Clouds of Grey [O/Balaroo's Herd]

[Rivre]

Winter came like a torrent to the high-country - spiralling, the frosted air, through snowgum and candlebark copse, winding icy white flakes that covered the ground and still fell, steadily, steadily - like a sheet of frozen rain. It was not a time to wander aimlessly, not for the wild horses, for grazing was limited at the best - and with a herd of foaling mares to protect, a stallion could only be so hopeful. Merely the sad echo of birdcall could be heard now, over the howling gales, occasionally, when they fell still, something would rustle nervously in the bush and scrub, a wombat maybe.

For a while he had stood watching the ambling brumbies, golden coat thick and now a mucky dun colour, wet from the rainfall, eyelashes dripping with the freezing liquid; Balaroo had led his mares to the haunt of man - not exactly a wantsome sight, but comforting none-the-less, to be able to keep one eye always on the activity of the queer wranglers. He could smell their stale fire, and knew that they had left some nights ago, before the mountains became impassable, but it did not ease his nerves. He looked down at them adoringly, picking out Qana's bay smudge, and Wyralla through the snowfall - ears flickered forwards and pride glowed in deep brown eyes. Although flecked in snow and sopping wet, his colour was still evident some and muscle defined by the cold; he went limping towards the huddled group, wincing at the pain of his lamed foreleg - from his fight with the silver horse. Nose stretched, quivering, as if it were the first time he greeted each of them, admiring the individual coats and weary eyes as he passed among them, nibbling softly on Baragoola's mane and rubbing flank to Imbrium. He had quite a herd now. Gaze fell to each mare in the storm, and he murmured their names quietly to himself; Qana, Wyralla, Imbrium, Baragoola, Alkina - all of them beautiful, personality and appearance.

The sudden softness that entered him made the cold seem inappropriate, and showed some in his call, "Come away into the trees!" It did not seem right to have mares that were in-foal to him so openly... available? Oh well, what did it matter? He would put them near the trees, sheltered from one side so that the snow didn't blow into their eyes. Setting off at a powerful trot, he gazed wondrously at the soft blanket of white - so glorious and clean - and he kicked up his heels in a playful buck, showering the air with a fine mist of spray from his coat. After only a few strides of canter he had to pull to a sorry halt, swinging around to face the collection of horses that followed. Where the snow had been unearthed, a green tint could be seen, and Balaroo lowered his head to inspect it, starting at the small stems of snowgrass that had sprouted. There wasn't much, but enough for the mares to have something at least - as well as the few leaves left on the otherwise bare branches of an egg and bacon bush. It seemed winter had not set properlly into the ground yet, if grazing was still to be found, and not flattened by the frosts.

OOC: Open to mares/fillies/ BALAROO'S HERD and youngsters looking for a beating. Only younguns though, as Bal has an injury and is not yet fit and fighting.

Post order please!