Songs of Spring [R/Mering's Herd]

[Rivre]

(OOC; Open to Mering's mares only, posting order too please!)

It had taken them almost three nights to reach his secret flat once again; the snow capped tors and gleaming cliffs hard on the heavily in foal and also those who had suffered a bad winter. It had been Mering's first with a herd, and it had not gone all too well if he was honest - grazing had been scarcer than he had imagined and their coats had hung limp, lifeless. Thankfully the sun had returned to the higher plains, and in the open flat the damp grass had produced enough food for itself to grow rather rapidly, at least to fetlock length, and considering no other had been here to graze in years other than them, it seemed to be sweeter than any.

His silver grullo hide itched with dry loose hair, even after having rolled twice on this young day - still it came out in clumps but he remained the same in appearance, coat becoming sleeker as the days past and he grazed on the good grass. Soft brown gaze traveled the gathered mares, and he tried desperately to remember which of them carried his foals; he was sure Boorang did from her distended belly, but the others he could not tell. The two creamies seemed to have fared better over the winter, their coats still glossy silver in the white-reflection of sunlight, Maia and Eira, so beautiful beside Embar and the grey sabino. How lucky he was to have such a rare and beautiful herd! This spring he would fight for their honour more than once if they were seen, but he would do it happily and fiercely - for he did not want to gather any more fillies or mares - he was content to have what he already owned.

Throwing up his head, he arched neck with pride, prancing towards the grazing herd; if only his mother could see him now, proving his father wrong. He went first to Embar, scratching her withers quietly, and then to Boorang, nibbling softly on her mane. To Booralie, he brushed her nose softly with his own, shivers pacing his spine at her touch - how long he had waited for her to come to him. And to Maia, he touch her flank with his, Eira on the other side of him, touching also, and dropped his head to graze again. It was no secret that Mering did not favour any mare of his herd, but he did keep an especially close eye on his silvers, afraid that they might be taken from him in his blindness. As he cropped the long stems (soon to be short the way things were going!) he thought back to his days as a yearling, wandering the Brindle in the hope of gathering some mares - he remembered the sweet creamy mare whom with he had played chase - and the nimble strawberry roan who crested a mane of fiery red. If he had the choice, or the chance, one day he might find her and take her for his own, but not just yet. Three years on, and things were looking brighter than ever.

[stormsnow]

The winter had been kind to Eria; her silver coat still had a healthy sheen, and her soft brown eyes were bright. More importantly, she was part of a herd at last! The silver mare, who was of a rather timid nature, did not normally mix with other brumbies often. But that was until she had encountered Mering and his mares.

Now Eria was part of a herd, something denied to her for so long. She found that being in a herd suited her very well indeed; it was doing wonderful things for her self-esteem, and she was growing more confident by the day. The silver mare had stuck by Maia’s side, simply because having another of her own colour was comforting.

Gradually she had grown in independence, and had gotten to know the other herd members a little. Now Eria grazed on the sweet-tasting grass, stopping once to disentangle an annoying burr from her creamy tail.

She snorted at a gang-gang who screeched as he swooped past in a flurry of feathers, telling all and sundry that he was sure that the young silver grullo had been alone last time he was up here. Suddenly the young mare gave Mering’s mane a playful tug, whinnying mischievously.