Fruits of Deceit [Rae's Boiz]

[Tiggs]

With spring giving away to summer, the Big Boggy had exploded with colour. The fire that had rampaged through the area might have burned away many of the plants, but after a season to recover, the wide valley hardly looked like it had been touched! Bottlebrushes sprouted their flowers all across the Boggy, vibrant red in colour, their pollen settling like snow over any brumby who brushed against them. The ground around the water was carpeted with ground violets, their purple flowers peeking delicately out from the green foliage.

It seemed as if almost every creature in the High Country was out grazing on the greenery, and the rest were gorging themselves on the smaller animals. Jiba had little cause to worry. Her filly was a yearling now, and even if she were still a foal, and the dingoes skulking about had plenty of easier prey to snack on. The dun roan mare stood under a copse of blueberry ashes, stretching her head up to nibble at the fruit dangling in abundance from the branches while Baan and her half-sister Bilba grazed the fallen fruit from the ground.

The trees were crammed with birds who were also after the berries, but there were plenty to go around. Their cries, shrieks, whoops, cackles and whistles filled the air as the brumbies grazed, and Jiba felt like every one of her senses was full with the pungent scent of the tree’s flowers filling her nose. The sudden growth of the foliage obscured her view, and she really could be quite vulnerable. Luckily, the birds would give her fair warning of anyone approaching so despite her disadvantage, she was really as safe as she could be.

The same couldn’t be said of Kiata, however, who had skipped off at the crack of dawn to resume the hunt for her beloved Piringa. Jiba barely cared where the stallion was when she had such good grazing. It was the stud’s own bloody fault for losing them if another stallion was to come along and claim them. The mare actually hoped another stallion would take her – it would safe her having to put up with Kiata’s pining.

Snorting, the mare dropped her head and lazed under the tree, her stomach full for now. Dark eyes peered out across the Boggy, squinting against the bright summer sunlight. With a flick of her tail, she shooed a bright red and blue parrot from resting on her back. The bird had made it a game to sit on the brumbies while it ate each fruit. The enterprising animal flapped over to sit on the back of her dun daughter, Baal. The yearling filly squealed and bucked, running a circle around the tree before dropping her head to graze again.

Her mother snorted once more, and threw up her head in a loud neigh. Half the birds took to the air in a clamour while the rest flapped and showed their displeasure by raining down the fruit they held onto the backs of the three brumbies. Jiba squealed and pinned back her ears, shaking her coat so the blue fruits rolled from her back. She settled again, keeping an eye out across the Boggy for any response. She found that she actually wanted one. She didn’t so much as want the company as need it. The birds would only give her so much protection, and not for much longer. She needed a stallion; a proper one. Pity they didn’t grow as abundantly as the fruit scattered around her feet, she thought with a sigh.

[Ehetere]

As per usual, Lark was absolutely smarting. His conquest to become a stallion whose (admittedly rather feminine) name was feared throughout the High Country was going rather miserably. Here he was half way through his third year, when a stallion should be making a name for himself, yet to win a single fight. It probably hadn’t helped his cause that all the fights he’d fought thus far had been against older stallions, but where was the challenge in fighting an easy opponent? Lark had convinced himself that he was far above those younger him and even his own age - why battle those of inferior strength to yourself. He had his eyes set on much bigger prestige. If only he could actually win for a change.

Never mind the lack of mares, which only made his predicament that little bit worse. As much as Lark hated to admit it, a harem of mares stupid as they were, was a statement of a stallion’s success and power. And like his winning margin, he currently had zero. The steel grey stallion detested the need for fillies and mares to sashay around with their ridiculous egos in toe, wanting to have attention lavished on them every second of the day. They were slow and stupid, a problem only compounded when they had foals.

Just as he thought this, Lark caught a scent on the wind, accompanied by a shrill neigh that rang out loud and clear across the boggy plain. Increasing his pace, Lark jogged forward almost eagerly. He might not have been the luckiest stallion out there, but it seemed some form of luck was smiling on him that day. Because if there was one mare he would quite like to collect for himself it was the brown and white flecked owner of the loud outburst.

A flock of screeching birds flew overhead, obviously startled by something up ahead. Lark increased his pace again, making sure he wasn’t so fast he’d be heard a mile away. As he got closer and closer, he picked up the scent of more mares, and slowed right down. He had hoped Jiba was on her own, like she had always seemed to be in the past. The presence of other mares complicated matters, and might mean a pesky white stallion nearby. He proceeded with caution, using his dark colour and what cover he could find to keep himself hidden. With yards of open country though, Lark knew he’d never be able to make it without being spotted. So cutting his losses, he let out a throaty stallion’s call, unable to detect the scent of any other males nearby.

Not bothering to quieten his step now, he cantered over the scrubby grass, rejuvenated with the coming of the rain. Lark was hardly the most romantic of brumbies, so most of the wondrous transformation that the landscape had undergone were lost on him. His gaze settled on a copse of trees up ahead where a chorus of shrieks and bird cries was emanating from - not unlike the flock who had scattered in his direction. Pricking his ears he paced forward slowly and deliberately, guessing a connection between the loud whinny and the disturbed birds. He could of course be wrong, but his nose suggested otherwise.

As he approached, he let out a deep whicker again, calling the group out of their hiding place. He knew they were here, and he knew Jiba was with them. And so long as his idiot brother was no where in sight he had every intention of stealing her away for good this time.

[Tiggs]

Well, she'd asked for a stallion and got one; in a manner of speaking. The dark grey stallion prancing across the Boggy toward her little copse of trees was simultaneously the last and first brumby she wanted to see. On one hand, he was an obnoxious brute of a stallion with an obsession with stealing her away. On the other, he was an obnoxious brute of a stallion with an obsession with stealing her away.

It was Lark, younger brother to her previous stallion, Piringa, and unknowingly to anyone but her, the father of her yearling filly. He had been a colt last time she had seen him. Since then, he'd gorwn into his legs and his chest had broaded. His crest was thicker and he sported a fair few battle scars. She was right that he'd turn into an impressive stallion. Given a year or two more, he would be a rival to the King, she was sure.

His cautionless call echoed across the Boggy, and she flicked her tail. He was getting more confident. This time last year, he hadn't dared step from the cover of shadows lest Piringa spot him. Now Lark didn't seem to care if Piringa was here or not, and that only excited Jiba more.

Before she could step from cover, her hasty yearling filly dashed from cover and replied to the stallion with a weak and warbling whinny. Squealing in anger, Jiba came from the trees in a storm of hooves and bullied her filly back into the trees, not being sparing with nips.

Surprised at her mother's sudden and unexpected ferociousness, Baan sulked and stood in the trees, peering out at the handsome young stallion from the safety of the copse. She had no idea why her mother was so tetchy about her going to the stallion. She didn't mind when she talked to the colts, so why was this stallion any different?

Satisfied that her daughter would stay put, Jiba turned to face Lark, ears pinned against her poll and teeth bared. Her tail twitched, lifting to form a cascade of black hair. The dun trotted over to the stallion, squealing and lashing out at his dark muzzle with her teeth. "I was expecting a real stallion; what are you doing here?" she asked, taking the opportunity of their closeness to investigate his new scars and appreciate the bulkier muscles of his chest up close.

Jiba huffed and flicked her tail, making sure the stinging lash hit him in the face as she moved around him, furthering her inspection. Her ears remained pinned, but there were clear and pungent giveaways that she was not entirely displeased to see him. She completed her circuit of him and flicked her tail, lifting it higher. Yes, he had definitely improved.

[Ehetere]

There was a sudden rush of movement, and a strange brownish filly burst from the hanging branches calling out to him. Lark peered at the odd looking creature curiously - she was young, a yearling and judging by the faded patterns forming around her eyes, she would one day be very grey indeed. A daughter of his dear brother for certain.

Almost immediately after her appearance there was an infuriated squeal that he knew all too well from the cover of the trees, followed by an enraged dusky and pale mare. She quickly herded the queer Piringa-daughter back into the trees, using considerable amounts of brute force to do so while a distinctively marked bay head watched on from her hiding place. Another filly - more daughters of his brother. He wondered how many more there might be - evidently the paler stallion had been busy collecting mares to bare his offspring.

Bilba was at least somewhat less brash than her sister, but would have willingly followed her out to greet the newly arrived grey beast who was ever so handsome. The big grulla mare flew into a rage however, and Bilba shrunk back in fear from vicious bites and kicks her sister received. Jiba promptly returned her daughter to the trees and Bilba greeted her with a quiet whicker. This new stranger was exciting and mysterious - older than what she and her sister had come across. She wanted to go and investigate, however it seemed the older mare was determined to keep them to the confines of the trees. Disappointed, she contented herself with studing this steely creature who had come running at the mare’s call.

Lark minded little the yearlings had been put in their place: he had no interest in his brother’s produce. It was the irate looking grulla he had his sights set on, and he didn’t flinch a muscle as she came snorting and fuming at him. Unlike last time, he was now a stallion and there was little she could do to hurt him. He was so arrogant in fact that his ears weren’t even in their customary position against his neck, pricked forward resulting in a horse who looked startlingly more like his older brother.

She trotted over, and he contented himself with studying her curves, she was even rounder than he remembered her, an amusing thought. Her tail was thicker, fuller, a black waterfall cascading from her pale rump. There was a smattering of scars marring her smooth hide, and Lark smirked as he recognized a bite shaped mark he’d given her when he was younger. He snorted, amused, as she came close to snapping his muzzle.

“I was expecting you to be following doe-eyed after my brother,” he responded, ears flicking back at the insult. He’d heard that one too many times lately. “Where is dear Piringa? He never seems to be here, being a real stallion. Once again he has left you alone to fend for yourself - rather foolish of him.”

She snorted and made to move around him, tail stinging across his face as she passed. Lark turned his head, shamelessly watching her progress and her swinging stride. Her round rump was far too good a target to pass up, and he curled his lip back and nipped her for good measure. His antics seemed to be unappreciated, as the mare lashed out and squealed, but Lark knew better than to believe this show. A sensual flick of her lush dark tail sent an exciting scent to his dilated nostrils, and he squealed as he leapt forward to plant another not unfriendly nip on her rump.

---

Meanwhile this rather loud and rambunctious escapade had not gone entirely unnoticed. A pair of bright eyes peered out through the brightly coloured scrub, centering on the two fillies more clearly seen hiding under the branches of a blueberry ash. Wirriwirri had so far had rather appalling luck when it came to collecting himself a band of fillies - a combination of the fire and protective stallions made the task rather more complicated than it should be for a colt as handsome as he. Finally it seemed the tables had turned though - here were two such creatures with the two older horses - their parents? - comprehensively distracted.

Slinking from the treeline, he zigzaged in their direction using what cover he could. His once creamy silver hide was now smattered with deep chocolate tones, fading to black near his hooves, proving far more camouflage and an even more mysteriously handsome look, he thought. It was a stark contrast to his markings: a bold white face and three high stockings that stood out like his mane against the dark of his coat, resulting in an eye catching display. And boy did Wirriwirri know it.

Jiba’s calls had not only attracted the sooty colt, Wirriwirri failing to pick up on another colt with a golden hide beating him to the two giggling fillies. Iluka blew out softly so as not to alert the two flirting adults , ensuring he was well enough out of sight. The copse of bushy trees offered a good shield, so he stood a little out of his hiding place behind a young bottlebrush, ensuing his almost metallic gold coat shone like the metal so sought after by men. Bilba turned her head curiously, ears pricked at the sight of another young stallion - this one perhaps younger than the grey. He had a boldly marked face, nearly all white, and his coat was something to be treasured indeed. Nudging her sister, she took a few eager steps forward - mindful of being quiet so as not to alert Jiba of their sneaking off.

[Tiggs]

Hocks thudding against his broad chest, the mare kept him at bay with sharp kicks and hard nips. “Foolishness seems to run in your family,” she sneered, snapping her teeth dangerously close to his muzzle. “Piringa lost us after the fire. I’ve been chasing off ambitious colts like you since.” She swung her rump around, barging his flank with the majority of her weight.

“When have you ever seen me making doe-eyes? That’s that mare Kiata’s job. That little princess would make doe-eyes at anyone who so much as raced her.” She proved her point by glaring daggers at the young stallion and trotting away from him and her yearling filly towards wetter ground. The wide puddle of groundwater she trotted into came up to her knees at the centre, and she dropped her head to slurp noisily at the water. Her tail continued to flick from side to side, ears remaining pinned.

She stamped a hoof as the dark stallion splashed into the puddle behind her, warning him away. The water was cool on her hot flanks and belly, and she lashed out again, hitting Lark with a spray of murky water. He was persistent, dogged, pushy and demanding. She was resistant, irritable and incredibly glad for the total lack of Piringa’s presence. She splashed and bullied and nipped and kicked at Lark for a long while, becoming increasingly agitated with every splash until the male’s persistence paid off. She squealed and snorted and stamped until the water was churned and muddy, but finally stopped kicking at the stallion while the two briefly and noisily gave in to the demands of the breeding season.


Meanwhile, the grey stallion was forgotten by Baan at the stealthy arrival of a colt. A tall handsome colt with bold white legs and face and a golden coat that gleamed in the sunlight! Barely containing her excitement, she looked to Bilba with a gleeful sparkle to her eye and returned the colt’s greeting with a warm nicker. The dun yearling sidled over, reaching out her nose to investigate this golden beauty of a stallion. “Hello, oh stallion,” she crooned, “I am Baan, and this is my sister Bilba. Are you here to take us away?”

Oh how glorious that would be, to run with a golden stallion! So long as she didn’t have to run too much, she got tired easily. She seemed to be ignoring the fact she was simply a yearling, and in actual fact the colt was probably just here to socialise. Baan dreamt of being taken away by a stallion, any stallion, so long as he was big and strong. Her small mind was full to the brim with fairytale dreams, and not a lot of sense.

Bustling forward with her bay sister, she sniffed curiously at the stallion’s neck and flank, amazed at how big and strong he really was up close! He must have a hundred mares. What if this was the King? She had heard he was golden, with a creamy mane and tail. Tittering, she lipped tentatively at his queerly pale muzzle, completely enthralled by his wonderful stallion scent. She wouldn’t have noticed the second colt watching them if there were no trees for him to hide behind in sight.

[Ehetere]

Lark actually laughed, an unusual behaviour for the moody stallion. His brother had lost them had he? He wondered why Jiba still had the care of what was obviously the other roan mare’s filly - perhaps the grulla roan had a soft spot after all. For all her fussing and kicking and biting, she was putting in about as much force as a weanling colt, and Lark smelled victory. Of course he was a far better choice for her than his brother - he wouldn’t go losing his mares, he was sure, when he acquired some. Finding sensible ones like Jiba seemed to be the difficulty, however that was almost the last thing on Lark’s mind in that moment.

Smirking, he made the observation that doe-eyes was exactly what she was doing right now to him. Oddly though this didn’t bother him, perhaps it was less sickening when you were the recipient of such stupid behaviour. Or perhaps it was simply the mare who was giving them, accompanied by her kicking and biting. Once more, Lark cared little for reason.

Ignoring her glares, he glanced briefly back at the copse of bushy trees before loping after the mare’s pale rump with a distinct swagger in his stride. His bad mood had all but evaporated by this point, already congratulating himself for finding Jiba again, alone this time, and seemingly to have claimed her with little difficulty. Snorting, he made his way noisily into the soak after her, knowing he’d already won.

---

Iluka bobbed his head and flagged his tail excitedly as the fillies seemed very interested indeed. Two fillies, all to himself! The larger scrubby looking one answered him, seeming to be the more dominant of the two, and came over curiously to greet him, followed by her bay sister. Iluka didn’t know which way to look first. The scrubby coloured one introduced the pair: she was Baan and the bay was Bilba.

“Such fine and fitting names for two beautiful fillies such as yourselves,” he replied happily, amused by the dun filly’s bold attitude. “I am Iluka, would you like to run away with me?”

He all but preened as the pair came over eagerly to investigate him further. He snuffled at them encouragingly, hoping that their enthusiasm would continue. Compared to his previous attempts to woo fillies away from their herds, where they would simply giggle and play but not come over until their father came to chase him away, this was being handed to him on a silver platter. Their mother was making a racket somewhere over in the distance with what he assumed must be these two’s father, and they were more than willing.

Before he could propose they sneak away however, a rather irate looking colt burst onto the scene. Wirriwirri was a whirlwind of fury - most of it for show in hopes of scaring off the other colt. It nearly worked too, as the golden colt shied violently and reared up in fright, barely stopping himself from calling out in alarm. The sooty had been further away when he spotted the fillies and had therefore arrived shortly after, discovering they already had company. The golden palomino thudded back to the earth with his eyes rolling, but seemed to realize that this new thread was little more than a yearling - a tall yearling, but a yearling none the less.

Wirriwirri had realized this as well, before he attempted to scare his competition off, and now tried to think of how he could get rid of the colt without being beaten. The golden horse was big and powerful looking, though showed not a scratch that would mar the sheen of his coat, suggesting to Wirriwirri that he might not be that experienced in a fight. He did not want to get many scars of his own just yet though, so instead he completely ignored the other colt and turned his attentions to the fillies milling about excitedly. Whickering as deeply as possible for a horse of his age, he trusted his looks and handsome coat might tempt them over to him. He felt already that the other colt might just be a push over if it came to blows, but there was no point risking that if the fillies chose the older horse.

[Tiggs]

Gushing and giggling, Baan saw the golden colt through a filly’s eyes. To her, Ikula was a pillar of strength, a fiery beacon of charisma and promise. Yes, yes, yes, she would love to run away with him! He made her feel so special, and she just knew that every day would be this exciting. She would be with him forever, there was no better stallion!

Then suddenly a dark colt came bursting out of the scrub. Baan gasped, looking wide-eyed at the dappled beast. There was fire in his eyes, and his coat was like thunderclouds over the sun! She had never seen a stallion so handsome, and she forgot her surprise to nicker at him. Her sparse yearling’s tail was practically wagging like a pleased little foal. Another colt had come to take her away! She must be the most desired filly in all of the High Country.

Iluka had shied at the arrival of the other colt, destroying the frail rapport he had just built up. Baan dismissed the golden two-year-old for this younger more confident stallion. She picked her tail up high and arched her neck as she had seen her mother do for the steel grey not minutes before. She responded to his low call, trotting over to him with all due haste, her nose stretching out in front of her so she could greet him promptly.

“Hello, great stallion,” she greeted the yearling, voice in awe as if he were the King himself, “I am Baan; have you come to take me away too?” She asked of him, sure that he was going to say yes and take her immediately. She supposed Bilba should come too, so long and she didn’t cause too much trouble. Her sister meant well, but she could get a little bit ridiculous some times, especially when stallions were involved.


When they were done, Jiba pulled away from her stallion and trotted off through the boggy pool, the mud pulling at her legs and squelching with every slippery step. She bucked, squealing and ploughing into deeper water, tail and head held high. She threw a whinny over her shoulder, tempting Lark to follow as she knew he would. The stallion could never resist her, especially not now. Soon she would carry the second of his foals within her, to spite Piringa and to satisfy her own rebellious temperament.

When the water reached her belly, she came to a halt and nickered for the stallion. Closer and closer he would come, and closer and closer she would let him. Reaching out her quivering muzzle, she touched her ebony nose to his steely cheek, lingering there for just a moment. Then she squealed and caught him brusingly with her teeth, tossing her head with a gleam to her eye.

Pushing through the water, she laid her sodden flank against his and reached out again with her muzzle, ears pinned. This time she stretched to touch his own soft muzzle, testing him. He must know she would only nip him again, but would he learn, or risk it anyway. To further hinder his decision, she flicked her tail to rest over his back, pushing her pale side firmly against his.

This was all a glorious game for the mare. Pushing, pulling and teasing Lark spurred an excitement in her that never manifested when she was with Piringa. The pale grey brother was all too serious. Oh that wasn’t to say he didn’t try and play with her, but he didn’t play the games that she was interested in. His brother, however, could whip her into an irritable frenzy with his taunts and jibes. She despised his overconfidence and dull wit, hated every inch of his steely hide, yet it was Lark that she chose for her foals; it was Lark that entertained her; Lark that set every nerve ending on fire and Lark that she secretly checked every shadow for.

[Ehetere]

Wirriwirri suitably preened at the pair of fillies’ gasps, and the rounder of the two’s welcoming nicker. While it was a matter of opinion which of the two colts might be the more handsome, Wirriwirri was supremely confident that it was he, and not the gold colt, who was better in every way. He was sleek and muscular, with a coat that was both silver and night, son of a silver mare and a stallion who shared the same chocolatey hues that he did. He was ten times the horse standing over there looking wild in both fury and fear. Iluka for all his bravado was no fighter, his courage did not seem to extend beyond trumpeting his strength and posturing.

The scrubby coloured filly promptly dismissed the golden colt, resulting in the instant reaction of his long ears drooping like a dog’s in defeat. How could this younger colt be more appealing than he! He, who was tall and vital and strong, surely more able to care and hold them than this young upstart? The bay filly paused, glancing back at the forlorn looking colt. Bilba actually preferred the honest looking palomino to this arrogant seeming colt, but as always she followed her sister - albeit more slowly - to greet him.

Wirriwirri lifted his still scraggly silver tail in appreciation as both fillies came over, snuffling at them excitedly. The other colt seemed not to know what to do, having had his prizes lured away from him and, the sooty colt thought, looked rather dopey and lost. Returning his attention back to his new admirers, dismissing the gold colt as inexperienced and hopeless, he gave the pair an appreciative once over. “Greetings Baan, I am Wirriwirri, named for the whirlwind like my silver ancestors,” he boasted, feeling obligated to advertise his heritage now that his coat had darkened and was no longer pale cream.

Noticing that the other bay filly had remained quiet and seemed still quite unconvinced of his greatness, he whickered deep in his throat. “And what do they call you, oh bay filly? Surely a brumby as pretty as you has a name to match your sister’s?”

Iluka, understandably displeased by all of this, whistled through his teeth and stamped his feet throwing in a few bucks for good measure. While he may not have the courage to start a fight, he was not going to let this yearling take the fillies away from him! Wirriwirri responded with a coltish scream of indignation, warning the two yr old off. He was not afraid to fight, though he loathed to mark his fantastic coat.



Lark’s usual dark mood was satiated, replaced by one of triumph and immense satisfaction. Once again his brother’s mare had chosen him, as he knew she would, and the useless white stallion was nowhere to be found. The roan mare was right in thinking that Lark would not resist her calls - the steely grey already felt the mare was his and his alone and felt this victory of having the first mare for his herd.

His heart was far from softened though, and as she snapped at his cheek he laid his ears back and retorted with a snap of his own. Oh yes, the grullo roan was insufferable. Her mood was nearly as foul as his at times, her temper just as wild. She liked to bite and kick and fuss. And Lark could no longer deny that he liked it. She was no pushover mare, who fawned at the site of his all too handsome brother. She did not follow her stallion blindly, and she did not act as though the very High Country should whisper her name. She was imperfect, and therefore perfect in every way.

Meanwhile, some distance off a set of flared dark nostrils picked up a familiar scent. The grey stallion’s ears flicked forward and his whiskers quivered, every scent on the fullest alert. There was no mistaking it this time - he had picked up Jiba’s scent. Mingled with it was the scent of his offspring, along with a myriad of other horses. Colts. He snorted - had his herd been claimed by a band of young inexperienced colts? Or were there simply some in the area trying to woo away his progeny? Either way, he was determined to go and shoo them off and retake his herd.

Weaving through ghostly snowgum trunks, he came to a startling halt when he picked up another scent. The scent of a grey colt that had bothered him and his mares many seasons ago. The scent that he now knew belonged to his brother.

Breaking into a canter where he could, he made a beeline towards the source of the myriad of horses with all haste. His blood was boiling with anger, and fury was beginning to cloud his vision and thoughts. That colt had been a nuisance when he was younger, and this time Piringa was going to make sure he left him and his mares alone.

He burst from the treeline to spot a group of younger horses some distance from a pair of dark and muddy shapes wallowing in a pool. Rearing he gave a roaring stallion cry, fueled by supreme anger as well as the usual challenge that such a call possesses. He came then, flat out galloping down towards the horses in the pool, a gleaming white charger out to meet his younger adversary.

[Tiggs]

Baan nickered in awe, silver ancestors!? She had no such claim, and though he didn’t look much like a creamy, she was inclined to believe anything he told her. She came up closer to Wirriwirri, turning to stand at his side. The stallion seemed more interested in Bilba, and the rounder of the two sisters, huffed. “That’s Bilba, my sister,” she informed him in a tone that suggested that it was not important information. Bilba could wait her turn!

She glanced briefly over to the first stallion, only to see that he was flexing and stamping and generally looking more beautiful that any stallion she had ever seen! With her flank still pressed to Wirriwirri’s, she nickered to the golden stallion, in awe at the way the dappled sunlight played over his golden coat!

The yearling filly nickered to him again, only for her call to be drowned out by a mature stallion’s scream. Freezing, Baan knew that sound anywhere. It was her father, likely come to chase away the colts! Well Baan was not losing these two lovely colts of hers, and while her father crashed into the water where her mother and the dark stallion played, she nudged Wirri’s shoulder and nickered urgently to Iluka.

“We have to go now! My father is here, he will surely crush you both if he finds us!” She trotted to the edge of the copse, peering out as the two stallions down in the water came to blows. Wincing, she turned to look back at her suitors. Her father would beat them for being here, she had to get them away! “Follow me,” she demanded, “Bilba, come.” Trotting purposefully between the two colts, she struck out into the open, heading away from her father and mother.


Down in the water, the enraged stallion call struck fear into Jiba’s heart. She did not need to see the magnificent white stallion to know that Piringa – Lark’s brother – had found them. Had he discovered her betrayal? Could he smell her deceit? She pulled hastily away from Lark, laying back her ears and affecting a posture that suggested she wanted the dark stallion nowhere near her.

In truth, her heart pounded. Piringa was sure to attack Lark, and she had no illusions over who was the more experienced stallion. Yet Lark was not the colt he used to be. Though not yet in his prime like his paler brother, her steel grey stallion could be a match for Piringa.

She was barely out of his way when Piringa came charging into the water, colliding with Lark in a heavy clash of muscle and bone. All the mare could do was watch as blood began to spill and the Boggy echoed with the screams and squeals of the two stallions fighting. Not usually such a sentimental mare, she wanted so badly for Lark to win. Piringa was an impressive beast, and she felt her body respond to his prowess, but it was Lark that she supported. Lark whose every wound she winced at.

[Ehetere]

Baan was most appreciative of his lineage it seemed, even though her sister was still preoccupied with staring at the older palomino colt. Wirriwirri huffed, not satisfied with the attention of only one of the fillies. He was far more handsome than the tall leggy creature, how could the bay filly not see that? His attention to getting her attention it seemed was not appreciated as the round filly grumpily informed him that her sister’s name was Bilba. Baan and Bilba - sisters indeed.

Whether it was to punish him for his divided attentions or whether she was simply impressed by the other colt’s physique Wirriwirri did not know, but he was having none of it. Giving a little high whinny, he half reared and tossed his mane about as well as any yearling could, thankful for at least parts of it being silky enough to do so. Oh how he wished it would grow, he would grow, so he might be the magnificent beast he knew that one day himself would be. Though his colt may no longer be its creamy self, his mane and tail were most certainly silver, white as snow and soft like spun silk. How could any mare or filly choose the golden colt over him when all the other had was a metallic sheen and a white face? Could they not see that he had far more to offer in both looks and brains?

Before the two colts could continue their posing and jostling for the fillies’ attentions, a roar broke out across the plain, instantly filling both with dread. A stallion! Wirriwirri seemed to take the enraged roar far better than the gold colt, who looked terrified - visibly torn between bolting for his life and staying to try and keep the fillies. It seemed it would not be his decision to make, as the scrubby filly took charge, leading purposefully off in the opposite direction to the huge white stallion, her sister hot on her heels.

The two colts exchanged angry glances, neither happy with this turn of events. It looked unlikely to be resolved anytime soon either, as Wirriwirri was loathe to fight due to his vanity and age, whereas Iluka was mostly just a coward. The stallion trumpeted another battle cry, answered with one from the other grey stallion they had seen earlier, and both colts made after the fillies with all haste, in no way looking forward to being found by such a ferocious sounding creature.



From the edge of the plain came a familiar battle cry. Lark threw his dark head up, ears alert to spy his brother, a pale pillar of vitality and strength come charging across the earth to meet him. He looked at Jiba, who hastily left him, traitorously switching side almost instantly at the sight of the raging white stallion. Feeling betrayed, Lark laid back his ears in response and motioned for her to return. At least that might have deterred his brother and his stupid morals for a while - he wondered whether he’d simply let him have the mare if she clearly chose him over the other grey.

She did not however, barely wading out of the way before Piringa hurtled into him, not even stopping at the edge of the pool. Lark was caught off balance, almost off guard, distracted by her presence and her desertion. Piringa may have been light and lithe by mature stallion standards, but the extra two years growing he had on his younger brother were evident. He was faster, stronger, more powerful. He rammed into the steely grey with the force of a freight train, impressive speed carrying his bulk into a terrific impact that shook Lark’s very skeleton. From the word go it was clear who had the upper hand.

Lark was not used to being on the defensive, his tactics revolved around being on the offensive at all times, using his bulk, his height, his muscle. He had been sent reeling from that initial blow, and the quick succession of bites and kicks rained down by his incensed sibling. Even without the white stallion’s usual advantage of lighting fast reflexes in the oozing mud, Lark could not gain an upper hand. Piringa’s hooves crashed down on his back, and the pale grey got a wicked hold on Lark’s withers. Screaming and thrashing, Lark fought and fought to free himself, scarcely able to believe this. Surely, surely the overly moralistic stallion couldn’t bring himself to kill his own brother?