His first scouting for Man

[Tex]

Altjira stood like an arabian, his tail high, and his head raised to its maximum. Instead of scoffing at and shunning the other's suggestions, he corrected his stance, and for a moment posed like a showhorse. He then suddenly leapt out of the frozen standing moment, galloping for a few steps then rearing magnificently, shrieking like a cockatoo at sunset.
He looked down at the ground before landing back on all fours, and proceeded to graze, completely unlike his mad activity a few minutes ago.

[Illu]

Well, that was much better, though he didn’t praise, his absence of critique was enough. Except, maybe Altjita probably could have raised a forefoot to look more alert, he thought. Dämon wasn’t expecting the horse to keep it up for long; Altkita would slip into his old habits after a few hours unless he took the time to practise on correcting it. It just depended on how much initiative he was going to take.

Dropping his own nose to the ground, he once again found himself less than pleased with the grass at his feet. Lack of high quality feed was starting to bug him, but thankfully, he’d resigned himself to the fact the grass wasn’t going to get any better. The two had only been gazing about two minutes when Lattendämon suddenly gave a start forwards as a fleck of icy cold hit his rump, and as though on cue snow started to fall again.

The big perlino’s outline would have been difficult to spot in the flurry where it not for the grass behind him. Turning his head to look at Altjira, at least he could be thankful for the fact that even if the snow fell thickly enough to cover the grass, he wasn’t going to lose the brumby thanks to his dark mane and tail.

[Tex]

The snow landed on his back first, and Altjira started at its first cold touches. He looked up with wide eyes, blinking whenever it landed on his face, and he began to trot quickly, lifting his legs up high and shaking his mane back as it became more wet with each snowflake to melt in his mane of red hair.
The white stallion was almost completely invisible in the falling snow, apart from his blazing red mane and tail. They looked like small bushfires in the white powdery stuff, and Altjira practiced waving them in a certain way that made them really look like fire.
He didn't really mind the snow. He had been born into it, and it suited him like fire suited his mane and tail. His greyish hooves kicked at the snow, showing grass under the light covering, and began to graze again.

[Illu]

Dämon had already established that he wasn’t a snow sort of horse. With an agitated flick of his head whenever a flake had the audacity to land on his face, the big white and blonde edged over to a small tree clump for shelter.

It wasn’t just the cold that bugged him; it was also what it was doing to his lovely, well groomed and clipped pelt. His winter coat was late in arrival, and Dämon was severely resenting it now that it was emerging. Thick, dull and shaggy, the hair didn’t reflect the light like it would on a spring or summer coat and gave an overall impression of neglect. The only positive was that it was also happening to every other horse in the mountains, but this was not how a show horse was meant to look!

Watching the younger horse prance and kick was getting his tension levels back up despite the short cooling off period they’d had. If he couldn’t enjoy the snow, how was it fair that another horse could? He wasn’t going to bring it up this time though, and instead attempted to get a conversation going to cause a distraction for him. ”What brings you out here?”

[Tex]

Now the cold was getting even to him, and he trotted with a spring in his step to stand under a large jutting rock with a small hollow in its base. Snow fell off him in sheets, and he discovered the sensation was quite enjoyable, to send sprays of ice to the ground. Soon the ground about him was covered with the cold white stuff, and he knelt in to to roll over a few times, before climbing back to his hooves and resting.
The other stallion was chatting to him, and he decided to respond rather than make fun of him again.
"I was searching for any humans to have come to brumby country. When I can, I want to attack them. I don't care how hard some horses will think it will be, I will do it."

[Illu]

Dämon was almost on the verge of backing away slowly after that proclamation. This horse was either crazy or full of an overblown sense of self importance. After giving a solitary snort of amusement, the gelding shifted his large feet out of the small snow clumps starting to form under the gaps in the branches. At this rate, the ground would be covered in a few minutes.

”Firstly, the men are never here in winter.” He should know, somehow they all seemed to migrate past Grey Mare Lease to water their horses at his stable, something he never enjoyed. How dare a common stockhorse be granted admittance! ”Secondly, if you insist on continuing all you will receive is a well placed bullet for your trouble,” he grunted. ”Last thing you want is to give them an excuse for more mass culls.”