Welcoming Spring [O]

[Rivre]

The country was sparse, dusted with black and white ash that stirred in the breeze; but up on the Brindle, the land was green and scattered with it's protection of rock and tor that prevented the movement of fire. It was only his luck that he, Balaroo - sun stallion from the south, had finally journeyed North when all there was to see was gnarled, mainly leafless snowgums and mottled snowgrass and heather often not worth eating. But up here felt like a different world, as the pink and red sun rose above the mountains, lighting his own golden hide so that it glowed in the light of dawn, the unharmed grazing (spare the odd drifting ash) doused in dew as the night's gentle frost melted.

He was fortunate enough to have had a full stomach for the past few seasons, unlike those that had roamed here previously, his coat was sleek and his eyes bright - a young stallion of only four years that felt his hooves burn to be galloping about this strange country, but his head told him to remain at height. Still small fires smoldered under the eye of the sun, often put out by the freak rain storms. So he stood atop the Brindle Bull, unaware of who or what may be creeping about, whether it be the tormented ghost of a silver horse or a far more fleshy brumby with a grudge to bear. He grazed non-the-less content under the partial cover of some gums, pale tail swishing away the pestilent flies, ears pricked and flickering as the battling wind brought to his ears whatever sound traveled up from the lower lands.

[Ehetere]

Death. Death and destruction.

Lark stood atop a rocky tor, surveying the landscape - or what was left of it. He didn’t know how many bodies of bush creatures and horses he had passed in his travels south, but there was a lot. The fire had been fast and ruthless, slaying anything and everything in its path. He had escaped to the north, up past the peaks of Kosciusko, past where the heat and flame could reach.

Now with the coming of spring, he’d had to trek back over the still snow covered high mountains to assess what was left of his foalhood home. A young and promising stallion now, he could feel new strength stirring in his blood, a wild, inescapable need to fight, to prove himself. And oddly pass his strength on to another generation. Mares had barely crossed his mind in the previous seasons, but his thoughts were turning to that dusky mare that his brother had possessed. He wondered whether she had even escaped the inferno.

Dawn came then, turning the grey landscape gold. His own steely coat looked almost buckskin in that light, and he snorted discontentedly. He was actually almost enjoying this charred landscape - where his dark coat had hid him well in the shadowy bush before, he was near invisible against the burnt ground and trees now. There was movement somewhere below, and he peered down through the sparse jungle of singed trunks to spot a queerly coloured stallion who seemed to be glowing in the dawning light. His ears automatically laid flat back against his head - the grazing was sparse enough up here on the Brindle Bull without a rival stallion encroaching on it.

Slipping from his precipice quietly, he moved like a shadow through the bush - once again reveling in the wonderful camouflage his coat provided. He was quite glad he did not seem to becoming pale as a ghost like his brother; the more differences between them the better in his mind. He was young, very young, but it was unclear whether it was the energy of spring, or a malicious disposition that sent the steel grey on a bee-line for the other stallion with only violence in his heart.

He was like stone as he stood there waiting and watching the other stallion come closer. Eventually, the golden stallion dropped his head to graze, seemingly uneasy but unaware of his presence. Tensing his hindquarters, Lark made a flying leap out of his hiding place and out into the brilliant light. He roared, pleased his voice now sounded like that of a stallion and not a colt. His challenge to the other stallion rang out loud and clear, and he reared high with hard grey hooves slicing the air menacingly. He wanted to see whether his obvious height and bulk could scare the other off, though it seemed the golden stallion was perhaps older than he.

[Tiggs]

Fight Roll:

Okay, first fight of the season! Typical Lark XD

Both of them have 5 points, so Balaroo is 1-5, and Lark is 6-10! And the roll is....

*drumroll*

1! Balaroo wins! Bad luck Lark... as usual...

[Rivre]

As the sun rose, the temperamental heat of spring began to warm Balaroo's slightly dampened hide, wearing away the chill that had, had hold of the bush, as if a sigh weaved it's way through the undergrowth. Or was it something else? It seemed strangely quiet all of a sudden, as if the dawn held it's breath with each rising movement, waiting for something to happen. The golden stallion threw up his head at the sound of movement above him on the tor, eyes searching the gums in vain as a shadowy mass exploded, roaring from their cover.

Balaroo started, ears flickering at the strangers apparent anger as he struck out with forelegs on slightly higher ground. After the his initial shocking appearance the shifting mass of grey began to seem as if he was there only to chase him off, his menacing stare only making it more obvious. Balaroo snorted impatiently - he had no mares to steal and there was no shortage of grazing up here, yes it was sparse but not as much as in some areas, this shadowy horse was seeking confrontation for no good reason. It had only been a few moments since the stranger's roar of anger and still it rang across the Brindle, alerting all to their presence, and this gave Balaroo the time to assess the situation properly; he was a hefty young horse but maybe a little younger than himself, long limbed and with a height advantage, but he was by no means bigger than himself, for Balaroo had much filled out over the last summer.

He looked at the queerly angry stallion as if from a height, though he was in fact positioned slightly below, and decided he would offer some words to discourage him from his obvious pursuit: "Would it be wise, O' angry shadow stallion of the Brindle, to fight one who may be older than you, for grazing that is enough for the both of us?" The golden stallion had decided that being below such a heavy stallion may not be such a bad thing, so he merely stood his ground, ears flickering casually to catch the sound of any who may have been attracted by the strangers cry.

[Ehetere]

His fore-hooves crashed back down to earth, only to find that the other stallion had barely flicked an ear at his entrance. Sufficiently insulted, Lark pinned his ears flat against his neck and glared daggers at the burnished stallion. Thought he was so tough because he was handsome did he? While the other stallion may have been finer in looks and of a more exotic coat than he, Lark knew that beauty was of little use if a stallion wanted to keep together a herd. Or his grazing spot.

Lark snorted discontentedly and stamped a foot. What rubbish! What stallion was ever such a pacifist to a complete stranger? The Brindle Bull had been his haunt, and he now wanted to try and keep it for himself. Never mind that he had no mares to share it with, the rocky landscape hid him better than any other and he would not tolerate another stallion impinging on his space.

Age differences had never been a deciding factor in fights with Lark before, unless it was an impossible fight between his young self and a mature stallion. No, the grey colt had not ever fought a battle with one the same age as he, or younger, his opponents always seemed to be older. In Lark’s opinion, this only showed how much stronger he was than others his age, despite the fact he was yet to win such a confrontation.

“Ha! I’m no fool - I don’t want you or any fat hungry mares you attract with your outrageous coat gorging yourselves on what good spring grass there is. If you don’t leave now, I’ll be forced to make you!” replied Lark haughtily, baring his teeth menacingly at the gold stallion.

Deciding that this sedate intruder was not likely to be persuaded to move on no matter what he said, Lark waited for no reply before launching his bulk in the direction of the gleaming stallion. He might have held himself in false esteem, but he was no inexperienced colt, and made sure not to race at full throttle, instead making sure he could check his advance without careering past his target.

In other news: Lark is an idiot

[Rivre]

The arrogant young stallion threw back a haughty remark and Balaroo flattened his ears in response, angered by the dusky horses apparent insolence. Who was he that he thought he owned the mountains? He didn't seem patient either, for he flung himself into confrontation without waiting to see if he would leave or not. The golden stallion watched the shift of the oncoming weight and side-stepped to the left hastily to avoid the bulk of the collision, one of the grey's forelegs catching his shoulder and searing the flesh so that he let out an angry snort, snaking his neck round in an attempt to catch the slippery neck of his opponent. It seemed a stupid and pointless loss of effort, which only drove Balaroo to fight in earnest, swinging hindquarters this way and that as he ducked back and forth slashing with his teeth.

Now that they were on more level ground the grey had no obvious advantage but he knew that to win this fight he may have to use the same advantage himself. Rushing in once more, Balaroo thrust his shoulders forward in an attempt to unbalance the other and felt the searing of many abrasions to his once unmarked body, roaring at the pain that ripped through his shoulder. Swinging round he leapt up the tor so that when he faced the grey again, though weary he now had a lot of height between them and to his pleasant surprise, it was unreachable from any other angle, so the grey would have to face him head-on.

[Tiggs]

A great whoop of laughter echoed between the tors the noise of roars and squeals from the two stallions. A young rose-grey mare peered around a rocky tor, her dark eyes alight with mirth. “Lark, I knew your mother was good for nothing but did our father teach you nothing?” She heckled, laughing. “Come on, I could beat him with three legs! Put some effort in, brother.”

The filly was Coreen, a simply marked mare with a wavering blaze up her pale face, an even mix of white hairs across her bay coat, a tall white sock on her left foreleg and a simple white pastern on her right rear. She was built lightly, with a slightly dished face, narrow chest and corded muscles up her long legs. Where her dark brother was broad, she was slim. Where he was idiotic, she was bright. The two were polar opposites if not for the mean streak they shared in common.

She’d heard the battle of stallions and had come to see what the fuss was about. She hadn’t expected to find her half-brother Lark, but she was delighted to see that he was as useless as ever. She’d bullied the colt through his younger years, and she wasn’t about to stop now. He’d filled out since she’d last seen him – he looked like a real stallion – but looks could be deceiving. She’d be ashamed to call him her brother if they had came out of the same dam. As it was, they only shared their father in common, Boolee.

Her contemptuous gaze flickered to the golden stallion and she smirked. While she was here to hassle her brother, that did not put her on the other’s side. Also, seeing Lark beaten to a ready pulp might be enough to pique her interest. Hoping her arrival distracted the dark stallion, she stepped out from behind the rocky bolder pile to watch openly with apparently no regard to her own safety.

[Ehetere]

OOC: I can change the ending if you want more fighting Riv! Otherwise: flirt away you two!

Though his initial charge was mostly dodged by the nimble stallion, Lark felt a dark satisfaction as he felt his forehoof connect with flesh. There was an angry snort which he replied to with his own challenge again. His victory seemed short lived however, as his opponent was no fool. The gold stallion seemed enraged by the very spectacle of this young grey horse leaping into the fray, becoming a whirlwind of snapping teeth and flying hooves.

Momentarily taken aback, Lark tried his best to maneuver himself so the more nimble footed stallion may not get the upper hand. He may have been brash, but the steel grey was nothing if not vicious and cunning with little sense of fighting fair. To him it seemed that they were fairly evenly matched, the age factor playing at the back of his mind. He was now sure this other stallion was older than he, it showed in his more filled out frame, and meant that he may posses greater strength than he.

An unexpected rush caught Lark off guard, and he stumbled a little as the weight of the big stallion took its toll. Sweat was beginning to turn his coat back to black, and his young muscles were straining from the effort of it all. To make matters worse, it seemed the other horse was in no mood to continue this bashing match, bounding up onto the higher ground from whence Lark had come. Lark came to a stop, head thrown up in defiance - looking for a moment remarkably like his brother aside from the pinned ears.

He knew he was disadvantaged now, more so than when he’d been on flat ground even. For all his muscle, it would do little to aid him here, quite the opposite in fact. Before his pride could rule his head though, there was a call from a eerily familiar voice somewhere behind him. If his whites had been showing before, they certainly were now.

A grey filly had emerged from the shrub, obviously having heard the battle cries of the two dueling stallions. She looked almost unfamiliar to Lark, but her voice he doubted if he would ever forget. Her face too was distinctively marked, sharing the same tell-tale dish of a descendant of his grey father. Coreen - the malicious bay - now grey - filly foal who had spent nearly her every waking moment making Lark’s life a living hell. Or more of a living hell. He still wasn’t sure whether he loathed his mother or her more. His mother hadn’t come back to haunt him, so it seemed he finally knew the answer.

He could still remember her taunts, how she used to chase him and bite at his ankles and his withers - scars he still held to this day. He’d never been forced to admit it before now, but despite his obvious physical advantage she still terrified him. A truly brutal kick to the forehead snapped him out of his trance and before he knew it he was running, barrelling through the bush as though the ghost of a mean spirited bay filly was still hot on his heels, all thoughts of fighting forgotten save for the dizziness that clouded his vision.

[Rivre]

There were a few more blows on his part, but otherwise Balaroo was tiring quickly, it seemed lucky to him that the grey mare appeared when she did. With a resounding kick to the head the dark stallion fled into the bush, unusually startled by the filly's appearance, leaving the sweaty golden stallion to peer after him curiously; leaping down from his ledge and snorting at the pain of it, he could feel his shoulder stiffening already. It took a moment for the anger of his confrontation of wear off a little, before he turned his attention fully on the pretty filly, only just realizing she still stood watching him. "I hope for your sake that is not your stallion," he offered, blinking slowly still in a semi-haze, "I am Balaroo, for the rain. Only it seems the weather has forsaken me..." The last words were uttered quietly, turning his head to the sky and wishing in earnest for a spring shower to wash away the sweat that clung to his hide.

The rose grey was pretty, exceedingly so in his eyes, but the flight of his opponent made him curious to her nature, if the other had in fact known her or been her protector. Pfft! Protector indeed, he couldn't even hold his own mares! "It is not a good day to be trekking about in search of grazing, there is plenty here for two to eat a while, you're welcome to graze with me. It's been a while since I've been in company, especially one such as yours." Despite the bad start to his day the sunlight still lit up the crags, leaving shadowy hollows of grass, and he made his way towards one, keeping one eye on the curious filly. He found her somewhat enthralling.

[Tiggs]

The grey filly chuckled, watching the grey stallion flee as if he had seen a ghost. Lark always had been overly afraid of her – probably something to do with the constant grilling she had given him as a foal. She turned her dark eyes on the golden stallion, snorting derisively. “Hardly, that fool of a colt is a son of my father’s herd,” she replied, making it clear that he was only partly related to her. It didn’t do her image well to associate herself too closely to Lark.

“Hello, Balaroo for the Rain,” she said, sarcasm lacing her words as she stepped into the small glade. “I am Coreen, for the end of the hills, and I do believe you are flirting with me,” she smiled and tossed her head, seemingly unsurprised or even impressed. “I appreciate the spectacle of seeing some sense beaten into that idiot, but do not mistake that for my being impressed, even a mare could beat that runt.”

She did however accept his invitation to graze, and dropped her head to nibble at the dew-damp grass in the shade of the overhanging rocks. The taste was refreshing, and sshe flickered her ears to settle on the curiously coloured stallion. She had not seen his type before, and something told her there was something special about it. The dark legs, golden body and creamy mane... the name escaped her and she paid it no more heed. Perhaps if he were black, brown, red or even grey, she might have given him more attention. Coreen was not a fancier of rare colours, or over-confident stallions.