Neither Vigor nor Valor [R/C]

[Rivre]

Autumn had come all too soon to the South, burning up the verdant landscape, crippling the brumbies who wandered across the loosing pastures, leaving candlebarks ill to the winds that tore rabid across the vast emptiness; some had come, to graze the remaining wattle and stem, but only few this year - to the Tin Mine. He supposed the rest formed ranks on the Stockwhip, as clever as it may seem - he preferred to keep clear of the meandering stallions and their mares, one could never be protective enough at this time of year. Injury sustained now, was unlikely to fade until the spring, so it would be wise to steer away from violence until something truly threatened.

Balaroo was content for now, wondering a little way from his group of mares, surprisingly beautiful in the sunlight that had yet to be stolen by the cold seeping tide, golden tan hide glistening in the rays that betrayed his vision. So far the day had been quiet, and at long last the pain of his shoulder had subsided, leaving an empty ache, one that did not harm him physically, but mentally; he feared to return of that ugly tempered stallion from which Wyralla had been stolen, not for himself, but for his chestnut mare. She had so hated that one, and what if he did not beat him the next time? They were so evenly matched!

His coat had grown a little to help insulate the quivering stallion, but not yet had it made any difference really, he could feel the sharp knife's edge of winter creeping up on them, and it disturbed him greatly, This year had gone too fast. And then, something glistened in the distance, and white head was thrown up, lobes quelled into stillness, only the quiver of his flank now visibly moving. Chest rose and fell with deep gusting breaths, just as something - someone- crested the rise. A cremello stallion. Muscles tensed, and anger set in his limbs - this was no day to steal mares! Gaze flickered to Qana, to Alkina and to Wyralla, to Baroogala and to Imbrium - to the beautiful collection of mares, and they belonged to him, not this stranger!

He rose in a salute, screaming his wild challenge to the queer cream one - his manners were something he took pride in, and meeting this horse in a battle (whether he sustain an injury or not) would not change his way of going about it. He set off at a powerful canter, muscle rippling, hooves beating against the dew-covered earth, slippery. He would not waste energy in cavorting, or showing off his strength - for that would already be obvious in his sleek appearance, no, this would be a fight of intellect, for the two were quite evenly matched. He slowed dramatically to a halt, leaving dull tracks where hooves had slid, again rising in a half-rear.
"Who are you to disturb the peace of our day? One should not seek to steal when winter is close and surely injury will be gained. I protect these mares with my life - if yours must be threatened, I would not hinder to do so." He spoke in grave tones, and although he knew himself rendered unable to kill another, this horse did not - and he would use that to his advantage. He would give him the chance to repent and leave him be - but he doubted the chance would be taken.

As he waited, he thought longingly of the spring days that were to come, of his mares and their foals - his foals. What reasons did this horse fight for? For beauty, for mares, for pride? Well, he fought for more, for he fought for love, for family, and for life itself. If it was to be his fate to loose all of that this day, then death was more comforting than fate. He would not let that happen.

OOC; Open to Jirrand ONLY. Mares - I have a herd thread that will be posted up soon, so you may comment on the fight (which will have already happened) in that thread.

[Ehetere]

The air was crisp that afternoon. Birds still called and chattered in the trees, but their voices were less numerous than normal. Winter was coming, and every creature could feel it almost like a presence, from the chill in the air to the unsettled weather. It was a reprieve from the oppressive heat that summer brought, but promised the howling wind and biting cold. How very melancholy.

For Jirrand, the handsome cream and silver stallion, it was not a time to rest however. He had a family to take care of, but in the back of his mind there was still the niggling need to prove himself to the world, to be respected and revered rather than hated and feared.

Coming south into new territory for the winter was necessary, and Jirrand had wanted to be sure he knew a place well before he had to navigate around in the disorientating whiteness of snow. He wanted to know of any other threats in the area too – his mares were too precious to him for him to risk them at the mercy of an unknown stallion. So he’d hidden them well while he went out scouting.

It quickly became apparent that his trip was not going to be uneventful – prints of a decent sized herd were spotted quite early, and he went to investigate the stallion and determine whether he would have to fight for winter grazing grounds before it was even winter yet.

Coming over the crest of a hill, he spotted the herd rather quickly. They were no inconspicuous bunch, and their colours stood out against the peaceful landscape, bathed in a rose coloured hue. The stallion was just as easily spotted, his coat gleaming in the light like he had placed himself so. Jirrand could tell, even from this distance, that the stallion was a similar age to himself, but all the same looked strong. He was confident he was more experienced in fighting than most other stallions his age, but he was not heavily muscled like some others, being more of an all rounder – swift on his feet but could still pack quite a punch.

Jirrand then came to the problem of what to do, but his own question was answered almost before he could ask it with the angry roar of the golden bay echoing across the country. So there was to be a fight then? It seemed like the pale stallion had little choice in the matter, so half reared, perfectly balanced, and trumpeted his own cries to the sky. He did only fight when his mares were threatened, or his own life, and his looked like one of the latter situations. His mares were safely hidden away, and would not leave. Niggling thoughts of how he’d lost his only mare to a brute of a stallion played in the back of his mind, but he pushed them away. He was no colt now, he was a stallion in his prime. He knew how to fight, and knew it well.

He was unimpressed by the bay’s pretentious manner. He was the son of a Nightrunner and a Silver Brumby, but he did not think himself so high in the world. This Sun Stallion did seem to think he was afforded the attention of others before he had earned it. Jirrand was a fair horse, and felt that none should be raised above another because of their colour. Or below others in his case.

“I come and go where I please,” replied Jirrand, “It is not your land, so I am free to do so. If you have a problem with me being here, you will have to make me leave. It is not your place to say what I can and cannot do.”

His voice was goading, scolding, even though he was no wiser or older than the Sun Stallion. He suspected he was more level headed however, his plainer if still lovely mares were already an indication of that.

[Rivre]

There was a queer thing in the eyes of his adversary, and as he stood, waiting upon his reply, he finally realized what is was. Did this stallion think he was pompous? He stopped the weary sigh from evading his lips, instead choosing to gaze solemnly at the cream and silver stallion; why was it that whatever he did, wherever he went and whatever he said, other horses always believed him to be vanity stricken? He had no care of colour! It was not coat that defined a horse, and he would easily swap to be a bay or a chestnut if given the chance - of all of them - this horse should have known the burden of a rare colour.

His words finally coloured the air around of him, snide and petty words chosen to insult and to anger. Of course he did not own this place, what a stupid thought - but he did reside here, and letting a rogue stallion graze in such close proximity to his little band, would be even sillier on his part. Ears pinned back, he threw his head up a little higher, "I can see what you make of me Silver - but you are wrong, if pride and valor are what you seek, you shall find none of it here. I am no Sun stallion." He had heard tales of the wickedness of his kind, but he was only part of that, he did not belong to their evil temper of strange ways, he was his own horse, as was the right of it.

Civilities were over, and it could be seen in both of their expressions, Balaroo had no time to waste with niceties if others immediately regarded him as 'above the rest' or so it was believed. He stood square, and then rushed in, dodging nimbly for his size; he did not lay a hoof on the horse yet, merely danced around him, receiving light blows, until he stood before him once more, rearing. He had received all the blows he intended to feel, now it was his turn. Diving he snaked towards the face of the silver, cantering low at his shoulder at the same time as biting at his eyes. He felt teeth slice flesh and saw the blood begin to roll across eyes. He couldn't be sure where they stood now, for something had grabbed him by the withers, biting in and in and in.

As soon as he felt it, he began to roll, down towards the earth in a tangle of legs and teeth, he felt the grip go slack as the pair went down. In a scramble he was up, ready but aching, and then he was rearing, plunging hooves in an attempt to smash them on on the other's back.

[Ehetere]

Jirrand snorted. No horse could read his thoughts and this stallion certainly could not. How could any horse claim he was not what he clearly was? Jirrand was no full Nightrunner, nor full Silver brumby, and he had never lived as either but had received fear and spite from other horses all the same. In his experience, it was very difficult for any animal to avoid the clichés that involved their heritage, especially if they were brought up so.

He did not comment however, as the other stallion was already sizing him up, then darting forward. Baring his teeth defensively, he shifted to keep his red eye away from the sun stallion, so he would not be caught by surprise. It was more difficult than expected, as the stallion insisted on moving about, and left Jirrand only landing a few blows of no particular consequence. This would not win him a battle, and boy did he know it.

Then the sun stallion was rearing before him, and though he did his best to avoid the oncoming charge, the last of the sunlight had blinded him and rendered his retreat rather clumsy. Teeth slashed at his shoulder, and he tried to right himself – clamping at the golden horse’s withers. The grip he managed was good, but the sun stallion did something rather unexpected – he rolled downwards, dragging Jirrand’s already overbalanced form with him. His teeth slipped, and he felt skin being pulled with them.

His legs were tangled with the other stallion, but the goold horse got to his feet first, leaving the pale creamy stallion to roll hurridly to the side to avoid a pair of heavy hooves smashing into him. They thudded into the earth just beside his back as he used the momentum to rock to his feet again, squinting through the last bright rays of day. If only night would come sooner, this might quickly return to his favor.

As it was, he would just have to try his hardest with this handicap. Launching himself forward, he pivoted sharply on his haunches to swing his hindquarters around, swinging his leg out in an underhand move that attempted to trip his challenger, and lame if possible. It was a disasterous injury for any stallion with a herd, especially so close to winter, but it may be his last chance if daylight insisted on remaining for any longer.

[Rivre]

Balaroo shook with the effort of swinging his hindquarters back, trying in vain to escape the wicked blow to the foreleg; it would lame him for sure. Shaking his head in anger, and with a small half-rear, he rounded on the silvery horse already feeling the weight of his injured leg, teeth aiming for the withers where hopefully they would get a hold. His teeth felt strong and sure, but that did not mean they would land exactly right.

To his surprise, they came to meet skin only a little off where he had been trying to grab, and the hold was good - at least - he could feel the sinking of his teeth into flesh and then meeting something harder. All the while he felt the struggles of the great stallion beneath him, in turn being battered, only making him cling on the harder. He must win this fight!

[Ehetere]

His leg connected with its intended target, and it felt like a very solid hit indeed. He was in an awkward position to use this new advantage, and could not escape the hard bite of the other in time: the small gain on the golden stallion may have just cost him dearly.

Squealing in pain, he shook himself violently in an effort to escape the clutches of the big brute. But the grip was a good one, and no matter how hard he kicked and struggled it seemed like he would never get free.

Fatigue began to set in, and Jirrand knew that he was very nearly spent. Planting his feet surely into the earth, he wrenched his body around and free with a ghastly ripping of skin. He could feel warm blood running over his shoulder, but the second he was released he was off the way he had come, legs shaking with exhaustion as he cantered away.

Conceding defeat was a hard task, however with winter on the way and three anxious mares waiting for him, he could not afford to fight for a minute longer, lest he be beaten into the dirt. The injuries he received would surely stiffen him for at least a week, and he would need to find more good grazing so he might heal sufficiently by the time winter came.

The golden stallion had won the right to this area of grazing, which meant more traveling for the pale creamy. He did not look back, and hoped the injury he had caused the Sun Stallion’s leg would hinder him from coming after him.

[Rivre]

Balaroo shook from the effort of standing, and followed the opposing stallion only a few paces, as a warning; his leg was stiffening quickly and worry glazed his gaze as he wondered as to what may happen to his beautiful herd during such a harsh winter - but he let the thought slide and tunred on his heel to face the watching mares.

Rising in a silent half-rear, a salute to their honor, he ambled back towards them, noble and slow, hoping that he didn't look as silly as he felt. No matter how miuch he may have grown since his last year, fights seemed to follow him wherever he wandered. Perhaps he would have many more to come, now that his herd comprised of such beautiful and rare brumbies?

Well he would be careful this coming spring to lay-low and keep to himself and his herd - he could do with a season a rest before the fighting began again.

OOC: I think that's it for me Thanks Ehetere!