A Southern Wind [o]

[Rivre]

With the winds from the south there came a silence that was not quite silent. Many brumbies were moving, North to South, East to West, South to North and with them there was Talgan. The three year old had been born in the south from his bright chestnut dam to a country of mystery, but none was like that, that traveled on the winds of the North. He had known since he was a colt that he would one day travel through the lands of the legendary Thowra, his mother trying to breed pride into him so that he would one day be of royal blood - but in vain. Talgan wanted a herd of his own, but not the responsibility of defending the high country - he wanted mares that boasted beauty and valor. He was quite handsome himself, well built, young and strong with deep cherry undertones that lighted on head, shoulder, rump and leg, to his inherited chestnut hide: his mane and tail of deep chestnut and bay blacks to spill across an almost red neck. Arrellah had done well to plant this thought in his head so that he did not doubt his own vigor, but she had not succeeded in making him arrogant.

He had traveled through many nights under the cover of dark, often calling merely for the pleasure of hearing the rich tones of a stallion rather than the coltish whinny his had been last spring. But now he had arrived, if from a slightly distorted direction, to a place that he did not know, only it's name - Paddy Rush's Bogong. The gums still slightly charred but bearing a burden of waxy leaves whispered; 'the southern wind' for he had blown in as such, arriving just as the first light of dawn spread across the country, lighting the solitary stallion in a yellow wash. He blew out softly through dilated nostrils, lowering his head so that long thin forelock fell a little over one black eye, tail swishing and ears pricked. The wind picked up suddenly with the light and the young horse careered sideways, breaking into a canter that shock with life and strength that he did not yet know how to contain in his four hooves. The glade of springy snow grass sloped gently until it steeped into a drop that Talgan was forced to stop at, half rearing and sending a mysterious call out across the new mysterious country.

[Ehetere]

Milyali loved the queer light that came just before dawn. Though the luminous moon no longer lit the landscape, having long since set over the horizon leaving only starlight to guide her, the promise of dawn always came with anticipation. The young mare was no moonfilly, though she was of their blood on her sire’s side, and that was reflected in her behaviour. Her nocturnal activities might also be caused by her shy nature - she had wanted to avoid unwanted attention from any stallions who might steal her away.

Though Milyali was a very small filly, and round as the sky was blue, there was no denying her coat held a certain mystery to it, or that her face was as sweet as the snowgrass in spring. While some stallions wouldn’t look twice at her, favouring lithe swift fillies, she was certain to attract some attention, and though she did not detest company as her mother had, she had no wish to be forced away with some brute simply for her coat.

Dawn broke finally, bathing the recovering landscape in a wash of golden light. She blinked, blinded momentarily by the light. As the glare faded, she peered closely at some of the dew caught in a spider’s web - like tiny golden pearls. There was something magic about the change from light to day, and day to night, and at the setting of the moon and the rising of the sun. Ancient stories passed down perhaps through blood were but a distant memory, sung to her in a language she didn’t fully understand.

Suddenly the quiet bird calls and the rustle of the breeze were interrupted by the sound of thundering hooves nearby, causing Milyali to shy violently before melting into the scrub, her dusky coat providing near perfect cover from prying eyes. She was the colour of the bush - the pale brown grey trunks of the gums and the dappled light between dense scrub. She was confident she would not be spotted as the owner of the hoof beats came careening around the corner - a chestnut stallion! Milyali became very still, unable to stop herself from quivering a little. Despite the golden light, it was clear he was a very deep shade of chestnut, though far from brown. He was deep rich liver, something she had never seen before.

His ringing cry echoed across the mountains, and she wondered what it might be like, to not fear capture or discovery all the time. To have to fight for those you loved. Almost as though her legs were acting of their own accord, she crept from the shadows and out onto the springy snow grass, offering a soft whinny of welcome. She didn’t know how or why, but she felt this was no brutish stallion. She was a gentle mare, and needed no less of a gentle stallion if he was to keep her. But for now at least she felt the need for company, for the warmth and companionship of another horse. Leaving her mother had been a hard choice, and it had taken her all this time to do so, but any young horse knows they must make their own way, and become independent. Here was her first true step towards independence.

[Rivre]

He stood on the slightly more rocky tor watching over the lower country for a few moments after all four hooves came safely crashing down, the odd strand of reddened liver mane billowing in the gentle breeze that rolled with the slope of the country; it was so quiet up here that for a while the bulky horse forgot that he may not be alone for as long as he pleased. Ears flickering, he turned the great chestnut plains of his face towards the source of the light, at the same precise moment that the young filly put her troubles aside and stepped silently into the clearing. Talgan almost started at her entrance, the gale finally pushing her sweet scent to his nostrils as a quiet and shy greeting tamed his wildly flickering lobes, quelling them into stillness.

After a moment, and when the glare of the dawn no longer hurt his eyes, the chestnut was able to distinguish the soft angles of her features and rounded figure that lent sweetness to her overall image, but also the curious silver tone of her coat that seemed to reflect all light that doused it. Nostrils quivering he offered a quiet reply of his own - for it seemed the bush and the very filly he was greeting demanded a lower volume interaction, which seemed odd but the cherry toned Talgan concluded a little more sensible than attracting every brumby, as his call may have done. Turning his torso round fully, so that instead of deep liver low-lights the mainly flame coloured hide was embraced by the warmth of sunlight and the chattering of the waking gang gangs that filled his ears with unecessary clutter. He made his way towards the endearingly shy grey mare in an arc, giving her the option to leave before he had a chance to speak and begin to assume. But to his somewhat untrained eye Talgan saw no such move to leave, perhaps he missed it, but he approached non-the-less stopping a little distance away with outstretched dark nose: "Greetings soft grey mare of the dawn, I am Talgan, what is your name?"

[Ehetere]

The stallion too seemed to be dazzled by the light, momentarily concerned at her sudden appearance. Milyali felt guilty for that, but it had been rather hard not to sneak up on him. His reply was to unkind though, filled with a sensitivity that would suit her very well. She watched with wonder at how his mysterious coat danced like flames in the golden light, haloed against the equally golden mountains. She didn’t move as he came over, determinedly shoving aside any of her fears.

With delicate nostrils flaring, she reached out to meet his dark muzzle with her own, breathing in his scent. Her ears were pricked as her nerves began to fade, to be replaced with the excitement of meeting someone new. Talgan was his name, how very noble sounding. She wondered whether she should comment on this fact, but decided to hold her tongue. Much like her mother, she was not a brumby of many words, made up for by her animated expression.

“Well met Talgan,” she replied happily, snuffling at his cheek curiously. Never had she seen such a uniquely coloured horse - and he was quite handsome too! Her mother had been a similar mousy dun to her, though without her flaxen mane and dapples. She had vague recollections of her father, a brilliant horse who’s coat shone like the sun and a silver mane and tail like hers. Ironic really, that in the wide world of the High Country this stallion’s chestnut coat would be more common, but Milyali had led a secretive lifestyle, and to her his rich burgundy hues were something almost magical.

“I am Milyali, and I am not from around these parts. Are there many other horses with coats such as yours? Are there many other horses since the fire that have returned?” She stopped, embarrassed at the stream of questions that had burst forth. He probably thought her silly and foolish.

[Rivre]

Talgan was not nervous like the silver grey he encountered, he tended to befriend before he had the opportunity to offend - at least that was his motto. Unless that unfortunate creature went by the name of blahblah - stallion! - and hence forth, then he had a few issues to address. But seeing as this sweet young filly was open to his companionship, he welcomed the warmth of her searching nose, repressing the urge to laugh at her curiosity and strange manner. "There may be many of the same colour as me, but perhaps not as striking as the flame of my own hide," he replied, trying to hide his amusement, he could feel his affections growing for the petite Milyali by the second and it showed in his relaxed posture. He might be young, but he had a reasonably sensible head on those broad shoulders.

His brows furrowed momentarily at the barrage of questions, but the expression didn't dampen his features long, only the memory of the fire's wrath, one he had seen only as an outsider making their first appearance in the North. "I'm afraid I would not know, sweet mare, for I come from the South - that is my home. I know as little as you". Snuffling her pale mane curiously the larger chestnut flared his nostrils, blowing the wisps wildly and entertaining his thoughts for a moment before his stomach spoke to him again, reminding him of his journey. "Will you graze here with me a while? It's been a lonely trek across unknown country, a familiar face and a companion would be nice."

[Ehetere]

Milyali lapped up his words, warm eyes filled with wonder. This was almost a new world to her, and she saw it through the eyes of a freshly born foal. Growing up in such a tiny herd, she had seen many of the High Country’s landscapes, but she was yet to sample its culture. She wondered whether he might like to show her these horses of different coats, but she held her tongue. It would be rude to ask him like he was her guide.

His response did not seem to bother the round little mare - her family had spent much of their time in the lower half of the High Country, but had never truly ventured south. How exciting this was, a stallion from the south coming to see the home of the great Silver brumby for the first time. Milyali wondered whether such legends existed in the south - surely they must, for Thowra was a legend almost as well known and spoken of as the land on which they walked.

The young mare had an unquenchable thirst for excitement, adventure and knowledge, a curiosity that would not be silenced and here seemed to be a stallion with untold tales. Oh how he hoped she might be able to go exploring with him. For though she enjoyed the company of the moon on her travels, it was not very conductive in meeting other brumbies and seeing the world, but with another horse, a strong and vital stallion, she might feel safe walking in the daylight.

The rich chestnut snuffled at her mane, letting a few silvery strands fly loose. Milyali giggled, the strands and his warm breath tickling her skin. She almost beamed when he asked her to stay, had she been a dog she surely would have wagged her tail in enthusiasm. “Oh yes, I would love to! Will you take me exploring with you?” she asked eagerly, more than happy to graze first as her figure would suggest it was one of her favourite activities.

[Rivre]

Talgan was unlike the little mare in personality, but if they had been foods, they would have complimented each other as a savory dessert. Warm dark gaze simply sparkled and the larger stallion breathed a sigh through flared nostrils, content to speak with such a sweet and pretty thing such as Milyali. She made her response after a moment of silence long enough for a wombat to open it's eyes and Talgan chuckled quietly, happiness spreading through his chestnut self at the glee in her words. "I will take you where ever I shall wander," he nickered, tones rich and deep and full of an integrity that would crush any weaker creatures resolve. Touching his muzzle to her neck once more, he pushed his cherry highlighted nose into her withers, warming the space there before he spoke again, "If of course, you would like a protector as well as a guide?"

It had gotten colder in the shadow and the liver coloured brumby felt the need to capture sunlight in his flame once more, so stepped proudly into the openness of the glade from beneath the shadows of the gums. He avoided the sheer slope he had hollered from and dropped his head to graze, peering at Milyali ears pricked with interest, hoping she would come and warm his side. He was only young, but from his bulk alone it was clear he had much promise to be a strong and endearing stallion when he reached his prime, and with fine mares like Milyali at his side, he could see no obstacles to stop him prevailing with his ambitions.