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Post by Tiggs on Jun 5, 2010 9:53:17 GMT
Thalera was in a foul mood. Nothing new there, but today he was in an especially bad mood. His temper was hot, and anything was liable to make him lash out with hooves, teeth or words. He drove his mares along the creek, pushing the yearlings when they slowed and ignoring their need to rest.
The stallion was not going anywhere in particular, but standing around gathering dust was just making him angry. He’d lost another fight recently, and it was only luck that kept his mares safe (he’d been on another futile search for Illoura at the time). Illoura, another reason to be grumpy. She’d built him up and hit him down. She’d teased him, made his dreams come true then shattered them all.
Now all he had was his sub-par mares and lazy yearlings. He nipped the nearest one on the rump and squealed loudly. The river to their left was deep and swollen with winter ice melt, and they were caught on the side nearest the men’s hut. Men did not bother Thalera as much as they should, but his stupid mares were wary and Thalera could not be settled with his mares twitchy and nervous.
All this trotting was making him thirsty, so he called a halt to the procession and veered down to the river. He sucked up the cool refreshing water, and waited impatiently while his mares took their time. He threw up his sooty head and made a token effort to ‘look out’ for trouble. Of course Thalera was not expecting anything to happen here; he’d already had too much bad luck for the string to continue.
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Post by Rivre on Jun 5, 2010 15:06:23 GMT
It was a good day, a nervous day. Everything and everyone seemed to be moving - but that was ok with her, after-all, wasn't she the one weaving so precariously through the snowgums? Pale contours moved fluidly, mane almost invisible against her strikingly similar hide, but picking up in the winds non-the-less. Elouera was prized for her colour, and she knew this like she knew that the sun would fall and rise again tomorrow, so today of all the heated spring days, she had chosen to move with the herds and amble to better grazing. A fallen log blocked her path and she slowed her trot to pick up four socked hooves, over-jumping it by miles but pleased with the grace and poise that she managed to do it with. Prized she may be, but graceful? She cared far more about her safety and her silence than much else! Maybe going with the herds had been a little reckless, but it seemed that if all the stallions were dithering over protecting their mares and worrying about each other, there wouldn't be much else to occupy their time.
As she continued the useless track, placing hooves with great care upon the snowgrass and heather, she became aware that someone was traveling up ahead of her. Throwing up peachy golden head, the mare stopped short, black gaze wide with surprise. After she had regained some of her cool, she crept a little closer to the well hidden bay, ears flickering as a nervous sweat broke out on her coat, nostrils flaring quietly. There was more than one horse here! A bay, some yearlings, some other mare and a young handsome stallion. Upon sighting the smutty palamino, the young horse started, but interest gleamed in her eyes. Never had she seen a horse quite like him, and that in itself was intriguing.
Perhaps if she had looked a little harder, she would have seen the mean set of his features, but the waxed leaves obscurded her vision, and the unsuspecting champagne trotted frighteningly quickly into their midsts. She was not entirely sure what possessed her to do so, but their was an oddity to this horse she had yet to figure out. Arching the crest of golden mane, she halted sqaure before him, ignoring the startled snorts and words of the others gathered in prosecsion, eyes never leaving the muscled creature. "It is the wise mopoke who has told of a great sooty stallion; he whispers of desire and of fortune, but is wise to judge on appearance alone?" Nickering her greeting, Elouera mumbled the last of her welcome to herself, instead focusing on standing tall and proud as her mother had once taught her. "I am Elouera, of pleasant places, are you the horse of which the mopoke speaks?" Her entry was dampened a little by the sheen of sweat that glissened on her coat, hinting at her fear and excitment, but none of it was told in her steady gaze and that in itself was an achievment.
Now that she had, had time to introduce herself, she wondered as to why he had been so protective of his mares, and why the set of his face was contorted a little... Had she misjudged him?
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Post by Tiggs on Jun 5, 2010 20:45:04 GMT
The stallion spun, ears flattened as if to punish whatever silly creature had disturbed him and his mares. But what he saw stopped him in his tracks, and whatever harsh words were about to be spoken died on his lips. By Thowra’s Ghost, she was beautiful. It mattered not that under her glorious coat she was not a perfect shape, but Thalera cared not for that. His ambition was to collect all the rare colours, but he had never seen something so wonderful.
Her pale and golden coat was a snip away from being that of the silver fillies, but she was richer in colour, like a pale sunset. The sooty stallion unabashedly stared, drinking in the sight of her. She introduced herself as Elouera, and he could have laughed. Elouera and Illoura, his two most desired mares. Because instantly he knew that he wanted this mare, and he might do anything to keep her.
He finally found his voice, and arched his neck proudly, pale mane cascading about his dappled sooty and golden neck. He flagged his salt and pepper tail and posed. If he was to be confronted with such a wonderful mare, then he too should look wonderful. “I am Thalera, for strength.” He looked smug, and tilted his head graciously. “Yes, it is I of whom the mopoke speaks. I seek only to have the most beautiful mares in the High Country.” He sidestepped away from his mares, as if he didn’t want to be associated with a simple bay and a blue roan.
Thalera approached the mare with short purposeful steps, picking his knees up high and bowing his head to better accentuate his crest. “You are of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. You rival the silver fillies for their rarity.” He reached out his muzzle, nostrils flaring. Her scent was an intoxicating sweet and sour, the salt of her sweat mixed with the scent of simply her. He nickered, a sound deep and to his ear, alluring. He would charm this mare to him if it was with his last breath.
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Post by Corowa on Jun 5, 2010 23:21:22 GMT
Willunga stood with head held high, longing for the stillness of the bush, the gentle touch of that black stallion with whom she could have run for a lifetime. The wind stirred in the narrow leaves of the tea tree, and there, mingled with the sharp smell of eucalypt was smoke from the fires of the hut at Dead Horse Gap.
Her nostrils wide, the mare stirred impatiently. Murungal squealed loudly when she reached over and nipped him, told him to come. The bay yearling, was more interested in that provocative mare than going with Willunga. Even when she gave him another well-placed nip, the colt propped and swung away, and the mare found herself filled with a sudden, fierce anger at her sour-tempered son. There was the ringing smack of her heels, as she struck that bay rump a resounding blow. Murungal threw up his head and swung around to kick her, but Willunga was no longer there to be kicked and the colt squealed and pawed at the ground.
Willunga felt her heart pounding in her chest, her blood throbbing with such restlessness she could hardly stand still. Once, she had thought Thalera the most splendid stallion in the High Country, had thought him a prize to be won. How proudly, she had stepped by his side, filled with a deep affection for this stallion that even the mopokes sung of. Yet, Thalera had hustled them on and on through the rough bush of the upper Crackenback, so that blowing and sweating, Willunga hated the sight of him.
If Murungal had no longing to come with her, he could stay with Thalera until he, himself, was driven off, for she would not return. Willunga called softly to Bindaree, and then she melted away into the surrounding bush, soundless and without track. The bay mare was only half-seen through whippy saplings and scrubby tea-tree. She picked her way quietly on up a rough outcrop of rock, travelling north to the snowgrass flats and timbered ridges of Dead Horse Gap.
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Post by Rivre on Jun 6, 2010 8:01:40 GMT
Elouera watched with careful gaze as the handsome stallion approached her, his salt and pepper hues graced by the sunlight, and under-lying smugness apparent in his gaze. His haughty attitude did not bother her, and neither did the fact that these mares had yet to welcome her, she was just as intrigued his his rare colour as he was by hers. "Your compliments are wasted on me, Thalera of strength," she nickered gently, her own pale nose extended to brush his own, electricity chorusing through her veins and raising the hair of her neck. "To win my heart you must prove that you can protect me, that you would value my company. Convince me on this, and I will happily follow you."
From the corner of her eye, she saw the bay melt into the bush, leaving what appeared to be her yearling colt also. Did she intend to leave? And had not this young stallion realized yet that his mares were parting ways? She turned amused gaze back to the sooty, excitement making her jealous of something - but she was not quite sure what of. "It may interest you to know that one of your mares has just left," she whinnied, nose rising to salute the heavens, pride shinning through the reserved facade, hooves placed so carefully on the patch of grass below her, "She melted into the snowgum thicket with a silence that rivals my own - like a silver horse herself."
Something in her stirred, like a long lost wild instinct, one that told her to leave, to run, to take flight. Perhaps it was just the wind, for it had gotten a little stronger, the sky above beginning to cloud. Spring - it would never be simple enough.
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Post by Ehetere on Jun 7, 2010 1:19:36 GMT
This spring, two silver shadows were flitting through the bush in the pursuit if Thalera and his herd. Illoura, the Silver mare, and her new Silver son. The pale creamy had been absolutely overjoyed when she had given birth to her beautiful son in the last breaths of winter in a fierce storm – so like the one that the Silver Brumby himself had been born in all those years ago. Illoura was certain that history was about to repeat itself.
Wirriwirri – for the whirlwind – was a stunning example of a colt. His creamy coat was a shade or two darker than her own, but that would pale out over time. Illoura herself could not have envisioned a more perfect foal – he was everything she’d hoped for and more. Handsome and swift, with a wide blaze and three stockings that so resembled his father’s, surely the colt had received only the best features of his parents.
Illoura had watched with overflowing pride as he stood mere minutes after his birth, and after a short rest was cantering around as surer than a rock wallaby across precarious terrain. Of course, he was treated better than a prince in her care, with all of Illoura’s praise and attention being lavished on him like no other. Well, after producing such a fantastic foal, she could not help but show it off could she?
Her first stop had been that horrid chestnut mare who had been the catalyst for this foal really, and oh the fun she had flaunting her colt in front of her. She passed a number of herds as she moved about in the fresh new season of spring, teaching her colt about how to be silent, how to hide, how to disappear as she went. And now she was finding one of the horses she most wanted to show Wirriwirri to – his father.
In truth, Illoura had considered visiting Thalera later in the autumn months after she had finally exhausted her adventurous spirit enough in summer, however there had been a small problem. Which was actually a rather large one. She had seen other mares grow fat with foals before, but she had not thought it would happen to her. Her condition had only been made more obvious by her lithe frame – and Illoura could not bare to look at herself, let alone let other horses see and laugh at her. So she had hidden away from company, even Wilgee who laughed at her foolishness, until she gave birth and regained her figure, and gained a new shining foal.
Ducking through the trees on Thalera’s easy to follow trail, Illoura’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of voices, and she paused to steady her son before creeping forward with the utmost care and silence. Proud welled in her again when Wirriwirri followed with the same quiet care, not making a noise with his delicate hooves on the damp earth.
Peering out from the branches, she spotted Thalera’s tell-tale herd of blandly coloured mares. But there was a new addition – a shiny palomino who was speaking to the sooty, who she did not fail to notice was even more handsome this year. Her gaze narrowed – would Thalera give up on her that easily only to find some half-decent substitute? The mare was pretty to be sure, but her beauty could not compare to that of she. She was Illoura, and was she not the most sought after filly in the whole High Country, at least in Thalera’s eyes?
Sniffing slightly with her head held high, she emerged from the trees with Wirriwirri trotting proudly at her side. She herself trotted very slowly, sinking down and rising so her mane and tail would dance in the golden sunlight. She paid Thalera no heed, nor to his mares and certainly not this new mare. She dipped her shapely muzzle into the cooling refreshing waters, drinking long an deep. Wirriwirri attempted to copy her, only to pull back with a surprised squeal. The water was so cold!
Nuzzling her son, Illoura continued to ignore the sooty stallion, walking over in the direction of the trees again with Wirriwirri on her heels. She came to a halt just before the treeline and stopped to graze, waving her silver tail about just to catch the sooty’s eye. If Thalera wanted her company again, he’d do something about it, else she and her son would disappear into the trees never to be seen again.
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Post by Tiggs on Jun 8, 2010 14:29:22 GMT
Thalera took the opportunity to nuzzle her pale tan nose, delighting in the feel of her whiskers on his blazed muzzle. Compliments wasted? Liar, every mare loved compliments. He knew that for a fact. You could get anywhere with a well-placed compliment. He nickered, and nudged her peachy cheek. “My reputation enough should persuade you. If you were to join me, you would be cherished, enamoured, doted on.”
Thalera’s version of ‘company’ was not likely what she had in mind. Thalera was purely interested in her colour and the prestige she would bring him. He spared no through for her personality and her feelings, but he knew enough not to mention that now. He had to convince her to stay, and he would tell her any lies to accomplish that.
She seemed to be changing the subject, and he shot a cursory glance to the bush in which Willunga had disappeared into. Thalera gave a snort and tossed his head. “She will be back.” He said, sure of himself. The way the sun cast over her beautiful coat was far more interesting than his boring bay mare. She was nothing like a silver mare, he didn’t care if she never came back if this mare would take her place.
It was as if thinking of the silver fillies summoned one, and whatever drivel he had been about to spill next died on his lips. He stared in awe as Illoura trotted down to the river. His heart began to race, and his blood warmed. He half believed he was seeing a ghost gain, but there had never been a colt in his dreams. A wonderful silver colt.
Turning in a daze, he walked down the bank to meet her but she turned and headed back to the trees. He made a small sound of protest then launched into a lope and caught up to her by the treeline. “Illoura…” Oh how beautiful she was. So wondrous, yet so cruel. How many times had she left him now?
He nickered and came closer, reaching out his muzzle to touch her flank. His muzzle met solid flank and her cascading flaxen tail lashed around to sting his cheek. Despite the affront, the stallion gave a deep nicker of satisfaction. “It is you.” He breathed, “You came back to me.” He reached out for her muzzle with his own, only to be rebuffed. He snorted in indignation, some of his normal ire sneaking back into his voice.
“What game are you playing? Look at me, Illoura. Where have you been?” He asked, nay, demanded. If she thought she could breeze in and ignore him, she had another thing coming. He glanced to the peachy mare, feeling torn. Illoura was a pest, but a beautiful perfect mare. Elouera was new and coy, and he had to be careful now, or he could lose both. A price he could not afford.
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Post by Rivre on Jun 8, 2010 17:20:56 GMT
The contors of his chest amazed her, ribbed with an under-lying muscle, the wonderfully textured palomino smudges dribbling into the darker hues of his pepper lined banner. He was certainly new, and he was certainly doting on her; nuzzling his own golden cheek in return, brown eyes filled with careless mischief, she nickered her reply. "I do not doubt that I would be well protected by a creature of such fine standards as yours." The bush seemed strangely quiet, as quiet as it may be when the silence was disturbed by the nervous twitching of the gang gangs, or the wattle flower blowing cautiously, in a heated silence that hinted someone was moving close by, holding their breath... Hide flecking as if a fly disturbed her, itching, lobes swivled to crane for a sound, a hint - but this wasn't necessary.
From the bush stepped a creamy mare, golden sunlight hues of white and ivory, beautiful and clean limbed, with colt foal at foot, high stepping in the knowledge that she was prized. It was the nervous silence of the silent horses that this mare had brought with her and what she had sensed from so close, and yet Thalera seemed to pay heed to none of it, dancing on over to welcome the newcomer. Or was she a newcomer? It seemed he knew this, Illoura? Well she was just as fabulous as this mare! Just as rare, perhaps even more so - for she had never met another of her colour besides her mother. Just as perfect! And try as she might not to be jealous, Elouera found herself dragged into the mess of class and coat, arching her neck so that the rays of pure light refracted from glistening peachy mane and neck, the two blending together like a mirage, only shadow defining them as two seperate things, she went high stepping also, trying harder than she ever had before to line her fissure with grace, hooves landing daintly and rising quickly again. It was almost a dance. Prancing the way she did, she did not reach Thalera quickly, but that had never been her intention. Throwing up her finely chiseled head she let out an enticing nicker, sweet but sure, mixed with the promise of freedom and ownership if he were to come away.
This Illoura may have been splendid, but Elouera was the younger, she did not bear a foal, or the evidence of one in her slightly larger sides. And as she stood posing, waiting upon his reaction, Elouera wondered as to what kind of a horse she had become of recent - traveling with the crowd, seeking to be owned, willing to be horrid in order to satisfy her need to be loved. Well, of course, she was still the sensible and quiet mare she had been renowned for, but she also now played more to the strengths of her name - of pleasant places she was, and of pleasant appearance too. Maybe this stallion was suited to her, for he seemed to carry some of the arrogance she had adopted today.
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Post by Ehetere on Jun 9, 2010 1:20:48 GMT
It seemed her entrance had the desired effect, and a cheeky smile pulled at the silver mare’s soft lips as she saw her sooty stallion’s expression out of the corner of her eye. Still refusing to pay him any heed, she stretched and arched her neck down excessively to scratch a non-existent itch on her leg, letting her silver mane ripple down like a gentle wave. Let Thalera ignore that!
She had to stop herself from outright grinning as he left the other mare standing there to come to her. Humph, as he should. She was a Silver Brumby, what could the other mare boast other than a shiny coat? Thalera whispered her name, and a sense of righteous triumph surged through her. But she could not stop yet, for surely part of her allure was her mysteriousness. Elusive was her very nature, and she would tease Thalera until the cows came home.
He touched her flank, and she gave him a flick of her silken tail in reply as though he was a pesky fly. The fact he had not taken affront just yet was proof he really had missed her, an incredibly satisfying feeling. His voice sounded as though he were talking to the most revered of spirits, and Illoura could not help but arch her neck once more and swish her tail about seductively, stretching a hind leg.
When she shifted so he could not reach her muzzle, she noted that some frustration had returned to his voice, which was not unwelcome where she was concerned. In normal circumstances she would have continued playing this game until Thalera’s attempts at catching her attention became absolutely ridiculous, but another variable had been added here. That shiny mare.
The peachy mare’s antics had not gone unnoticed by Illoura, who had acquired a hard glint in her eyes. She would not be challenged as the most beautiful mare here, certainly not by this unknown stranger. Turning to face Thalera before his attention could be recaptured by the dancing mare, she reached out to greet him, nuzzling at his nose with previously unknown affection. Stepping elegantly but purposefully, she half obscured Thalera’s view of the other mare, arching her neck and raising her tail a little higher so it would cascade towards the earth like a waterfall.
“Thalera,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with warm certainty. Her voice contained the same warmth, mirroring his own awed tone he had taken with her before. This was not the game she had intended to play, but the pale creamy was good at improvising. After all, she’d had practice.
“Come, meet your new son,” she said a little louder so that other mare would hear, dipping her head to nudge the colt forward. She got to Thalera first, and had proven herself to be fantastic in every way. She had produced possibly the handsomest son Thalera would ever sire, and who knew what ugly disproportionate foals this peachy mare might give him. Perhaps flaunting her foal so was foul play, but Illoura was certainly not above it. In fact, there was virtually nothing Illoura was not above. Selfish, she lived only to serve her own personal desires, and did whatever was required to obtain them.
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Post by Tiggs on Jun 11, 2010 19:10:38 GMT
She wasn’t answering his questions, naturally. Why would she, the arrogant mare! He felt the urge to nip her, tell her of his displeasure but then Elouera came dancing over, her peachy coat glistening in the dappled sunshine, her fine legs beating a pattern on the ground. Thalera found himself staring over at her, falling for the enthralling movement.
He nickered back to her, answering her enticing call with one of his own. Before he could reach out to her though, Illoura was there again. She flaunted her silver coat, and Thalera’s attention was brought back to her. His dark eyes were trapped by her cascading mane and tail, his neck loosely arched as his head hung distracted. Illoura then spoke, and pushed the colt forward. His son? He should have realised. Who else could sire such a well-proportioned son?
He sniffed cautiously at the silver colt, nosing it’s whispy mane and pushing his handquarted experimentally. He had paid little attention to the foals he had sired last spring, but this foal was different. He was everything Thalera could have wished for in a progeny. Of course it would be Illoura to give him such a gift. “Illoura, he is healthy and strong. He should be named Matong, for the strength and power he has inherited from me.” There was not a soul in the High Country who would accuse Thalera of modesty.
He glanced over Illoura’s back at Elouera, and wondered if she could sire him a colt so strong with a colour no brumby could describe. What a sight they would make, Illoura with her silver son and Elouera with a peachy son of his blood. Thalera had to have them both. There was no way he would let either of them escape him.
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