Sorrow and Longing, [R]

[Corowa]

The pale grey mare stood, only half-seen through the trunks of the huge alpine ash. In one of the deep gullies, Wurrun grazed on the snowgrass that grew between the damp slabs of granite. The belly-high ferns stood, touched with mist, and the great ribbons of bark groaned in the wind. Somewhere further up the steep, timbered slope, a whip bird call every so often.

Wurrun stood absolutely still. There had been something in that call that told of loss and sorrow, and her hide prickled, every nerve tingling with a sudden feeling of dread. She listened, heard the distant sound of the Monyangul, the sigh of the wind as it stirred in the biggest of the alpine ash. Yet it seemed even the wind in all its wisdom, had no answer to that question left unspoken.

Wurrun threaded her way through the ghostly forest of alpine ash. There, sheltered by the narrow-leaved tea tree was one of those small bush soaks, the water clear and still. Her nostrils quivered and the mare dropped her nose to the shallow pool of water. There, mirrored by the stillness of the water, stood a silver-white mare, fading into the grey light of a piccaninny dawn.

Wurrun shied nervously away. Something stirred deep within her, and she could feel her hair stand on end. She found herself filled with a terrible sense of longing, for that which had been lost to the swirling snow and tearing winds. Unable to contain the restless throbbing of her blood, the urgent longing that burned in her veins, the mare gave a sad call, every part of her waiting, listening, for that answer that perhaps might never come again.

OOC: Reserved for Bokara

[E!]

The dawn air was cool on his back as Bokara made his way elegantly down toward the Moyungal. He had been to the river only once; finding the area a little too frightening when he had been a yearling, and keeping his views on the river area as he grew. However, Bokara had found the quiet of the surrounding area rather soothing to his worrysome head. The constant trouble he felt inside about Quinja's lack of affection and the stories the friendly grey kangaroos told him of Tingara wanting his grey mare back.

All this, Bokara worried about. Perhaps he should have been more carefree, more relaxed about the whole ordeal.. but this was not how Bokara functioned. The morning air was making him feel alive, new found strength surging through his veins. He was indeed, looking more handsome than ever. Strength had finally come to him, filling out his slender frame a little, and bulking up his shoulders - his legs, however, were as tall and slight as ever. The call of a whip bird made Bokara look toward the sky, pausing to watch the slow flight of an eagle, high above.

The regal bird made Bokara feel quite small in the scale of things - as he must look from so high above. His gaze remained on the skies until the great eagle was out of sight, and then continued on through the leafy undergrowth. The deep bay stallion was feeling quiet, the silence of the Moyungal pleasant to his ears. Much too often these days he had been caught up in the rushing of life - mares, men, fights. His neat hooves made barely a sound on the debris, his deep bay coat standing out unusually against the pale alpines.

The call came from ahead and below, Bokara pricked his ears as it echoed around him. Sadness filled the call, a longing that made Bokara take an involuntary step forward, long legs hesitant and then slowly gathering speed. A long call left his own lips, filled with a want for companionship in the soothing morning. Bokara had not intended on finding others on his solitary journey - for that reason his mares were tucked away safely hidden. Though with her call, his own sense of longing had sprung up swiftly. Company would be nice. His strides lengthened until he started downward and pushed gently through some old mans beard and tea tree.

And then there she was. Like a wraith out of the mist, a lovely mare stood between the tea tree, watching her reflection in a soak. Bokara froze, standing half hidden between two alpine ash, black mane lifting gently in a breeze that seemingly came from nowhere. His large, liquid eyes watched her, uncertainty flicking into their depths. Did she want his company? Or had it been another that she wished for? Bokara thought it best to introduce his appearance, and let loose a quiet neigh, his voice a deep lullaby. She was lovely, and Bokara felt sure he had not stumbled upon her by chance.. and if it had been, what a beautiful morning.

[Corowa]

Wurrun pricked her ears, her fine-chiselled head held high as she stood, trembling in every limb. On one of the great timbered slopes, there was some sign of movement through the timber, a flash of brown hide between the rough-barked trunks. The mare could feel every hair stand on end, and she found herself breathless with a sudden, terrible longing.

There stood a handsome bay stallion beneath the huge, sheltering alpine ash. Wurrun remained motionless, fascinated by the sight of the proud-looking stallion. Surely, this could not be one of the bay colts she had run with, for in the threnody of the mopokes, there had been sorrow and loss. With every part of her questioning, the mare stepped slowly out from the clump of tea tree and ferns. The sunlight slanted through the topmost gums, and the mare glistened silver.

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks. Her nostrils quivered and Wurrun gave the softest of whinnies. The blood throbbed in her veins, and Wurrun felt longing burn like a fever. For a moment, there was silence, and Wurrun dare not let go a breath as she stood watching the young bay stallion. Then, no longer able to contain her own loneliness and sorrow she let out a ringing neigh. Come to me.

[E!]

The silence surrounding them was unbearable, though it was not silence at all - what with the faint rush of the Moyungal River and the loud, sudden bird calls that Bokara was so used to. His tall legs shifted, hooves silent upon the moist earth underneath him. She had seen him, and he returned the grey mares gaze with a gentle pride that had sprung up in him only in recent times. Then the call came, soft and sorrowful - tugging on the heartstrings.

Bokara felt himself moving forward immediately, breaking into a jolting trot, tossing his black mane with a fever that had grasped him as soon as he had heard the mares most recent call. Pulling to a graceful stop in front of her, Bokara posed, half rearing and flexing his lean, knotted muscles. Snorting quietly, he paused in his flirting to stretch out his soft nose to her own. His touch was gentle, almost questioning.

He went back to his dance, knowing that the suns rays pierced through the cover above them and struck his deep bay coat, bringing out the mahogany highlights and making him look quite grand - more of a stallion. The mare, herself, glistened handsomely in the warm light, and Bokara thought to himself how lovely she would look beside his dear Quinja and Nukara. He was growing into a fine stallion, what with his tall, rangey build and the delicate structure of his beautiful face - his eyes reflecting the intelligence that he held.

He was not the kind of beast to have a large group of mares, but he had decided upon meeting this sad but lovely grey, that he would keep close to his heart a group of beloved mares that were both lovely and intelligent. The sweet bays ears pricked forward as he stopped in his prancing, watching the grey silently. There was no need to speak - Bokara would race her through the alpine ash, race and play, and then they would leave together to find his hidden mares.

ooc; confident fellow >.<

[Corowa]

A wondering sort of sigh went through the grey mare and she stood, perfectly still, fascinated by the bay stallion’s proud dance. There entwined within each graceful movement, seemed all the joy of living, the promise of excitement and of boundless freedom. Wurrun, shaken by memories and longing, felt something stir deep within her, at the stallion’s gentle touch.

Wurrun pranced forwards. She possessed that queer quality of blending with the grey light of the morning, and a shaft of sunlight lit her up brilliantly, so for a moment she stood outlined against the rough mountain gums and ghostly alpine ash. The mare gave a soft neigh, and went up on her hind legs in a perfect levade. Then she turned and vanished.

Wurrun picked her way on up the high, steep slope. The streamers of bark soughing in the wind made her tremble, and she could feel her hide prickling; half with excitement, half with fear. Hurrying now, she moved without sound or track through the bush, upwards always upwards, to the great rough spur where the alpine ash merged with snowgums and there were places for a mare swift and nimble of foot, to dodge around the huge granite tors.

The sweat broke out behind her ears, and the mare’s legs ached from the steep climb. Stopping to catch her breath on an outcrop of rock, Wurrun peered nervously over the edge. The mare stood for a moment, fascinated by the sight of the deep, damp gully so far below. Then something moved through the tall timber, and with a snort, she turned and plunged away upwards into the sheltering band of snowgums.

OOC: In your post she can have reached the top already if you'd like.

[E!]

Oh she was lovely! Bokara couldnt help the excitement that built inside him as they pranced, himself a deep ruddy brown, and her a slight, pale wisp of cloud. In a swirl of mist she was gone, leaving behind the echo in the bay stallions ears of her soft neigh. It only took a second, and then Bokara was after her.

His tall legs carried him easily upward, sooty nose brushing against the leafy undergrowth as he followed her scent, heart thudding in excitement. The thud of his neat hooves was muffled by the soft earth, black mane flying behind the graceful beast as he surged upward, upward. Bokara let loose a low neigh, stopping suddenly as if to wait for a reply, ears high and tense, nostrils quivering. A faint sound caught his attention and he was off once more, following in a mad dash to find the grey and dance with her once more.

A flash of grey hide ahead made Bokara surge forward, slender frame dodging in and out of the trees, swift and young. A magpie carolled and Bokara jumped, he had been so intent on finding the sweet mare that he had barely noticed rising out of the gully. His breathing came faster now, his deep set chest heaving as he leapt over a fallen log and continued after half known clues of where that beautiful grey had gone. Sweat pricked behind his ears and Bokara stopped suddenly, beautiful eyes wide, searching. His neigh rang out again, where are you?

Had she lost him? Bokara slid into a swift trot, aiming toward the great, rocky spur. He went slowly now, sure to keep his footing - just in case.. the fall was a long one to the valley floor.

[Corowa]

Wurrun stopped suddenly in her tracks. There, dancing amongst the mist wreathed ferns, was a lyrebird. The mare stood, breathless and tingling, feeling some sense of mystery blending in its graceful movements. There was something here she was to understand, and though Wurrun was no bush-wise mare, she felt something stir deep within her in answer to that shy dance.

Just at that moment, a stallion’s call rang out from somewhere far below. Wurrun started forwards, but the lyrebird had vanished into the thick timber, and though she searched desperately, there was nothing but the silence of the bush. The mare stood with head upflung and ears pricked, every part of her listening. The blood thrummed in her veins, and she found herself unable to resist the excitement of that call.

Wurrun’s hide prickled at the queerness of the surrounding bush, for there was a sudden stillness to it that made her uneasy. The wind seemed to whisper through the snowgums and with a fierce ringing neigh, Wurrun bounded down the steep, rough slope, faster than she had ever gone before. She barely seemed to touch the ground, nimble as a wild goat, as she leapt down through the huge alpine ash.

Then through the thick timber, Wurrun saw a proud bay head, outlined by the pale mountain gums. She propped on her haunches, and swung wildly about one wide trunk. It was though a voice had called her, but the bush was still silent, and the only sound was that of her breath sobbing in her chest. For the only thought she had was to find that bay stallion, who had stirred such deep longing within her.

[E!]

It was as if she had dissapeared, and Bokara, though he was an intelligent beast, growing more and more bushwise as the days passed, could find no sign of her. What if the Moyungal had swallowed her up? Bokara began to sweat nervously, frightfully jumping at the sound of a whipbird as it mocked the sound of a whip crack. The feeling of aloneness grew, and Bokara pranced on the spot, head whirring as it struggled to make decisions. He must find her, the elusive grey mare.

With a start, Bokara heard a neigh ring out toward him. It must have been the mare, he was sure of it. Standing stock still for a few moments, the beautiful bay ducked his head uncertainly before starting forward at a brisk trot, nose to the earth and surrounding undergrowth.

With a quiet, suprised snort, Bokara's eyes caught sight of a whirling tail, made of mist perhaps. He released a longing neigh - for he now, was the one that wanted her company so badly. He felt too alone out here - despite his usual love of silence. Ahead, he saw her prop to a standstill and then whirl away again. This time, he moved forward without thought of safety or anything else. His long legs carried him swiftly after her, strong shoulders taking any impact that came when he leapt and jumped over fallen trees and low ditches that might have broken his leg.

Come to me! His desperate neigh said, as Bokara folllowed the wraith-like mare.

[Corowa]

Wurrun plunged wildly down the slope, barely gathering herself to leap a huge log that lay over the sharp-sided track. In an instant, the mare had slowed, and suddenly Bokara was there, as she galloped alongside the bay stallion. “Slow foolish one,” she whinnied to him. “The Suggan Buggan rings with your calls. I promise I will stay, but hush now, for you are not the only stallion in the south.”

The track dropped steeply downwards, and there, at the foot of the spur, a small bush creek joined up with the Monyangul. The gully was deep, filled with black sallee, hung with old-man’s beard moss. Wurrun slackened in her headlong pace, and picked her way more carefully down the steep slope, shying sharply to one side when one of those great curtains of moss touched her flank.

Her nostrils wide and quivering, Wurrun threw up her head, smelling the air. The early morning sunlight slanted through the tops of trees, and there was the damp smell of eucalypts rising around them. The mare found herself shivering, and she clung closely to the bay stallion, fearful he might vanish with the winds themselves.