[open] Hail from the north

[Haiku]

Spring; it had began to touch all reaches of the country, melting snow where once it dominated, awakening creatures from their deep winter slumber, and beckoning the growth of vegetation that had seemed all but alive during the winter. It was a time of change, a time of transformation, when the world regained colour and life -- for some. For others, it simply meant the losing of some fur and a chance to put a bit of healthy weight back on.

Haiku, a stout brumby hailing from the north, paused atop a magnificent mountain, her nostrils flaring wide as she drank in the scent of a new environment. There had been nothing to keep her back home and so she started to drift away from her herd and follow the large river that ran through her homeland. She had followed it for days, not entirely sure of what she sought or how long she would look, but somehow certain that she was not there yet.

Now though, as she was bathed in the scent of other horses and new spring life, she breathed a sigh of contentment, 'here then - for now.'

[Illu]

It was strange how familiar it all was. It had been years since Yarran had been to this part of the country, and he could still pinpoint all the highlights of the landscape. That slope he'd tripped on that time he'd tried to race down it. That rocky outcrop he used to use as a shelter on hot days. That overlook that gave you a glorious view over the gently swooping valleys. It was all still there. In hindsight he wasn't sure why he'd half expected it to have changed, but, well, fire did strange things to the landscape.

By the looks of it, the mountains had gotten away relatively unscathed from the inferno. Yarran was tracking through familiar paths before he knew it. Old brumby routes that had once been well worn down from the frequent trampling of hooves now grew thick and overgrown, and only the passing ghosts of old memories lead him on along the half-vanished tracks. Struth, he couldn't have been in this area since he was a foal. The realisation was a little humbling in regards to the passage of time.

Today, the red and white stallion wasn't being as cautious as he should be. It was still too early in the season for men and their cattle to come crashing through, and from the looks of the land, there weren't many horses around yet either. He hadn't come across any stallion markers for a few days, so he was relatively certain that the great Kosciusko was still unclaimed. Instead he favoured more a leisurely pace, strolling through with his head at his faintly-striped knees to try and catch any sight or scent that might give him a clue as to the recent goings on.

Alas, if the land held any secrets, it wasn't going to reveal them today. At length Yarran slowed down to a halt, stretching his neck and giving it a solid shake to try and break up the monotony of a whole night and half a days worth of straight travel. The sun starting to warm now and Yarran lifted his head for the first time to put an eye over the expanse of hills for any kind of shelter. None, of course. Not even a cluster of trees. Tut.

Although, there was one particular form breaking up the monotony of the landscape. The shape of a horse on the crest of the mountain, barely more than a silhouette in the glaring light. Yarran hesitated, flaring his nostrils, but no air breathed through the hills on this particular day to give him any more details. Mare or stallion? He couldn't even tell for sure because of the sun. But aside from some very unhelpful gang-gangs and a confused wallaby, they were the first sign of life he'd spotted since his return and he was willing to take this with a kind of cautious optimism. A bit of news never went awry.

He pricked his ears, lifting his speckled head still higher and made a low sort of neigh in greeting. Not a challenging cry to a rival stallion or a gentle call from a prospective suitor to a mare; it was more to announce his presence than anything else. Whoever they were, they were looking the other way and there was a chance they hadn't spotted him, and, well, even if they had, there was no points lost for being polite.

[Haiku]

There was a chill bite to the air that was unfitting for such a picturesque spring day - probably due to the altitude, Haiku figured. The sky above was perfectly clear and without a single cloud, making the endless blue seem abnormally vast and belittling. The little brumby mare shifted her weight, breathing another sigh as she contemplated her next move. Now that she was "here" - wherever here really was - she had to do something more than just aimlessly walk to fill her time. It was a sobering feeling to be so without aim or purpose after having followed the river for so long. The air was still for the moment, bringing her no present hint of what lie in wait for her in this new place.

Just as she was about to venture onward, a familiar sound - one that she had not heard in many moons - caused her to take pause. The sound had come from another brumby, a stallion she was sure. Without really deciding to do so, she swung her head around and returned the greeting with a low whicker, seeking out the origin of the call with her honey-brown eyes. There, no more than two hundred meters away, was the figure of a slender, well-built stallion.

Supposing that the polite thing to do would be to approach the stranger who had called out to her, she began to walk toward him. Unfortunately her tired legs were barely parting with the ground as she moved and when her left fore-hoof met with a protruding rock, she took a violent stumble, and then another in her attempt at recovery. Embarrassed may have become her, had she known such an emotion. Instead she simply paused to regain her balance, and continued her approach as though nothing had ever happened.

[Illu]

It was a mares voice that answered. Yarran felt his skin prickle. If he wasn't so confident about his thoroughness he'd be growing paranoid he'd just missed something. A mare on her own was rare enough, but one this far out? He half expected another stallion to be lurking just beyond the rise. But then, he was equally alone in the middle of nowhere. Who was he to talk?

The mare began making her way down the side of the hill and Yarran strolled up to greet her with an effortless ground-covering stride, head up and ears pricked in a façade of energy he wasn't really feeling. Always look your best, he had been ruthlessly taught, although he knew his long travels were weighing on his condition.

What little cloud cover there was began to stretch itself thinly across the sun, allowing him to get a proper look at her for the first time. She was a stocky mare of a good colour, certainly not unattractive and with a very pleasant face. This made it all the stranger she'd be here without a herd, but Yarran didn't bother himself with the question as to why. Whatever her story was, it was hers to know.

Not that he got long to dwell on the subject. The mare took a violent stumble and Yarran instantly picked up a trot, ears flicking back and forth nervously. She seemed okay, but now that she was close he could detect a distinct weary look about her, no doubt similar to the one he was busy trying to pretend he wasn't feeling. Okay, so maybe he was a bit curious.

He stopped close, but at a respectful distance giving ample room for personal space. In a swift movement extended his nose to breathe out in greeting before pulling back, a move that was clearly more for the sake of formality and politeness than anything else. She had just almost fallen over. "Are you alright?" The question sounded a little flat, but not entirely incincere.

[Haiku]

Haiku appraised the stallion as they drew nearer to each other, his elegant and regal gait exhibiting typical male exuberance. At closer examination though, something was amiss about his high-reaching step and supple, stallionesque movement. His eyes, seeming almost dull and without life, betrayed his facade to Haiku. It seemed to her as though this stud acted more on habit than conscious chivalry. The evidence was subtle, but Haiku had spent much of her life observing others, picking up on the slightest changes in their body language and even scent. Who was she to judge though, she spent most of her life acting out of habits she had learned by watching other mares. Technically, much of her life and nature was a lie, meant to appease the general population and convince them that she was indeed perfectly normal.

Once they were within a few meters of each other, the stallion stilled and extended his soft muzzle in her direction, a gesture of common courtesy which she returned without hesitation, a practise of habit which she had picked up at a very young age - though she was a little unsure of it's purpose. That said, there were many social practises that Haiku did not fully grasp nor approve of, but executed with flawless believability. One of which was the flicking of one's tail in the presence of a stallion - something she assumed was performed in order to spread her feminine scent. Right now though, she did not have the energy to assume her role as flawless brumby mare, and so instead resorted to licking and chewing, a sign of respect and submission.

"Are you alright?" she heard him ask - although once again his actions were not quite followed through with his eyes, Haiku observed with interest. He had asked if she was alright, leaving her a little confused and concerned; had she let slip her curtain to reveal the resigned and ever disinterested Haiku that she has spent years trying to mask? Was she really that exhausted? "Uhh.." was all she could manage at first, before she was suddenly struck with the image of her stumble and how it must have looked to him. "Oh, yes, fine.. Thanks"

A whisper of breeze picked up momentarily, shifting the stallion's fiery-hued forelock over one eye. He really was quite an unusually coloured stallion, Haiku noted - not without a little admiration. Different was hard to come by these days, and it was a breath of fresh air to come across someone who strayed from the usual browns and bays. "I'm Haiku," she added, though she felt slightly disconnected from the words. She was many things, made of different elements and experiences, but she was not 'Haiku'. Haiku was the summary of all her habits and facades, the image that was reflected out to the world around her, her protective little shell.

But no, she was certainly not 'Haiku'.

[Illu]

Hurm. Tired as well as confused. The mare seemed to take a moment to realise what he meant and her response was almost dismissive. Perhaps she was just embarassed? He let it drop. Aside from that little incident, she seemed to have no other problems in regards to her health.

"I'm Haiku," the mare said politely, and Yarran pricked his ears.

Haiku. It wasn't a name that he recognised from the region. High Country names had their own distinctive sort of song to them that this one lacked. Still, there were always a few mares that liked to be different just for the sake of it; maybe her mother had been that way inclined. Or perhaps she just wasn't from the area.

"Haiku," he repeated, to familiarise himself with it before he could have a chance to forget. He was awful with names. Agonisingly awful, as though they were making a concious effort to go in one ear and out the other.

"I am Yarran, for the lightning that strikes the earth," he responded, in typical High Country tradition fashion. He'd long ago come to terms with the fact he couldn't explain his name without sounding like a colossal egomaniac, but, well, he had his dearly departed mother to thank for that. A physically stunning mare to be sure, but who had as much sense as a beached catfish on days she was being unusually clever, and that was an insult to the catffish.

Formal introductions dealt with, Yarran absently lashed his tail over his rump to disperse a stray fly. Winter was barely over and yet the promise of summer was already starting to bolster their numbers. In a few months they'd be swimming through them like water. Not something he was in any way looking forward to.

The remoteness of their present situation still wasn't far from his mind. "It's strange enough to find one horse alone up here, let alone two," he pointed out, trying to work out if there was a way to politely ask what brought her here without making it sound like either an interrogation or some kind of accusation. "I heard a commotion from the Gang-gangs a few days ago. Have they brought any word?"