King of the High Country, [R]

[Corowa]

The large mob of mares grazed, spread through the fringe of snowgums, only half-seen through the pale-barked trunks. The wind sighed through the tops of the snowgums, and Myrrina lifted her head and stood, listening to the sound of the currawong as it called to its mate. Coongulla moved about uneasily at her flank, and she swung around and touched her nose to his, reassured him with a gentle nicker.

Myrrina found herself filled with a sudden, fierce longing. The mare drifted out from the wide-spaced snowgums to stand on the open flat. The first stirrings of her unborn foal had awoken the restless throbbing in her veins, until she could no longer stand still. The bush was quiet except for the sound of the wind and the distant call of the currawong.

A wondering sigh went through her, and Myrrina could hardly contain the terrible sense of longing and loss. She missed him deeply, that great black stallion, her mate. The mare stood with head upflung, sorrow visible in every line of her proud body. Surely, Tingara would return to her once more, would still the aching loneliness that filled her, which burned feverish in her blood.

It was Tallarook that called the mare away. He stood beneath the sheltering snowgums, waiting and watching, wondering what it was that his mother seemed to search so desperately for. Even though he was no more than a yearling, the colt, inheritor of all the wisdom that had been Myrrina’s, could hear the promise of mourning in the call of the mopoke. Whither has gone Tingara, the wind seemed to whisper, and the strain of his loss showed in the mare. Tallarook, watching from the snowgums, felt a cold shiver of dread run down his backbone.

OOC: For Tingara's mares and Talgarno if he wants to drop in, set after the fight with Nepelle.

[yaruka]

Taworri grazed half-heartedly in the midst of the large herd of horses, her silken chocolate coat prickling uncomfortably with the sense of loss that blew on the wind and rang in Myrinna's every action. Every so often she would raise her fine head, blowing softly through delicate nostrils, scenting the wind for any hint of an outcome, listening for any news carried by the mopokes. The Moon Filly hated fights, violence in general, and she had certainly seen enough in her lifetime. She only hoped that this one would not result in the death of one of those proud stallions, though deep down she knew this was about as likely as the sun forgetting to rise. Beside her her liver chestnut son also stirred uneasily. The last born of all her foals, and the only one sired by the King, Barinya was unusually sensitive, like his dam and his half-sister Biara, and he too dreaded the sense of loss on the wind. Occasionally Taworri would move to nuzzle him reassuringly but after a while the colt stopped responding to her touch and only stood and stared, gaze flickering from Myrinna's young colt to the horizon, and back again. Taworri's own troubled eyes searched the edge of the clearing for wise Durroon, longing for the mare's comforting prescense and wisdom more than ever.
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Wirruna grazed not far from Taworri, though she was considerably less troubled than the Moon Filly and her son. An ex-stock horse, the pinto was simply less sensitive than the true brumbies, and though she too hated violence, she had no inkling of the sorrow promised by the very air itself. She was a good, loyal mare though, and her sides were swollen with Tingara's foal for the third year in a row. She loved her stallion, and if she truly realised the magnitude of the fight Tingara was now engaged in she too would be praying for his speedy return. Quahlee, her near-yearling colt, stood uncomfortably by her side, realising his herd mates were upset but having no real idea of the cause. Once he had though to approach Tallarook, but the colt's troubled expression frightened him into keeping by his mother, where it felt safe and secure.

Not too far from Wirruna was her eldest daughter, Kooraloo, liver and white spotted mare perhaps the least troubled of all. She simply did not pay any mind to the affairs of the herd, she had always found the immensity of the group to be oppressive. She had never quite fit in with her half-siblings and Tingara had never paid her any special attention. Being Wirruna's sheltered daughter, she too, had no real idea of the seriousness of the fight, being too young to really remember the bloodbath with Nevada and in any case, not understanding the price a King had to pay at the end of his life. Death had played no role in her existence so far, and so she felt no dread of it even as the uneasy wind stirred her mane and the other horses of the herd trembled with half-understood fear.

[Tiggs]

This was the only chance he was going to get. Uninturrupted time to encounter the remnants of his father’s herd. Gossip flew fast on the wings of the Gang-Gangs. Tingara was fighting a challenger to the throne in Yarraman’s Valley. That was a good half a day’s travel to the north. That meant if the bay painted stallion could find the herd, then he would be able to talk to them without the looming presence of the King to chase him away.

Talgerno was no fool. It was not his intention to steal away any of the mares for himself. He simply wanted to talk with those that had run with his father. It had taken hours of tracking, but finally he had found them. It had taken months to gather the courage to do this, and now he was here, he was lost for words.

The large herd was scattered through the sheltering snowgums. He could hear them up ahead; see a few between the gnarled trunks. Mares, fillies, colts. So many! It was a wonder they were so difficult to find. The King was wise to hide them. Not so wise to leave them, though, but a challenge had to be answered.

His ears flickered at the calls of a colt to his mother. Sons of the King. Sons of his father’s mares. Brothers without blood. Talgarno tossed his head, shaking away the brief flush of anger. Tingara had killed his father, but there was no point to getting angry about it. He only wished he’d had the chance to meet him before he was beaten to a ragged bleeding pulp.

He could not stop a frustrated snort escaping his nostrils, and he froze, glancing about the nearby bush. Was that a shape between the trunks? He had not seen any mares here, but he did not know this country and the foliage could be deceiving. The stallion, not unlike his father in facial features but for colour, kept a keen eye and ear on the perceived shape.


Meanwhile, standing past the snowgums and just as anxious as the rest of the mares was the spotted mare Crayola. Her chestnut and white spotted foal nursed to comfort himself, his sparse tail hardly waggling. Distracted, the mare walked on while Uwan was still suckling and the colt had to abruptly stop and follow at a choppy trot. The mare went to Taworri, the moonfilly, and pressed her quivering muzzle to hers.

Tingara was never gone so long, and the spotted mare missed him fiercely. Her usual calm demeanour was shaken, and she could not even graze for the worry that gripped her big heart. Would her King return? A horrible thought struck her. This was the first year she was not carrying him a foal. Had their luck ran out? The mare whinnied and cast sorrowful eyes to the north. had she failed her King?

OOC: Don't worry about post order for Talgarno and Durroon as they're not with the main herd =)