Weary Legends [Open]

[Rivre]

OOC: Open to anyone, she's a toughy. Stallions are welcome to try her, as are colts, but she won't ever be theirs - it's a promise Or will she.... Haha?


The wind tore relentlessly at the landscape, shaping the tree and hide of the bush, pushing fast at the whip gum branches that snapped to palest creamy hide, startling a snort from dilated nostrils and hind quarters to drop in a shy. The rock and tor under-hoof nipped at the flag of her heel, fragments of the grit becoming lodged in the arch of feather, small and yet existent. The filly in a whirlwind torrent that carried on up the ramshead. The copse of trees in which she hid were fanning out a little, becoming less apparent, until it dropped away into nothing; an incline of steep rock, one boulder placed upon another greeted the nimble young brumby, steely tones blocking part of the sky as piercing brown eyes gazed up at the sight, openly wonderous.

It was the wind that had called her thus far, so far to the south she feared she would topple into the unknown country if the gales proved strong enough. And yet still she felt their pull, named for the high wind as she was, she remained still too low to feel the tug and leave of the silver wind, still she failed to hear the ringing ghosting calls that would greet her at the top of the rise. Sharp gaze raked the landslide of rock until she spotted a path wide enough to allow a single lithe horse passage, and silver head was thrown up, stride swinging as she set out for the track, pleased and yet filled with an unreasonable urgency. Had she been one of those plain bay mares grazing somewhere far off to the North, had she seen the precariously placed sillouette of a creamy high stepping upon the last plateau of the South Ramshead - she would not have thought twice about her certain death, it would have been a known fact. Yet the pale horn of her hooves felt strong and fast clinging to the sheer tor expanse, striding out a little further every so often to avoid the shaly rubble in her path.

The gales whipped silver white froth from sleek neck, and eyes narrowed as she hauled herself up the last rise in the huge mound, scrambling at the shifting rock and leaping onto the stony ledge. For a moment, she stood breathless, looking down at the endless snowgum tree tops and candlebark trunks, the winding creeks and the willy willy of leaves that tore across the pale forests, receeding into the shadow of the Southern mountains. It was a glorious panoramic view, but nothing compared to the freedom she now felt, exposed to her brith name and with the winds blizzarding about her neat form. They pulled stronger, and stronger still until she felt she would be blown back down that sheer rock and threw herself back at the gales, defying everything true to her nature with a reckless head upon her shoulders. Suspended there, she waited a moment for the hills to quiet, held there by the winds so strong were they, and when nothing more could be heard, not even the roaring, she screamed her wild challenge, holding the last note with of her own meager strength until the ramshad rung with her echos.

She knew that now all of the critters in the bush would know a silver brumby roamed high above, and she knew that the bay mare watching perhaps from miles away, would have been proved wrong for a hundreth time. This was the way of the creamies, to live and breath the very wind that spoke to them. Standing poised above the stretch of beautiful landscape, on the last jutting ledge of the Southern Ramshead, Guwarra could have sworn she heard the ringing reply of a stallion below, the winds slowing, whispering about pricked lobes - they seemed to be speaking of a legend, a legend that was the wind itself. "Thowra" they seemed to say "Thoooow-ra"

[stormsnow]

A young brumby stood at the bottom of the Ramshead, in the shelter of a small grove of trees. His kindly brown eyes were half closed against the whistling wind; his mane and tail were whipped back and fourth. The fallen gum leaves were flung into the air, whirling in a small pink-and -grey cloud before being blasted back to the ground. Upon opening his eyes fully, the colt espied a pale shape halfway up the slope. Fearing to call out lest he startle the other brumby, the colt remained perfectly still and silent. After some consideration, he decided that the other horse was a filly. This was confirmed when she let fourth a wild bellow. The young horse neighed thunderously in reply, and started up the slope, his slightly larger, but equally creamy frame just visible as he made his way upward.

[Rivre]

For what seemed only a moment, the call hung eerily, lonely and left to be answered only by the winds that brought echos of her own call resonating back. Silver ears flickered, nostrils inhaling deep gushes only to snort them quietly back out, chest heaving almost visibly. Although the winds lent her this unrelenting energy, they also drained her of her senses, and as she stood, nose pointed to the heavens and parting the great gales, she thought for first time that perhaps she should leave before danger found her nicely placed self. Turning on her haunches, she slipped away from the sheer cliff edge, moving carefully now, tail blown back to whip her flank and hocks, trying as she might to find the odd tussock of snowgrass on the stone plateau, or the softer hoof-sized gap in the stone that receded into mud or like wise.

It took her a little longer to decsend the slope than it did for her to first overcome it, but by the time she reached the dirt track below, her thoughts had returned to the silver silence and promise of the battered snowgums. Still she felt the pull to return to the beating winds, but now she could ignore it, now that she had exposed herself so wonderfully; she must move quickly and melt into the bush without track or sound. Placing her hooves with quiet care, she stayed the track of snowgrass and heather, her hooves leaving nothing but impressions in the grass none could decipher after a few moments, her scent still bathing the scenes of any who would pursue her, but they would find nothing but disappointment in their wake. She cut diagonally across the Ramshead, avoiding the worn track and reverting to her quick-minded nature, hooves placed precariously on spines of rock as she maneuvered the bush, moving into the pale trunks and into denser whip branches. The forest floor was carpeted in the yellow curled leaves, their waxy coat clinging to her hooves with spongy resistance, but it made her way all the easier, providing that needed silence. Her almost silver cream hide pale in comparison to the ancient tree barks of stark white melded into her surroundings, until only a whisper could be heard of her leaving, the whispering winds that failed to leave her unattended.

As she moved, she wondered as to why her coat prickled with unease, why she moved with deliberate care more so than she would of usual, why her stride extended to pull her efficiently across the ground. All of this she wondered, until across the track from her she spotted movement. Sliding to a halt, lobes pinned forwards, sharp gaze raked the trunks opposite, until once more she caught sight of the brumby traveling up. He was a creamy too, and seemed intent on some task. For a moment she was content to watch, as it was not often one of her kind was easily spied, but it took her only that moment to realize his stride also was one of that searching for something. Could he be seeking her? It was not unlikely, and while her gaze remained on him for a precious few more seconds, she knew now that it was time to leave.

Perhaps if it mattered to her, she would have thought him handsome, but Guwarra despised the thought of being held by one such horse, although technically the some sought after stallion in the high-country. As her great grand sire had been, she too would be the wild and the free, none could hold her. Moving now with even more care, dainty hooves chose soft nooks in the grass in which to place herself, the bush seeming to sigh as she pushed on through the snowgum branches. Now there was reason to her unease, for everything could be at stake if she messed up her cunning plan. She would continue to cut down across the rocks, avoiding the obvious route to have taken , not sparing her legs for she knew they could handle it - a few minutes of such travel would lead her to an opening in the gorge of rock and cliff tor, and form there she could make a mad rush across the main ramshead and down to the bush below. If he managed to follow such a reckless path, if he got too close to out-run, she would have to sacrifice her creamy ways and lead him a merry dance until an opportunity to escape presented itself.

[stormsnow]

The creamy colt snorted softly as the filly spotted him. He was hardly surprised, yet something inside him tightened, and he blinked in disappointment. It was not often that he saw another of his breed, whether they were colt, filly, mare, or stallion. Barega hastened back down the slope, his finely attuned ears swiveling from side to side. The other creamy had left no trail in her wake, but he too was a silver, a descendant of the great Thowra, and the subtle signs of the filly's passing were there.

So the colt followed, being just as careful as his female counterpart to leave no trail. He did not want a stallion to come upon the filly - there was not telling what would happen if one did. He himself wanted nothing more than to talk with the silver filly. Barega's strides were long and even as he picked his way through the forest, skirting pale ghost gums and bushes. The wind, whom the colt was named for, had subsided a little, but howling eerily through the trees as it whipped them back and fourth.

[Rivre]

Her pace increased to a leaping walk, trotting in places of lesser rock and stone rubble, daring herself to peer behind into the silence. Once or twice she saw the flash of creamy hide, and knew that the colt were clever, that he had found an otherwise undetectable trail to follow her weaving dance. She neared the gap now though, and with every stride she grew closer to the gap into which she would turn. Having increased the pace, she walked now without fear of being spotted, haunches swinging out to flit between huge cliff gorge, veering off to the left. Guwara paused to listen, but heard nothing, only hoping that her head-start would allow her to loose this annoying shadow.

Now that she was out of the cover of her snowgums and situated in a neat hide between rocks, she knew that the colt would not spot her until she made to go across the open stretch before herself, a slope that she must dare to gallop avoiding the deadly nooks and sharp stone ridges, and she did not hesitate to leave. Having halted momentarily, she now sprung into a silent gallop, the thuds of her hooves falling deaf to the howling winds. She pushed herself at an almighty pace across the incline, a sweat breaking out on her coat as fear for being captured gripped her. She must escape.

[Kara]

Adoni stared wide eyed as a mare, of the silver colour, went galloping past him and his grazing area. What the? He shot her a look, eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out why she was running. He glanced in the direction she had come, and waited for a moment, hoping some evidence of her sudden behaviour. Was she running from men? Were they in pursuit after seeing her golden colour? He snorted, flicking an ear outwards as he remembered his own queer colours. He was golden like her, if not more and when in the sun, it shimmered and glittered wonderously. It was strange, meaning it would attract a man's attention if they were chasing this mare.

Swinging his head about, he let out a loud neigh. She would need help to escape, wouldn't she? Of course, if he had assumed right about her colour, she would know the ways of the bush quite well. Though... Adoni sighed and half-rearing as he twisted on his hind quarters and chased after the pretty mare. His stride was long and ground eating, he would catch up with her quickly, seeing as she had only went past him a few moments ago. He just hoped that his presence would not frighten her even more.

[Rivre]

It seemd perhaps her dash would do it, if she could only muster the strength to go on a little faster... For a moment she seemed suspended in her head-long gallop, twisting precariously to avoid some scatterings of the lethal rock and in that fleeting movement, she glimsed the golden hide of yet another brumby. Queer, that she had not spied him before, and it was in fact another stallion. A desperate snort escaped her, having slowed a little in her flight to gage what this new-comer was doing, grazing it seemed, unawares.

In the precious second she wasted before continuing, it seemed the stallion had noticed her (for how could he not with her spectacle of a creamy coat?) and in a flurry of hooves was on her trail also, throwing a wild call after her. Now she tore across the ramshead, with no care for her safety, fear claiming her for a second before she managed to focus the wasted energy into her race. What was it that her second pursuer could want? The creamy stallion had probably had time enough to figure out her cunning escape, already she could imagine the thundering of hooves behind of her. With one swift glance behind, she realized that she could in fact hear hoof-beats approaching, and that the second had caught up almost entirely.

At a loss for what to do, Guwara swung about, hind- limbs stuck like stone to snowgrass, forelegs climbing high into the pale sky- paler by only a shade- than her own creamy hide, as if to strike the golden horse as any other stallion might. She hated to betray her instincts, the wind and it's brothers, but this could be her only chance to evade both brumbies. Waiting for the later to pull up, she pinned back fragile lobes, poised; "Your kind is what I run from, leave me now and breath not even a word to the wind" Twisting as she had glimpsed this stallion doing to pursue her, she leapt like the aging kangaroos into flight once more, slowing to a powerful canter and allowing the gnarled gum trunks to swallow her ghost-like form. Now that she was once again in her own country, Guwara held her head high with pride, in the trees she could out-run him, if not on the flat.