Extraordinary Girl [Piringa]

[Tiggs]

Climb climb climb, woah dodge! Up up up, dodge, jump. Eeek, down! Jump jump jump swerve, flat stretch, RUN! The slightly roaned bay tossed up her head, mane flying as she surged into a gallop only to skid to a stop when the grass turned to stone and dropped three feet onto another plateau. The filly adjusted her stride and leapt, narrowly missing a sharp stone that would have cut her hock on landing. With all four feet on solid ground again, she jumped into another gallop down the slow incline and dropped her pace to a trot when the rocks began to overcome the snowgrass.

Huffing, she picked her way between the boulders and when they finally gave way to grass again, she came to a halt. She caught her breath for a moment, slim flanks rising and falling with each heaving intake of air. She loved to run and explore, and with winter coming, she did not have long before snow would make this landscape to dangerous to run across. The coming winter had also lengthened and darkened her coat, so rather than the pale roan of summer, she was almost chestnut in colour. Her legs were darker below the knee, and her mane and tail were a dark brown, almost black.

Sweat darkened her flanks, and her mane clung to her neck in places. The day was chilled, so her panting breaths came out in plumes. But her chocolate eyes glistened with spirit, and despite her fatigue, she seemed happy and alert as her hanging head would let her. Dark ears flicked back and forth, listening to the birds, and the young filly had never been so happy to be exploring.

Of course she missed her family, but at almost three years old, she was mature enough to stray, or even have a stallion of her own. Come spring, she would not be able to avoid the seeking colts and stallions. She had been escaping a rather handsome bay at the beginning of this run, and after she had lost him in the rugged terrain, the sheer excitement of the chase had kept her running for the sake of it.

She was not a flighty filly, or scared of commitment, but she was not done exploring yet. Maybe when spring came round and she felt the attraction of the stallions might she do more than tease them with flirts and actually take them seriously. Kiata was a fun-loving filly by nature, and all the posturing and impressiveness of the stallions just served to make her giggle and lead them a merry dance.

She had no energy for dancing now though, and with the day beginning to end, she dropped her head to graze. The grass was short and stubborn up here, but it was good to eat nonetheless. Perhaps tomorrow she would find herself a nicer spot to graze, relax a little and bulk up for winter. Her breathing calmed, she braced her legs, gave a little shake and then ripped up a mouthful of grass and sod. She chewed off the blades, dropped the soil to the ground and continued.

[Ehetere]

The ground was sure beneath his hooves, and although winter was coming the longing to chase the very wind itself was oh so tempting to the young grey colt. But he restrained himself, perhaps not from better judgment but the still slightly unenthusiastic filly who followed him.

Despite Piringa’s best efforts, Jiba was still not smitten with him as he was sure she would be by winter. He had taken her through some of the high country’s most beautiful and most breath taking landscapes, shown he was capable and knowledgeable and not some blithering idiot. He could move silently through the bush, and melt away into the scrub if danger threatened. How could any mare not appreciate this? And he hadn’t even gotten to how handsome he was yet!

This said, Piringa’s sleek spring and summer beauty had been marred by his suddenly shaggy coat in preparation for the coming winter. His colour was lighter again, and he idly wondered whether by next winter he would blend with the snow better than even the legendary Silver brumbies could boast. For what would bend with the white snow better than a white coat? Nothing, that’s what.

Nickering encouragingly to Jiba, he tried to get her to trot along with him. Although her reluctance may have deterred other stallions, Piringa was still so young and full of life that he had more than enough enthusiasm for the both of them.

Turning his head back the way he was leading, he sighed and relaxed his pace to match the pretty roan’s; whose own roan coat was not so roaned anymore. Piringa had panicked before he remembered that his own coat had changed colour for the winter, and it would most likely not be permanent. Not that the fact her coat no longer glowed with those mysterious pale hairs would make him wish her less or anything of the sort.

Ducking and weaving his way through the trunks of ancient gums, Piringa came to a halt at the edge of a windswept plain. Never before had he come so far south, but winter was on the way, and the south often offered the best grazing. His father’s herd had resided in the upper high country throughout winter, occasionally moving south when feeding was bad, but they had not been further than the Brolga’s Country. This new place was wild and rugged, and that urge to run and run and run swelled within him again.

A little further down the hill, he spotted an oddly coloured chestnut filly, and there was an air of familiarity about her. He had seen any number of chestnuts in his travels however, so this could be a very vague familiarity. But no, he was certain they had met before, though he could not remember talking to a filly that same shade before.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped out of the trees and out towards the chestnut. She was panting, and from her sweat-soaked coat he could tell she’d been running very hard. He stiffened and came to an abrupt halt, sniffing the air warily and searching for some unknown threat. Stockwhip Hill was very open, but there was good cover nearby if they needed to bolt.

Nickering gently to announce his presence if he had not made it clear already, he stopped a short distance from the filly so he could study her more closely. She looked so familiar… oh so familiar… Where had he seen her before? Frustrated that he could not solve this riddle, he snorted a little but introduced himself and Jiba to the lithe chestnut.

“Why were you running so hard that you exhausted yourself?” he asked, concerned. “Are we quite safe out in the open like this?”

[Tiggs]

It was a good thing that Kiata was bored of solitude when the grey colt came out of the bush. She lifted her fine head, and her ears flickered in indecision. She had only just been running from a stallion, but something about this colt bothered her. She had never seen him before, yet he was familiar. She half-nickered back to him, her confusion plain to see.

But when he introduced himself as Piringa, memories of years ago came dancing back. She had been a yearling then, not so different than she was now in spirit but certainly much smaller and gangly. She had run with a yearling colt called Piringa for just a day, but this was not him, surely? The Piringa in her memories was a dark colt, mottled with only the occasional white hair. She came a little closer to examine this young stallion’s coat, and it was the opposite! Mostly white, with the occasional dark hair.

“No, no danger here,” She replied belatedly, dismissing the concern in favour of curiosity, “I think I know you.” Confident and without hesitation, she reached over her muzzle and sniffed his jaw. His scent ticked the same memory, and she shook her head. “I think I do remember you, Piringa of the Frost. You are so different now.” She looked the grey over with brazen fascination. Her attention was suddenly caught by a derisive snort. The dun filly behind Piringa seemed disgusted by something, and she turned her head away to graze.

Kiata turned her attention back to Piringa and nickered. She realised back then she had never said a word to him, playing the mysterious filly. She flicked her brown tail coyly. Well she had scuppered that game, and she was too tired to play chase with him once again, so she supposed formalities would have to do. “My name is Kiata. And if you are who I think you are, then we have met before.”

[Ehetere]

The lovely peachy coloured mare came closer, apparently as curious about him as he was about her. She studied him, which made Piringa stand a little taller, arch his neck a little more. He was a little disheartened at her surprise, but that was probably simply her being awed by his sheer handsomeness.

In truth, Piringa had all but forgotten about danger with this filly to distract, and the worry about Jiba running off played in the back of his mind, but she had stayed thus far. This worry was soon pushed aside as well, as the majority of his thought processes were otherwise engaged with the peachy filly. Not all of them involved in how he might woo her into joining him either, shocking as it seemed. There was still that niggling feeling of familiarity that would not be shaken.

“You do?” he asked with surprise, pale ears pricking up in interest. He knew it! He had met her before… but where? It was embarrassing – surely he would not forget such a pretty face. Perhaps he knew her when they were both younger, as he had met several young horses but hardly a huge selection. He did not remember a filly her colour.

The filly’s comment about how he’d changed made him think. Perhaps she had changed as well – he’d been close to black when he was a yearling and look at him now, closer to white than black. Her scent, it was familiar, and finally triggered a memory of a fascinating sandy coat and a teasing game of chase. No wonder he didn’t remember her by name – she had never given it! The mysterious filly he had run with for a short time when he was much more youthful.

Jiba’s snort came from over his shoulder, but he was far too overjoyed to be concerned much by it. The now grullo coloured filly was sensible, and he was confident she would not leave him now. Her winter coat had taken the mysterious pale hue from her hide, and this was a good enough explanation for what had happened to the peachy filly’s coat.

Sniffing at her in a friendly manner, he was glad to know her name at last. Kiata. It was a lovely name to be sure, noble and beautiful. He chuckled, snorting at his own stupidity.

“Indeed we have, and I am a fool for not realizing it earlier – any sensible colt should know a filly as memorable as you. I simply thought my memory was playing tricks on me.”

Charm had not worked on Jiba, and he prayed that perhaps Kiata would be more easy to gain as a companion. As a young stallion now, he couldn’t just let these attractive fillies go running around willy-nilly. No, it was his responsibility to keep them from stallions of less desirable character. He was handsome and strong enough surely?

* * *

Perhaps his mother had not been as thorough in her lessons with his brother. Perhaps the pale grey colt was simply more careless, and did not learn his lessons well. Whatever the reason, the dark shadow had found it very easy to shadow his older brother and his surprisingly attractive filly as they moved through the bush.

Lark had never met his older sibling, as the other colt had been forced out of the herd the day he arrived. He had heard plenty of praise about him from his mother though, until it was near the point he was the sick of the sound of him. How handsome he was, and how strong. How he would one day become the King of the High Country. How big headed he was, in Lark’s opinion.

Tracking him through the bush, the grey colt had gazed around several times as though he might have sensed another presence, but he did not act and simply continued on. Stupid, thought Lark. Sloppy. Allirea’s lessons had more gravity with him, perhaps he had to fight so hard to try and impress his snooty mother, where nothing he did was as good as his older brother.

He was grudgingly forced to admit that there was an uncanny family resemblance, in the dished faces and the graceful curve of their necks, their sturdy high-stepping legs. But there were differences, which Lark was quick to note.

Colour was the most obvious; with Lark’s winter coat remaining a coaly shade of grey with his full brother’s closer resembling dirty snow. Overall the pale grey colt was a near replica of their father, perhaps a little lither. Lark was nearly as tall despite the age difference, with longer legs and a deeper chest. More solid, more powerful though perhaps not as quick.

Lark at least thought he was the smarter of the two, even if he was not as handsome or refined. Surely he would have come looking for him by now? But Lark’s dark coat hid him well, and the other grey colt continued on until he reached a clearing. The dark grey moved around so he might see if Piringa would be staying here for the night, and whether he would need to find a secure place to sleep out of the wind so his scent would not carry. If he even meant to stay at all. He was not sure what he wanted with his brother, though that filly of his was prize indeed. Lark did not know how experienced the pale grey was at fighting, and it would be senseless to fight with winter looming. Far better to conserve his strength for spring.

Down in the clearing stood another pretty looking filly, something Lark was finally beginning to notice and appreciate. A stallion could not stay mute forever. His ears perked with interest, but it seemed Piringa had beaten him to it, calling out to her and receiving half a response. Grumbling to himself darkly, he was settled himself to watch with irritation.

It didn’t take long before Lark was shaking his head in disbelief – the dusky coloured filly clearly shared his opinion as she shorted disparagingly and moved off in his direction to graze. The dark grey colt briefly threw a sly glance in his brother’s direction before turning away in disgust at himself. Fillies were bad news, and he was not some sappy colt trying to flirt outrageously in hopes of gathering a herd of silly fillies who didn’t have two ounces of sense between them so they might be stupid enough to bare them foals when they were older. They were nothing but trouble and an awful lot of work. Pointless.

His departure was not as clean as he might have hoped though, as a bush full of dry seedpods brushed against his flank, rattling and shaking quietly as he crept past. Instinctively, he became still, sinking back into the shadows. It was not a loud noise, and he doubted the grey colt and his latest conquest would have heard. What he was concerned about however was the dusky filly.

[Tiggs]

Kiata was a growing filly, and she just couldn’t help but notice how Piringa had grown. He fit into his legs better now – his chest broader, deeper – and the crest of his neck more defined and graceful. His coat was much paler, flecked with dark marks that invited investigation, as if he might feel rough like pitted stone. Her brown-rimmed nostrils flared, and she touched inquisitive dark lips to his whiskery muzzle.

No, he felt the same as most brumbies, though there was curious tingling sensation that accompanied the touch. She nickered sweetly and pressed her nose to his again. The tingling returned, and the dark tips of her ears flickered back and forth as she analysed the situation. It was tickly, but also nice.

His compliments did not land on deaf ears, and the filly reacted graciously. She blew warm air into his nostrils and tossed her head proudly with a snort. “Memorable?” If she hand the energy, she might have pranced a little but instead she shifted on her hooves and flagged her tail proudly. “My memory must be better than yours, Piringa of the frost, for I recognised you first. I remember you were a fine colt, and a fast runner.” And now he was a fine young stallion, and by the look of his long strong legs, probably swifter than she! Kiata silently promised to race him across the hills and valleys of Stockwhip the next day, like they had years ago over the Ramshead.


Meanwhile, since Piringa and his new discovery were making moon eyes at each other, Jiba had grazed her way down the slope. Perhaps half way between the colt she followed and a line of bush and gnarled snowgums near the bottom of the slope, she heard a faint noise. Her tan-centred ears flickered toward the bush, and she paused in her ruminating to look off into the trees. Seeing nothing instantly, she glanced back to Piringa before walking down the hill towards to cover.

As she reached the scratchy dry bush, she took one more look back. Piringa was still busy courting, far too interested in his newest conquest to pay her any attention. Fine by her. She was an independent filly at heart, and she may as well investigate this noise while he was busy. She ducked into the trees, the bushes scratching against her flanks and snagging her dark tail.

She recognised the noise she had heard as she pushed past a petrified bush, still with seed pods hanging from it. Whatever had made the noise had rattled this bush.

Jiba stepped back a few paces and sniffed at the bush, taking her time finding the scent lingering there. A brumby. A colt. She lifted her head, ears alert and nostrils flaring. They had a shadow, did they? Well Piringa may not be much but a younger colt stood no chance, and Jiba took it upon herself to tell him so. She nickered quietly so not to alert Piringa, but to invite the colt out of hiding. He couldn’t have got far in all this dense undergrowth. She kept her dark eyes peeled and her ears trained on the bush for any sign of movement.

[Ehetere]

Piringa all but audibly crooned as Kiata stepped closer. She was whole worlds more accommodating than Jiba had been, and for that he was thankful. Jiba had been a headache and a half, trying to impress her was like trying to shift a boulder – no easy task. Kiata was just as alluring as he remembered her, despite the lack of white-flecked coat. Running his soft muzzle along her neck, he moved to groom her withers with practiced care.

He gave a deep, amused whicker. “Few fillies can boast being as memorable as you – you left quiet the impression on me, but it seems time blinded me to see it.”

He was overjoyed when she rewarded him with compliments of her own – bringing on a strange but overpoweringly good soaring sensation, as though none were as grand or fantastic as he in that moment. There was a sparkle in his eye at the mention of running – running! Oh how he missed it, as Jiba did not enjoy it nearly as much as he thought she should. He was a little footsore; he and Jiba had traveled quite the distance that day, but maybe there would be races to come?

Nuzzling and snuffling at her neck, he could not help but feel very, very happy. “I am lucky indeed to come across you again, Kiata.” Her name sent a thrill down his spine, and his eyes shone with affection for the lovely filly.

* * *

Lark cursed his carelessness. Despite his efforts, he had managed to attract more attention to himself. There was no noise, and he let out the breath he had been holding. Maybe he had gotten away with it. Starting to move from his place, he froze again. Hide brushing past a trunk. The snap of a twig. She had heard him.

He could not move now, and there was nothing left to do. He stayed stock still as her footfalls came closer and closer. She passed that rattling bush that had given him away, and came closer still. Why did she not flee as all young fillies should? Piringa had truly managed to snag himself a trouble maker with this one.

A quiet nicker sounded close, very close, and he could see her curious form searching the bush for his hiding place. A stray breath of wind would give away his position immediately despite his camouflage, what choice did he have. What Lark wanted to know really was what she was doing here, and why she was not running like a damsel in distress back to her oh so handsome stallion.

With the quiet sliding of branches and leaves, he detached himself from the shrubbery, assessing her with guarded, brooding eyes. She was bigger up close, taller. It was quite clear that she was older than he, not that this deterred Lark much.

“Why aren’t you back with Lover Boy over there?” he demanded in a grouchy voice, tossing his head in the general direction of the clearing.

[Tiggs]

Kiata was completely enamoured by the compliments. Whether it was her energy levels that made her so receptive or the joy of seeing a familiar face, she was not sure. Likely both. She crooned and rested her head over his back, making small delighted noises as he sated an itch ticking her back.

She was aware that she and Piringa had really only known each other for a day, but with it being so long ago, it felt like they were old friends and as his teeth scratched her withers, it felt like they were discovering each other again.

The diluted bay filly nibbled tentatively at his withers, not nearly so confident as he. She had been running for a long time, and company had been scares since leaving her birth herd. She could have settled with any number of stallions, but it was clear now that her need to keep exploring was to meet Piringa again. His compliments made her pelt prickle in excitement, and she wondered if he might take her with him.

His gentle touch, his warm words. No, she could not let that escape. Kiata the mystery filly was no more. She was almost a mare, and a young stallion like Piringa, handsome and attentive, was what she wanted. “Do you believe in fate?” She asked softly, her head resting over his back, her shoulder resting on his. Could this be fate?


Jiba’s ears flickered forward, watching as a shadow came moving out of the bush. A colt, dark grey in colour and perhaps a year younger than Piringa. He’d yet to fill out, and even she was taller than him. His legs were strangely graceful, and she guessed when he gained his full height, he would then be taller than her.

Her ears flickered back, a warning not to get too close as she eyed him warily. She was foolish, yes, to come into the bush on her own but she was not so oblivious that she did not know what this colt was up to. He might be young, but he could still kick and bite, and if he got what he wanted by force she could hardly fight back without injury.

It was exciting, to be face-to-face with a stranger who might have been following the herd of two. Of course he might just have been passing through, but Jiba was worldly enough to know a colt could hardly resist an opportunity to see let alone talk to a filly.

His voice was deeper than Piringa’s but there was a similarity to it. That could be a coincidence, but the convex dish to his face bore a striking resemblance. Curious. The grulla filly snorted derisively at his question. “Lover boy? Please. I doubt he knows one end of a filly from the other. He seems more interested in frolicking about and exploring.” It was clear from her delivery that she hardly approved of such frivolous activities.

“Why are you hiding down here? Badly, I might add.” She tossed her head in the general direction of the two young brumbies canoodling on the hill. “Which of us were you following? The little bay seems nice, maybe her? Perhaps Piringa – you bare a family resemblance, do you not?” Her own voice was similarly grouchy, hardly sweet and enthusiastic like the bay up on the hill.

[Ehetere]

Piringa sighed blissfully as Kiata rested her head tentatively on his shoulders – a show of trust at the very least. He hoped it was so much more. The delicate little noises she made were music to his ears, and sent little shockwaves of excitement through his body.

She seemed content to remain, which he hoped also meant she would travel with him… in his herd. The realization was rather odd, like coming of age. Jiba had been a companion, a none to cooperative one but a companion none the less. If Kiata joined them, they would certainly make a small but none the less fantastic herd. Piringa was already imagining how they would all shine with their pale coats in the spring sunshine, and how it would highlight the vibrant hues of each of the mare’s coats.

Her gentle voice was even more beautiful than the song of a magpie in the early morning, and again he breathed deep, inhaling her intoxicating scent. “After this? How could I not?” he responded, nuzzling at her cheek.

* * *

The brown filly threw him a warning gesture, hardly a promising sign. His ears had remained pricked until now, but already they were dropping back into their customary position flat against his neck. A hostile filly. Brilliant, just what he was looking for.

Standing a little taller, he threw up his head proudly and arrogantly, unaware this simply highlighted the similarities between him and his brother. The lines of their bodies were clearly very similar, though most may not have known they were full–blooded brothers. Standing tall in the face of contempt, he kept an ear out for any signs of movement from the clearing in case the currently unobservant grey noticed the absence of his filly.

He snorted amusedly at the filly’s comments – her sense of humor appealed to him, but he did not say so. His expression remained steely and reluctant, as always. He explored to gain knowledge, not for the sheer joy of it. What sort of colt would run his mares ragged by dragging them all over the countryside anyway? They should find a nice secure grazing area so the mares could rest while they went on potentially dangerous exploration missions. Maybe Lark was looking for errors of judgment here, but the point still remained in his mind.

Lark laid back his ears and snapped his teeth at her criticism – he had not been hiding badly, she hadn’t even seen him until he revealed himself!

“I was hiding from annoying pesky fillies who don’t know how to mind their own business,” he retorted snappily, stepping around her to try and block her exit.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself – I wasn’t following you… hey, we do NOT! He looks nothing like me!” responded Lark defiantly, glaring down at the steadily less desirable filly. What nerve she had! “What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be fawning over him instead of pestering strangers?”

He took a threatening step forward, posing as a warning, just to see how she would react. He hoped there’d be a little bit of fear there, he could give her a good fright and leave then. He no longer wanted to stay and watch his brother’s antics; his filly was cheeky and unruly. The other one was probably just stupid. Worthless.

[Tiggs]

It was strange how safe she felt with the young stallion. His presence was overwhelming, but she felt nothing less than secure in his company. She supposed that was a good sign, as she intended to spend a long time with him.

She felt like she had a world of questions to ask him, but as the sky was darkening, her eyelids were heavy and she was more than ready to sleep. The closeness and warmth of her rediscovered friend was lulling her closer towards sleep, and so she rested her head over his back and let the sounds of the evening birds and the deep breathing of Piringa wash over her.



Oh, so he was tetchy was he? Jiba snorted and pinned her ears back fully. Fine, two could play at that game. The more he denied it, the closer the resemblance between him and Piringa. Of course this colt’s coat was much darker, but she had seen Piringa’s coat change gradually, and even her own coat changed with the season. She was convinced now they were related. Brothers or cousins, perhaps.

It seemed this colt had inherited a better temper than Piringa, and though the words were harsh and biting, Jiba was undeterred. If anything, a stallion with a temper would be a more formidable sight, and a better choice to follow. Pity he was young, really, else Jiba would find herself more inclined to follow this colt instead.

She tossed her head and huffed. “I know that you lie, I think a filly is just what you were after.” He came forward with a threat, and Jiba took a step back. She lifted her head, bared her teeth a little and prepped one foreleg. If he was going to lash out, so was she. And then Piringa would come. The young peppered stallion was not the most impressive of beasts, but she knew he would protect her from the colt.

“Do I look like the type to fawn? I follow Piringa for his protection and company, not to dote on him.” She lifted her tail and flared her nostrils. “I think it is the other way round. I think it is you who is pestering me.” She silently nipped the air in front of his nose.

[Ehetere]

His own perpetually grumpy stance was mirrored by the filly, whom he continued to glare at. He was annoyed that she did not seem the slightest bit worried about being confronted by a stallion, albeit a young one. She was stupid, clearly.

“No filly of Piringa’s will ever have enough sense in her head to tempt me,” he retorted snidely, sniffing distrustfully in her direction. They were pretty to be sure, but they were also pretty silly. Especially this one, who still was not cowering in fear as she should be.

“You are a filly. Fillies fawn – it is what you do,” replied Lark simply, as though there was no black and white in the matter. He had known frightful bullies of fillies before, so this statement was not quite true, but as they got older and more mellow they all fawned. Even his own mother who had the foulest temper fawned over his grey father like a love-struck two year old.

Lashing his tail, he found himself take a few prancing steps in annoyance. “Do you like being pestered then, since surely you came looking for it.” He shook out his mane and cast a wary glance over his shoulder to make sure his pale brother was not sneaking up on him.

The brown filly was cheeky – coming close to nipping the end of his nose which only had him stamp down heavily on his front two legs a little closer to her. She had more nerve than a pesky currawong intent on ignoring him on a particularly hot summer’s day, which was to say she had a lot of nerve indeed. How could she not care about her own safety? He’d say it again: stupid, senseless and completely reckless.