Bad Juju [Open!]

[Rivre]

For a moment she seemed to have captured the attention of the sooty stallion, and she crested the poll of her neck, pawing daintily at the ground at his reply; how unlike her to be graceful - she had not known it to be in her. The creamy, Illoura, was devilish indeed - stealing the gaze of their subject by wittingly placing herself between the two of them. Rude and uncannily like something she would have done today, Elouera rose in a half rear, tossing fine head with joyous freedom that it should be so fine a day she should win the affections of such a stallion as Thalera; half-poised in the sunlight, a one-tone mare, spare the white socks, she called - long, loud and mocking to all those who dared rise against her, as she fell back to the earth, watching curiously as Thalera nosed the creamy colt. Could this be his son? No, a mare of such fine limbs could not bare something so stocky, surely it was not her own? Pft, what did it matter to her? She could produce foal of such great strength and beauty that all the stallions in the high-country would come running, and she would - to prove this Illoura wrong.

Swallowing the jealousy that rose like bile in her throat, Eloura pranced towards the group, tail flagging, ears pricked and gaze trained on the smutty palomino, pulling to a gentle halt only a meter from his shoulder. She had placed herself conveniently really, so that to touch his cheek she would have to stretch luxuriously before him, mane spilling over neck and chin bobbing in her excitement. It was a soft brush, lasting only part of a second before she withdrew, only to touch him again at the wither and the shoulder in the same manner. Eyes soft, she moved so that her flank touched his shoulder, rump to head - teeth grazing below his neck and moving in slow circles. After a while, she began to scratch harder, trying as she might to relive any itches he may have.

The call of a gang gang startled her into a playful buck, and away she spun, dancing and kicking towards the river. Lowering searching lips to the tepid waters, Elouera thought of how wonderful her life should be with her stallion - receiving what she gave to him in grooming and in love and giving what she could in return. Thirst quenched, she pivoted neatly on her heel, despise returning to her gaze as Illoura fell into her sights like an unwanted gumnut; how petulant her features were - a sign of not only great arrogance but also of great stupidity. At least her up-bringing had tamed her features into kindness, and not bitter fury.

[Ehetere]

Regaining his attention had been far too easy. Illoura crooned and snuffled about her colt’s ears, proud he stood tall and bold as his father assessed him. She did not fear his response – how could such a perfect foal get anything but a perfect score?

She snorted – in time Thalera would come to prefer her choice of name. “Aaah, but he is Silver is he not? A Silver colt… How could I name him for anything but the wind? He will be swift and strong and handome… just like his sire.”

Illoura knew herself to be swifter than the sooty, or at least past evidence seemed to suggest this, but the compliment could not be ignored. Was that possibly the first obvious one she’d given Thalera? Really, she thought she was giving him a compliment even being here in the first place, and this Silver colt was another. How many compliments she had given! And this was how he repaid her. Well then.

Thalera seemed happier than a stockman in an entire herd of creamies – he knew not which way to turn. Needless to say, Illoura was far from impressed. Was she not the one for whom he had always searched? The silver filly named at birth for her beauty – how could a peachy mare hope to compete with that.

The answer came swiftly as the mare pranced about like a love struck yearling, coming to a halt and nuzzling at Thalera’s sooty face. Tut – this mare knew nothing about keeping a stallion’s attention. Sure, she would have it for an indefinitely short time, but then she would grow fat with child and lose her beauty. She would become one of the herd. Illoura would remain elusive forever at this rate – she hated sharing anything.

Ah well. Denying and teasing Thalera was only fun while he was a captive audience, and if this silly mare wanted to join his herd, so be it. He would not be having her. Slinking around his rump as that silly peachy mare spun away – in Illoura’s opinion with all the grace of a foal with four left hooves – she deliberately ran her body along his side. Flicking her silken tail so it would wrap around one of his hind legs momentarily, she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“When you are done with your new plaything, see if you can find me. I might be long gone, so make your choice.”

The sooty had to get his priorities straight. She was here, now. Shocking enough in its self, but with a Silver colt at foot. She promptly refused to let Thalera enjoy both her company and that of this new annoyance. Sliding around under his chin, she gave his chest a playful flick with her tail before setting off in the direction of the trees in a floating canter, pleased when Wirriwirri dropped easily into stride beside her. He had inherited her smooth movement, thanks to her clean bone structure.

Raising her tail so it would fly like a silver banner, she hoped Thalera realized what he was doing, she really did. Before this filly, he had been so close to nearly holding her indefinitely. Now that was in very serious jeopardy.

[Tiggs]

Thalera snorted at the mare’s response. “The wind? What did the wind ever accomplish? It is invisible! No son of mine will hide away like the stallions of your kind. He will be strong and proud to call himself silver. He needs a name that will reflect his strength and power!” He was distracted from his rant by movement, and the sooty stallion glanced away from Illoura to watch Elouera dance toward him.

He craned his neck, feeling his heart speed as she reached out to him. Her touch drew a nicker from his throat, and he reached to touch her glorious peachy neck as she touched his withers. He shivered with excitement, and lipped almost delicately at her mane. His heart throbbed in his chest. He had not felt this since Illoura last teased him this way. He did not think another mare could make him feel so desired, then Elouera used her teeth on his spine and he groaned. She was a goddess, surely.

Thalera pressed his lips to her lower back, resting his chin there while she soothed itches he had not realised could be satisfied. But then she broke away, left him standing gormless and stunned… what? He watched her go and the world came back into focus around him. Illoura was suddenly there beside him and he thought for a moment she might share the same affection with him.

He brushed his nose against her cheek, nickering softly. But that was not to be. Illoura made her parting words and started away from him. The stallion stamped a fore hoof in frustration. “Illoura!” He called after her, trapped between her and Elouera as if each one held a rope looped about his neck and they were pulling him separate ways. “Illoura come back here!” When that yielded no results, he took a step after her.

Of course Illoura would never listen to him. But she had a weakness now, something to tie her to him. Thalera threw up his head and bellowed the strong call only a stallion could manage. “Son! Hear me. Would you choose the path of wind, forever hidden, forever running? Or would you choose the path of strength? Fight and win your battles? Stand tall and strong in the face of your enemy? Be known for your power rather than cowardice?” Thalera threw up his head, poised on the bank of the Crackenback like the mighty stallion he was. How could any colt resist the future of a champion?

[Rivre]

Elouera watched with careful satisfaction as Thalera pondered, fore-foot raising to fall again with uncertainty. She had made quite the effect it seemed. As she watched, she began towards him again, with all the surfaced grace she could muster, neck arched as his smutty palomino one was with pride. However, he seemed more than angry at her departure, and a challenging call was sent after the two disappearing forms - directed at his son.

Elouera stopped for a moment in her swinging stride, curious; could a foal as young as he really be expected to understand what Thalera offered him? And besides, this Illoura character could easily drive him away if he even attempted to answer the call of his proud father. Nickering sweetly, she began towards him again, coming up at his shoulder quietly to muss his neck, "The colt you call Matong will come once he is ready. She dances for you, and yet does not realize what a foolish mare she is to deny such company - she will live alone and cripple. Whereas I will produce sooty peach colts and fillies fit for a king." Her nicker was soft and doting, but as she finished her hauty speech, another idea came to mind of how she should win his affections. Even though she did not like this mare, for she thought her self worldly-beautiful and above others, but if she could make her return Thalera would be eternally grateful. Throwing mocking call to the snowgums she let forth the words she knew would jibe at the creamy's pride, "Are you too afraid to stay and challenge my beauty Illoura of the winds? Are you so invisible that the trees call you home instead of the want to be with your stallion?"

It was true, that the creamy was older than her - and her coat certainly did not shine as uniquely when subject to the light, so he would be wise to keep what he had for now. "Come, let us rest a while, perhaps the sweet grass will soothe your irritants."All the while checking for movement in the closer branches.

[Ehetere]

Illoura continued to canter, tall and proud, a shining silver mare with her shining silver colt at her side, even as Thalera called her back. She promptly refused to make life easy for the sooty stallion, and he would not be greedy and have two pretty mares. Well, technically he was being greedy choosing her as she was the prettier of the two, but no matter.

She came to abrupt halt, furious, however when he called after their son. Her son. He had not had to carry him in his belly for months on end, did not have to feed or care for him. What ownership did he possibly think he held over her glorious creamy son, who was like Thowra himself?

Wirriwirri thought different. He was too young to understand much of the politics the mares were acting out, and was on the whole rather bewildered by it all. He’d taken to experimentally lipping at the grass, not actually eating any of it, and trying to scratch a particularly annoying itch while his mother was talking with the shiny coated mare and the big brown and gold stallion he guessed was his sire. When this stallion called to him, he was torn. His mother was a fierce creature, proud and strong with a will stronger than the mighty wind itself, and it was this independence he too had inherited.

He stopped, trying to imitate the sooty’s booming voice and failing miserably. He tried again, but his voice was deadened by the furious shrill whinny of his mother, who stood incredulous with her tail raised. Wirriwirri was an independent, and he never particularly liked following his mother’s bossy ways. But she had the milk, and she took him exploring.

Before he really had any chance to make a decision, Illoura was there in front of him, blocking his path with surprising nimbleness; a testament to her clean bone structure and fitness. She might be getting on – sort of – but she was more than a match for her swift son, catching him by his scruffy mane as he made to dive beneath her.

That increasingly annoying mare’s voice easily carried to her sensitive silver-tipped ears and Illoura lay them back flat against her neck in annoyance at almost ever horse in the clearing. But there was a certain festering pit of hatred slowly being reserved for that insufferable flirt of a peach coloured mare standing right over there. How was she suddenly allowed to be dishing out wisdom, if she was indeed the less experienced mare here? Illoura personally wondered whether peachy coats would go well at all with sooty markings – she thought not. Any foals would look like they had perpetually been spending their time in the Boggy. Ridiculous and ugly, just like their dam.

“There is no challenge,” replied Illoura with a confidence about her voice that clearly showed her ego was unmarked. Releasing her son from her rough hold, she gave him another swift, sharp nip in punishment. Calling her wild, high call to the winds that whispered to her, and would whisper to her until the day she died, Illoura took flight.

It was a glorious thing to behold, pale creamy filly stretching out with her mane and tail streaming like spun moonbeams. How could Thalera doubt her beauty? He had the chance to own all the beauty of the Silver brumbies, and he was passing it up for some second rate replacement who was easier to get at than she? And her tratorious son would be punished also, he was loyal to his dam and not his sire. And so she disappeared into the trees leaving a rather shocked Wirriwirri behind staking in disbelief at the place she had entered the trees.

[Tiggs]

Thalera was too furious to accommodate the peachy mare and he snapped a response, “She will learn to obey me, she teases me as if I am a fool for her beauty!” He answered the colt’s feeble call with another thunderous bellow and he stepped forward, sooty tail high and well build crest arched. The colt had a lot to look forward to if he would inherit such perfect form.

“Come to me,” He commanded. But Illoura had other ideas. Of course Thalera could not deny she was more beautiful than any mare in the High Country, but the sight of her retreating rump was one he had seen far too often. He screamed after her, his voice both thunderous and furious. He cantered forward and came to stand next to the bewildered colt. He called after Illoura again and when she did not respond, he tossed his head in frustration.

Eyes rolling, the stallion could not believe she would leave him again! He stamped a hoof, and almost forgot that the colt was practically under his feet. He snorted and sniffed tersely at the silver foal. “Your mother abandons you as readily as she abandons me.” He fairly growled. “She does not deserve us.” He gave the colt a push with more strength than he needed to and herded him over to Elouera.

The sooty stallion’s eyes were wide, the whites matching the red of the inside of his nostrils. Veins throbbed in the muscle of his neck and legs, as if he was barely containing his anger. No sweet grass could sooth Thalera’s irritants, unless it would choke Illoura. He snorted and called over the docile roan Bindaree. “You will feed the colt now.” He said, ignorant to the fact mares did not have milk readily available at all times of the year.

He lowered his head and locked serious eyes with his son. “You are no longer of the wind like your useless mother. Your name will be Matong, for the strength you will grow into.” He roughly nuzzled the silver foal, blowing hot air into the soft down of his flank. “You are my son, I will not let your mother play with your heart as she does with mine.” Surprising words to come from the gruff stallion, but delivered in a voice that was strained with the frustration of an age. Illoura had always eluded him, but he now had a colt worthy to call his son.

He looked up to Elouera, lifting his head and reaching to touch her cheek with his nose. “I have no mind for games. If you’re intentions are to play with me like Illoura, then leave now. If you are serious about joining my herd and earning the status that brings, then you may join me as one of the most sought after mares in the High Country.” He finished proudly. Now that the ugly Willunga had left, his reputation was untarnished. His herd would be the most sought after in the High Country. He would see to that.

[Rivre]

The curiously coloured mare glanced skeptically at the tiny colt foal, wondering as to how an earth he had managed to slip his mother, or annoy her enough to have her leave him. Before, when Thalera had snapped a reply, her ears had pinned back against her skull, eyes harsh, but now a certain softness entered her at the sight of the proud and leggy colt. She took a shy step towards his shinning form, lowering her nose to touch his creamy cheek, "I am Elouera," she nickered quietly, "I can I can offer you no milk but I can promise you protection, if you were to need it."

Head rasiing slowly, so that smokey silver forelock fell out of eyes and cleared her path of vision, she gazed wonderously at the sight of Thalera's strength and his beauty, nostrils fanning as a soft snort escape her, slow and calm. "With you I play no such games. I am Elouera, I am swift and I am cunning, and I am yours," she replied, placing great emphasis on 'yours' so that he would realize what this meant to her also, proud tones sure and true. For a moment she stood still as the snowgum trunks, but stillness did not do much for her on this day of odd events and she stepped fowards again, dodging the little foal's shoulder to replace it with the smutty palomino one, delicate nose snuffling the heated skin of his neck, blowing strands of salt and pepper hued mane this way and that. "I am yours."

[Ehetere]

Wirriwirri did not know what to do. The sooty stallion roared in anger, and he backpedaled quickly as if trying to put more distance between himself and that dangerous force. Stunned and shocked, he looked about as if expecting the pale creamy to appear out of thin air as she was want to do from time to time.

The sooty stallion came to him, and the little silver colt though scared, as was his courage. He was to young, too fresh, to even fully understand that Illoura may not be coming back for him. Nor did he understand his father’s words, surprisingly wise as they were. All the silver colt knew was his mother had not been happy with the peachy mare. Was that why she had run? Staring up at the pair above him with wide eyes, he gave a little sneeze, or perhaps a snort as he retreated in the direction of the trees.

“I am Wirriwirri – mother says I am like the whirlwind,” he said earnestly, with perhaps a hint of pride in his voice. Why was his father calling him this name? All of this was too confusing. He needed to run, to get away. He must find his mother again, and bring her back to explain to the stallion that his name was Wirriwirri – the sooty did seem awfully confused.

Abruptly that peachy mare came towards him, and he wheeled back, squealing in fright. Why did she call herself his mother’s name? She was not his mother. The silver colt halted his wild thoughts for a moment to consider whether he might be dreaming – he had never met his father so this was entirely possible.

The peachy mare whom he was beginning to think had made his mother run left him and instead went to the sooty, and then proceeded to snuffle him. Wirriwirri was not sure she was allowed to be doing that, but it was too much for the colt. With the flick of a silvery tail, he was galloping off after his own mother as fast as his little legs would carry him.

What was it Illoura had said about tracking? Ah yes – look for tracks. Despite the undergrowth, her path was obvious as she’d left in such a hurry. Letting out a desperate call, he pushed on at a trot, determined but oh so insignificant and tiny in the huge vastness of the High Country.

[Tiggs]

The stallion gave a huff of breath. He’d rather she were not swift and cunning – that was a recipe for disaster just like Illoura. Her pledge however was rewarded with a blow of warm hair across her cheek. “Then you are mine.” He rumbled, admiring the peachy expanse of her neck as she snuffled his mane.

And in that moment of distraction, the colt turned and bolted. The stallion abruptly started after the colt, stopping and rearing before the trees. With a great scream, he called after the colt and his forsaken mother. “The wind can have you! That’s it Illoura, I’m not chasing after you anymore!” He bellowed a frustrated neigh and tossed up his head, stamping his hooves and generally carrying a tangible aura of anger.

He’d had enough of the silver mare’s games. Chasing her through the bush was a game for colts! He had other responsibilities now. He squealed and went to round up Bindaree, the remaining foals and Elouera. This would be his herd, the foundation of perfection. He was not risking them by chasing ghosts. Knowing he would never have Illoura made it easier to convince himself he did not want her. She never intended to let him have her. She teased him, even went as far as to bare him a foal, but as she had proven, any blood of hers would have the same tendency to abandon him.

From now on, he would not bow to the whim of any mare. They would clamour to be with him, or he did not want them.