A Lost and Weary Soul {O}

[{ Opal }]

A small, scrawny mare made her weary way across yet another ridge. Her seal brown coat was covered in its share of dirty filth, which she had not bothered to wash off. Her steps were slow, but deliberate, as she went down the rocky steps. The sky was dark and dismal, with the clouds above threatening to rain. Rain, wind, shine, it didn’t matter to the mare. She had traveled for too long to care, the days blending into one another as she grew lost in her own mind. The only thing she cared for, the only thing that kept her moving, was the thought of a nightrunner stallion. Jirrand, that was his name, and it was seared deeply into her memory. Vague remembrances of them together flitted through her head, but as much as she wanted to stop and relish them she could not catch them before they slipped away.

She heaved a sigh, and upon reaching flatter ground she began to plod methodically across the endless swaths of snowgrass. A cool raindrop hit the bridge of her nose, another on her back. Ignoring the beginning rain, she moved onward. She had to find him, find that nightrunner. She would stop at nothing; only death would end her search. Thoughts of death had entered her mind more than once as of late. She was so tired, tired of fighting the waves of emotions that lurked in the back of her mind. Anger, sorrow, despair; it was all there.

She stumbled on a rock, bruising her foreleg, and she scolded herself for not looking where she was going. She lifted her head and peered up at the dark sky. The rain fell harder, sliding off her coat and taking some of the grime with it. For a moment she stopped, and rested, listening to the thousands of raindrops hitting the ground. The rain comforted her, and her breathing grew easier. After a few minutes of this quiet solace, her mind started to wander. Wander back to the day she was captured by man. They let her go eventually, as she had been of no use to them. She had shut herself out of the world then, refusing food and water, tainted by man’s scent. But the worst day came when her little foal, unborn, died within her. She had felt the tiny creature before, in her belly. She knew it was Jirrand’s foal. And she knew the moment it died, when its movements ceased. Her sorrow had been worse than when her first foal had passed.

She lowered her head, swept away by the grief. She was Tallerk, named after a thistle, a weed that spreads death. Her name seemed more true than ever, and her hope was almost extinguished, right there and then.
Almost. Tallerk knew that if she found Jirrand, her stallion, she could heal the open wounds that gaped in her heart. She could live again. Tallerk shivered as she remembered him, a haunting beauty, with startling red eyes and yet a gentle touch. Tallerk tossed her tattered forelocks out of her eyes, and stared upon the horizon. He was somewhere, out there. If only she could find him.

[Ehetere]

It was a grey day, the grey clouds dulling the landscape until it all just looked monochrome. There was no sunlight to highlight the pale cold hairs in his creamy coat today – the King of the High Country truly did look like one of the feared Nightrunners today, pale and ghostly as he moved silently though the countryside.

He’d gone for a run the night before – the moon was full and the winds had whispered of a storm and he simply could not resist. He’d not traveled far from his beloved mares – especially now his herd had suddenly swelled in size – but now he must get back before the storm broke and they began to miss him.

He was moving quickly, the dimmer light far kinder on his vision. He wasn’t taking as much care as usual to hide his passing; in fact he wasn’t taking any care at all. He was no arrogant fool to think that he was untouchable now he was King – far from it. Jirrand was certain it put a target on his head, but that was besides the point here. His new position had not been won without a considerable number of fights, and he doubted any of the contestants were going to be forgetting them any time soon.

His pace quickened again began down another ridge, long pale legs stretching out to eat up the ground beneath him. Running was a glorious thing – especially when you could see with both eyes open – and although he was in a hurry there was no reason he couldn’t enjoy himself.

Propping to a rather abrupt stop atop the ridge, he was forcer into a half rear to maintain his balance, hindquarters stretching and straining to hold him immobile in space. There was the scent of another horse, and he gazed across the brown and grey and green landscape, looking for the coat of a horse. There seemed to be nothing, but his sense of smell did not deceive him and he looked harder. There. A sickly looking muddy creature was making its way as well, with barely enough meat on its bones to call itself a horse. But it was also eerily familiar.

Calling out, his voice singing of far away places and the moon and the sky, he began to make his way over to get a look at the poor thing. The slope was not particularly steep, but occasionally he had to make a small leap to clear a rotting log or large clump of grass. The closer he got, the more he felt he knew her – the mare.

Her coat colour was hard to discern under all that grime – some kind of brown? Her body was bony, malnourished unlike any horse he knew or had ever known. But he knew her. ”Tallerk?” He had to be dreaming – he’d spent near on whole seasons seeking her, finding no trace. Perhaps he was delirious and seeing things, but how could this be? She was older, and never had he seen her looking like this. Jirrand offered a quivering pink muzzle out in greeting, barely daring to hope that his long lost mare had come home.

[{ Opal }]

Tallerk made to move onward again, and lifted a muddy grey hoof. But before she could set it upon the earth again, an eerie cry split through the quiet pattering of rain. Tallerk wheeled, tossing up her head. The sound sent shivers down her back, and her legs trembled. Whispers of the night carried on that wistful voice. From the depths of her soul arose a terrible longing, as well as a wonderful thrill, for she knew that voice like no other. Tallerk looked, and like out from a dream she saw him. A nightrunner stallion, coming for her at a gallop. His long, graceful legs carried his muscular body. His hooves struck the ground with the same beat as her racing heart.

She could do nothing but watch in amazement as he drew closer, his pace slowing. As she got a closer look, she realized that he had changed some. A few scars were visible upon his pale coat, and he looked older, wiser, though his old spirit still shone through. His eyes hadn't changed; they were just as red, and Tallerk drew in a quick breath as she looked into them, for they were so familiar yet so distant.

"Tallerk?" he whispered incredulously. Tallerk could not hold back a joyous nicker, and she replied, "It is me." Her voice wavered with emotion, and was slightly hoarse from lack of use. Jirrand offered his muzzle in greeting, and for a moment Tallerk hesitated. If she touched him, would he vanish like a ghost? But she could not contain herself, and pushed her muzzle against his. Tallerk sighed happily, for he was real. She could feel his soft, pink skin trembling as her own did. "I... I missed you." she said, choking out the words. Tallerk turned her head away from him, and she whispered, "So much has happened..."

Tallerk raised her sorry head, and she looked at him, relishing in the fact that she was able to do so. Tallerk then stepped forward and flung her head across his back, like she had done so many times before. They were connected, she knew, and she wondered at how such a mighty stallion could love such a wretched mare. She looked like she had been through hell and back, and that wasn't far from the truth. Releasing a soft sigh, Tallerk closed her eyes and felt at peace for the first time in a long time.

[Ehetere]

Tallerk! How long he had searched for her – his first mare, lost to the winds as though she had vanished off the very earth on which they stood. His expression grew pained, remembering those long hard months, alone and miserable blaming himself for her death. How could it be she was standing before him today, a little worse for wear, but still the same horse he had known all those years ago?

“Where were you? I scoured the country from the Suggan Buggan to up past the Geehi found no trace. Why did you not return to me?” he asked, knowing that she never would have stayed with that bay stallion. She would have escaped as soon as she was able – and she was too smart, too wise, for it to have taken this long. He doubted her tale was a happy one, but he had to know, whether she still considered him her stallion or not.

Jirrand was almost surprised to feel the warmth of her breath and the tickle of her whiskers as she tentatively reached out with her muzzle, expecting this to all be a very vivid dream. Even now, it could well be. But how could he dream her to be so tortured? It was beyond all logic, so he must believe her real.

She flung her neck across his back – a familiar gesture that brought back so many memories. They flooded his mind, filling him with sadness, grief, despair for all he had lost. Longing, hope. And above all else, hopelessness. Did he have any hope left to hope she was real?

He stood, comforting her as she lay there, closing his eyes so he might remember better. So much had changed, so much… His mind drifted to his herd, waiting for his return. Would Tallerk be joining them? His family had grown in recent times, from a humble and select number to something larger. A true family, secure and loving. In a life of so much woe, it seemed fitting that he should finally get his reward.

Knowing he would have to ask for her verdict sooner or later, he waited a little longer, clenching his eyes ever tighter to block out the outside world. The raindrops were falling harder, faster, and the first clap of thunder sounded overhead. Could his mares and offspring wait any longer?

With a jolt, he opened his eyes, realization crossing his features. Tallerk had been taken from him with his unborn foal sheltering in her womb. There was no foal at her side today. Perhaps it had grown to be an adult already, and left? But how could it be that simple, and what creature would leave its own mother in a state like this? Dread was forming in the pit of his stomach, an uneasiness creeping over his being like a cold sweat. He dare not ask, visions of a cruel blood bay crashing down from above flickering across his vision. But he had to know.

“What happened to the foal?”

[{ Opal }]

"Where were you? I scoured the country from the Suggan Buggan to up past the Geehi found no trace. Why did you not return to me?" Jirrand asked, his voice ringing faintly with despair. Tallerk's head slid off from his smooth back, and she took a step back in order to see his face, earnest and questioning. For some reason, a soft chuckle left Tallerk's lips, and when she looked up at Jirrand you could see that she'd changed, just in those few seconds with her stallion. Her eyes shone with some of their old vigor, and somehow you could tell that her heart was no longer broken.

"It is a long story," she began, her gaze drifting off to the dark horizon, as she blinked raindrops out of her eyes. "I first escaped from the bay; it wasn't that difficult, I simply wandered off in the night," Tallerk explained. Then her expression darkened. "But when morning came, I was captured. Captured by man." Memories flooded Tallerk's mind. She remembered going down to a small creek to drink, then the sound of sudden movement. The chase began, and she'd bolted for a thick grove of narrow snowgums, her heart pumping. But before she could reach them a thick rope had tightened around her neck, and she knew the game was over.

Tallerk drifted back into reality, where the sound of falling rain met her. She looked back at Jirrand. "I refused to eat or drink. After several days they'd had enough of me, and shooed me off into the bushes." Tallerk's ears flicked back as she remembered being stranded in a foreign land. "I was lost then. I could swear those men moved me across half the country; it took me many days to find familiar ground," she explained. Tallerk's gentle gaze connected with Jirrand's. "I looked for you, every step of the way. It was the only thing that kept me going," she said softly.

A sudden, sick realization flashed across Jirrand's face. The question she was dreading finally left his lips: "What happened to the foal?" Tallerk suddenly felt lightheaded, and her knees trembled, but she managed to keep upright. Her ears went flat against her head, and her nostrils quivered. She suddenly saw Jirrand's expression as angry, his simple question as an interrogation. "I... it..." she stammered, her words nothing more than nonsense, and she checked her tongue to keep from rambling further.

Although she wanted to keep it to herself, she knew that Jirrand needed to know, and that he deserved to know. Tallerk took in a deep, quavering breath. "It died." The words were flat, but you could see deep, raw emotion in her eyes. "While I was with the humans, it passed." Tallerk averted her gaze. "It... it didn't even get to see the world, Jirrand," she cried in lament. When she found herself struggling to breathe, she fell quiet and focused solely upon inhaling and exhaling. After several moments, her gasping eased into soft breaths. "I'm sorry," Tallerk whispered, so quiet it was barely audible.

[Ehetere]

Before his very eyes the mare was changing, like the fire that had once warmed her heart was lit again. A mere spark, but there was light again. Even so, he could not stop worrying. It was about all he did these days, what with a swiftly growing herd and his new position; there was always something to be concerned about, whether it be where the sweetest grazing would be found or the threat of other grown males. So many things to be concerned with, so little time.

But for her he would wait, obviously she had not had any of the love and care she so dearly needed since their parting, and he only hoped he could the wounds of her heart. Eyes near unblinkingly on her face as she looked away, discerning her, as though she was a fragile thing who might shatter from just a breath of wind.

Men were not something Jirrand had ever experienced many problems with, unusual as it may be for a brumby. He was a creature of the night, where humans were tucked away and fast asleep, and their vision far too poor to spot a ghostly stallion passing by. Tallerk had been lucky; few brumbies escaped the clutches of man once caught. For that he was thankful, else he would almost certainly never have seen her again.

He thought the brown mare might collapse, had he gone too far? She had experienced a great many hardships, but almost certainly the loss of her foal would be at the worst of them. Their foal. Who Jirrand knew without the mare saying a word, no more. Reaching out to comfort her, his thoughts were running at a million miles a minute. There was a lot of pain here, and he was not sure what he could do to make it better. Surely if it had been the bay stallion he would have hunted him down and taken his life for the life he had lost.

“No, never your fault,” murmured the pale stallion in her ear, running his muzzle gently along her neck. It was very damp, and so was he, the rain truly beginning to fall in earnest. He must get back, he must… Would Tallerk be joining him?

“Come with me? Come and join me and my herd again?” His voice was wrought with emotion, since the moment he had hoped for, had thought of nothing but for a year, might never come. He would understand if the brown mare no longer wanted him to be her stallion, he had failed her utterly and completely. He had not protected her, or kept her by his side. He had not found her.

“Will you come and run with the King of the High Country, Tallerk? Providing of course you are not a dream.” He could never quite rule that possibility out, no matter how hard he tried.

[{ Opal }]

”No, never your fault,” he whispered, pressing his soft muzzle to her sodden neck. His touch brought her comfort, and she took a deep breath as she gathered her wits. Tallerk again slung her forelock, streaming rain-water, out of her face. She looked at him, simply grateful to have him back to her again. Even those past hurts mattered not, for she would start over again, with her nightrunner stallion by her side.

He beckoned her, asking her to join with him again. Tallerk could hear the deep emotion in his voice, the earnest look in his eyes. Although she had not seen him for nigh a year, she still knew him deeper than any other brumby could. She knew he despaired that he had not found her himself, that he feared she would leave him. Tallerk snorted softly, her nostrils quivering. “Silly stallion,” she laughed. “I’ll never leave you as long as I’m alive,” she said, lifting her head so it brushed against his.

“Will you come and run with the King of the High Country, Tallerk?” She stepped back to stare at him, her head tilted and eyes wide with surprise. “King?” she exclaimed. Tallerk then laughed, her voice delightfully light and cheerful, like it hadn’t been in so many moons. “My frivolous stallion has won the title of King?” Tallerk nipped him playfully on the shoulder. “You’ve been very busy while I was away,” she said, a frisky note to her voice.

Then taking on a more serious manner, Tallerk lifted her head, now sunken and unlovely, but still showing glimmers of her distant beauty. She looked solidly into Jirrand’s eyes. “I will run with you. King of the High Country or not, you are mine and I am yours.” Tallerk nuzzled him, bumping her muzzle against his strong shoulder.

“And I am not a dream, my dear.”