer fillies because it suits you, colts are competition. By the time you are mature, colts will be stallions, and you’ll just hate them out of jealousy. What you feel now is just a tame shadow of what you’ll feel later.”

With the crunch of pebbles under her hooves, the sound strangely muffled by the water, she turned and stepped up the bank next to the flea-bitten colt. Her dark legs had a glistening sheen on water on them, and each one dripped as she lifted it up onto the grassy bank. She paused, casually eyeing him up now that she stood beside him. She finally returned his offer of an extended nose after a moment of silence. “My name is Jiba, for the moon.” She flickered her brown felt ears and lipped his muzzle once.

“I am not partial to being lost and tired, but when that exploring leads to a better understanding of the area, and the running takes me somewhere new, I am happy to do either.” She said in answer to his earlier question. The roan filly flicked her near-black tail and nipped Piringa’s speckled rump. “Run then, show me your Ramsheads. I will follow for now.”

Perhaps though it was not outwardly obvious why Jiba seemed to change her mind about the colt, she too was lonely, and the company of another might quell the ache for friendship. Jiba knew only too well that friendships could be broken, love could be killed, if such a thing existed at all. Jiba lived to live on. No unnecessary risks and no superfluous relationships. The colt might do for a father to her foal when she was old enough, but she would not attach herself closer than that.