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Post by Tiggs on Oct 30, 2011 9:43:58 GMT
The fire had affected the brumbies in a different way. Mostly for the worse. Calca, however, was surprisingly unaffected. As the years wore on, she realised how much sense her mother used to make. The fire had hurt a lot of brumbies – sure – but it only meant that the strong survived. If the natural order of things allowed the weak to live on, chaos would rein! It sounded so heartless... but she couldn’t help but think that the idea had some merit.
The moonfilly descendant grazed in Yarraman’s valley, the grass sweet and delicious after the winter snows had cleansed them of ash. The trees were alive with new growth, and spring was creeping into her very bones. She was constantly excited to meet the new King. Battle cries had started ringing now that spring was in full swing, and it would not be long before a winner was chosen and the new King would join her and she would be Queen of the High Country once more.
For now, she grazed alone, standing out in the middle of the valley for all to see. She was beautiful. The soft brown of her coat, dark legs and face, was offset by the pale mane. Her moonfilly mother had passed down her beauty, and if her daughter was assured of one thing, it was her beauty. She had seen many a stallion rise and fall to the position of King, but Calca was adamant that she would always be with the King, no matter what his name.
Feeling as if the eyes of the High Country were on her, she threw up her head, ears pricked and tail held high. Lessons from her mother came back to her, and she set off at a beautifully collected canter around the valley. Her pale mane and tail streamed out behind her, and every hoof was placed carefully so each stride was equal and precise. She was named for the stars, and right now, she felt like the star of the High Country.
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Post by Rivre on Oct 31, 2011 10:02:42 GMT
It had taken him three days to travel the length of the high country to the great valley, three long days trekking through the crisp ash-laden bush and it was a relief to the young stallion to see areas that were not dominated by dust and grime. The grazing was sweet and the snowgums protected by the almost sheer granite slopes, Thackory was content to doze wearily under the looming branches before he finally emerged from their cover, feeling refreshed and even more famished than before. Ears flickering he snatched a few mouthfuls of the still damp grass gaze surveying the area for signs of other horses. And he was in luck! Perhaps it was his tired state that had not given him the wisdom to check first, but a mare of contrasting hues was cantering across the glade as if unaware he was even there.
He had filled out in the last year, the bay of his hide had become stronger, more roan flecks peeking through, his head looked prouder and his call finally sounded like a stallions - not that he used it much. Kind brown eyes watched the mare dance about, looking particularly at the curious length of her stride and how each hoof-beat seemed rhythmical. Thackory watched a little while, stepping out into the sunlight so that he was no longer concealed by shadow and looked quite handsome, cautious of scaring the mare into flight. He hadn't talked to another creature in what seemed like seasons, but it was in fact only days. He was too sociable to be left alone for any great deal of time and the young horse felt at ease enough to drop his head and begin to gaze again, offering a whinny of greeting to the unassuming moon filly that danced through the valley. |
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Post by Tiggs on Nov 1, 2011 22:09:37 GMT
There was always a delicious warmth that settled over Calca when a stallion was watching her. Careful not to look like she noticed, she danced across the grass, feeling like her hooves were floating over the ground. She skipped and pranced, sidestepped and tossed her head. Her long pale mane fluttered in the breeze, and she closed her eyes, so sure of the King’s Valley that she could trust her feet to guide her.
The stallion, his scent clear to her now, finally whinnied to her. She slowed, lifting her face and pricking her ears toward him as if she’d only just realised his presence. What she saw though was not what she was hoping for. Instead of a great hunk of a stallion, she was looking at a scrubby brown male, his body smothered in white as if he had taken a roll in the ash and forgot to shake it off. He was tall enough, but his stomach hinted that he enjoyed the eat more than collect mares, evidenced by the total lack of them.
She huffed, literally crestfallen as the tension arching her neck eased out. This was no King, not even the makings of one; she’d danced for a nobody. Still, Calca was not entirely without manners, and she returned his greeting with what she hoped wasn’t too disappointed a whinny. She dropped her head to pull up a mouthful of grass and chewed on it as she made her way over to him. “Greetings,” she said as she neared, bobbing her head. There, Calca, daughter of Brael, polite even in the face of disappointment.
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