Mare Divided [Yalaban]

[Tiggs]

The Bogong was a favoured place of many brumbies to graze, and Coreen was no exception. Unlike a lot of the mares on the high rolling meadows though, Coreen did not stand with a stallion. The rose grey mare, although old enough to be following a stallion, seemed content to graze alone. She even took pains to deter other stallions from coming over, grazing downwind of them, and even chasing away those that dared approach.

She was not an exceptionally antisocial mare, but she was very particular about her company. Very particular. She couldn’t stand the fawning mares and fillies that followed their stallions mindlessly around. Coreen liked to think for herself, and the idea of following the whims of some stallion made her hair curl.

With a snort, the slim young mare threw up her slightly-dished head and glanced around the Bogong. Most of the stallions in view had tried to woo her away, and she’d promptly ignored them, and nipped one who wouldn’t listen. One stallion caught her eye – a bay with a white face who grazed alone – who hadn’t even tried to bother her. Maybe he hadn’t seen her, or maybe he was sane enough to avoid the fawning of mares too.

Dropping her nose back to the ground, she began to graze in his direction, inching into his field of view by degrees. If he saw her and didn’t come over, then maybe she’d investigate further. If he saw her and did come over, she might consider him. But if he so much as tried to herd her, she’d give him a swift kick in the chin and leave him standing in her own dust. Stallions had to be put in their place; Coreen was no walkover.

[Corowa]

Yallaban lifted his head with nostrils flared. A white ring showed around his eye and there were long gouges down his shoulder and haunch. His ears tipped forwards, catching the roar of an angry stallion, and his body gathered beneath him, curled like a living coil.

The sound faded and Yallaban gradually relaxed. He began to graze, stopping every now and then to stand with ears pricked, his whole body quivering as he turned into the wind.

A handsome grey filly grazed a hundred or so yards away. The wind blew her scent to him, but Yallaban took no notice of her. Clearly, she belonged to one of those many scattered mobs, and it would be foolish to go any nearer.

Still, the grey filly intrigued him. Yallaban watched her more closely. What was she doing out here so far from the other brumbies? He nosed around for grass, but stayed in sight of the filly. Had she perhaps run with that ugly brown stallion and followed him all this way? Yet surely such a filly could not belong to that dolt of a stallion?

Yallaban found himself moving slowly towards the grey. He grazed purposefully in her direction, one ear turned to catch the faintest sounds. He hoped that brown stallion and his mares had returned south to his bimble at Quambat Flat.

While he had fought many times before, Yallaban knew he could not match the brown stallion in strength or cunning. Yet he found himself fascinated by the lovely filly, and Yallaban knew he would not leave until he had touched at least once, that soft grey nose.

[Tiggs]

Oh come on, he had to have seen her now. He acted so nonchalant, but he was definitely grazing her away. She stopped heading toward him, just to be sure. He altered his direction slightly, most definitely coming toward her. Smug, the rose grey filly, pretended she hadn’t just been doing exactly the same thing, and turned her back on the stallion.

The stallion seemed nervous. No, not nervous. Cautious. His lack of mares suggested he was not having the best of luck with the other stallions on the Bogong; maybe he had only lost them recently. Well, she thought, at least that would have taught him a lesson. He was solidly built, at least, and his markings were somewhat curious. That spot on his belly in particular.

Looks could be deceiving, however. Her brother Lark looked like he was well built and the gleam in his eye spoke of a certain intelligence. Get to know him or watch him fight, however, and you realised very quickly that looks didn’t count for a thing in the High Country. It concerned her that most mares would blindly follow a creamy stallion without a second thought to if he could defend her or not.

Coreen flicked her tail, standing in the same spot so the stallion was not deterred. She wondered how many of the other stallions had noticed she wasn’t chasing this one off, and hoped that they were quite rightly wondering what fault she’d found with them. In fact, she hoped it bothered them all season. This bay might not have any mares in tow now, but she would be doing him a favour if she changed that. He would owe her.

And if he turned out to be a total loser, Coreen was not the sort to lose a wink of sleep over ditching him.

The painted bay was drawing closer, and she lifted her head nonchalantly to watch him, her ears and tail flicking back and forth. “So, do you stalk fillies here often?” She asked when he was closer, pricking her ears toward him. Her dusky white-streaked tail flicked again, a little tease for the lonely stallion. Since gaining full maturity, Coreen was staggered at how little encouragement a stallion needed. A nicker here, a flick of the tail there. Flirting was a mean to an end for Coreen. She would use it to test the stallion, and establish herself as the one here with real power.

[Corowa]

Yallaban cleared his nostrils with a loud snort, lifting his head as he regarded the grey filly with amusement. She was watching him, fine ears flicking back and forth. He knew she was only young, a provocative filly who undoubtedly thought she could match a stallion in his prime.

Yallaban found himself admiring the smooth, strong lines of her body. He was reminded of that fine black filly up by Long Plain Hut. Even now he could see those gentle eyes and long, clean legs. Yet there were no stout wooden fences here, no barking dog and shouting stockmen. This time, he would not run.

“Do you always graze so far from the rest of your mob? Any stallion or stockman could snatch you away here.” With a swish of his tail, Yallaban stepped closer. His whole body stood alert, head high and nostrils vibrating. He did not intend on being attacked by another stallion while he was so distracted by this filly.

[Tiggs]

Coreen laughed, a low warm nicker. So he assumed she was with another stallion did he? Not surprising, when clearly she was of an age that any stallion in their right mind would be glad to have her. She lifted her blazed head high, proudly standing on a tussock of grass. “Yes, I suppose any stallion could. But they have not yet, and that is of my choosing,” she replied, flicking one ear forward and one to the side.

His quivering nostrils and ears – was he still nervous? Of her, of other stallions, or perhaps both? She huffed, arching her neck and looking poignantly behind him, “I see that you’ve yet to snatch any mares this season, lonely stallion. I wonder why that is,” Coreen tilted her head, dark intelligent eyes watching him.

He was a decent specimen up close, well formed and not too plain to look at. The overabundance of white however made him stand out a little from the crowd, and Coreen wasn’t sure she liked that. The whiteness of his face covered his eye, and it was a curious blue colour, like the summer sky above them. She had never seen an eye of that colour before, and she wondered if there was something the matter with it. Perhaps that was why he lacked mares; could he be blinded?

The young mare wrinkled her lip slightly. He might be a good stallion to look at, but a stallions worth was based on his strength. Blindness was a fault that Coreen could not tolerate. It was a weakness that would never be fixed. Yet he seemed not to act like he was blind. He did not favour one side, nor look around too much. Coreen decided it must just be a uniqueness about him. Whether or not she liked that about him, she was yet to tell.

[Corowa]

“My mares were taken from me by stockmen,” Yallaban said with a toss of his head. “I too was captured, but somehow jumped clear.” Sometimes, his ears still rang with the frightened whinnies of the two dun fillies. He had been maddened by fear, driven on by a great sense of terror that had rendered him blind to everything but a fierce longing for freedom.

Yallaban shifted his weight from foot to foot, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back. There was not much grass here on this side of the Bogong, and most of the other brumbies grazed further off. He tested the wind, his nostrils curling at the distant smell of another stallion and his mob. It was only luck that they were not downwind from him or else this filly’s scent would be blowing straight to them

While it would please him to have this handsome grey filly follow him, Yallaban was not confident she would want to. He did not intend on forcing her to go with him, and yet the thought of her being with any other stallion filled him with outrage. Somehow, he must convince her to come with him. Yallaban pawed the ground in restless anticipation, intent on taking this filly as his own.

[Tiggs]

By stockmen? Hmm, there were both pros and cons to his story. On one side, he could escape the men, which took daring, cunning and skill. On the other, he had left his mares to their fate. Coreen had no sympathy for the mares at all, but it reflected on the bay’s constitution; if he could leave any mare behind, what was to say he wouldn’t leave her behind in a tight spot.

He seemed cautious still, and Coreen followed his lead as he lifted his nose to the breeze. She could smell another stallion, that tantalising musky scent. She nickered under her breath at the scent, mostly to see if this painted bay would react. His own strong stallion scent told her everything she needed to know that he did not say; he was healthy, and he was strong. Two things a mare really looked for in a stallion.

Until now, Coreen might have seen many big strong stallions but none had really captured her attention. Here now though was this refined stallion, not as broad as most but she could see every lithe muscle under that healthy coat of his. With long legs, she guessed he could run and jump better than the heavier stallions. It all came down to whether she preferred brute strength over speed and wit.

She could have any stallion she desired; he, however, would have to work for every mare that he claimed, and continue to work to keep them. She tried to look at the logically, but instinct was a powerful thing. The prospect of running with a good stallion was tempting. Yet he was unproven. She could not justify going with him if she didn’t know his true strength.

Coreen stepped down to him, reaching out her muzzle. It was a gesture Coreen did not make often, and she seemed almost shy about it. The delicate curve of her nostril, the skin turned pink by the blaze that angled up her face, brushed teasingly against his lip. Every one of her whiskers seemed to burn, and she found herself pushing her nose closer to his.

He seemed impossibly tall up close, and she fairly quivered with the excitement of such power. She definitely wanted him, so the grey filly seemed almost apologetic at what she did next. She threw up her head, loudly proclaiming herself to the Bogong stallions. If this bay – whose name she had not yet even learned – was to have her, then he would win her.

[Corowa]

It seemed the grey filly smelt that strange stallion too, for she nickered to him. Yallaban swung his head sharply around, and his whole body quivered with outrage. At that moment, the filly stretched out her nose to his, and Yallaban took a startled step back. His nostrils vibrated, and he inhaled her scent, every part of him tingling with an ecstasy that nearly overwhelmed him.

The filly backed up, and Yallaban confused, followed her. She neighed loudly, and the call travelled far out over the grassy flats and rolling hillsides of the Bogong.

Yallaban instantly froze. Then he promptly laid back his ears and gave that grey rump a hard nip. While rather annoyed with the filly, the stallion was amused by her provocation. She was not one of those dull-minded fillies stolen from that violent steel-grey. Yet that did not make him want her any less.

“What makes you so certain I would fight to have you?” he asked scornfully, “There are plenty of young mares that would be pleased to run with me, perhaps some even more handsome than you.”

Yallaban snorted, and flicked his tail peevishly. Undoubtedly, there were many fillies who had watched him longingly from their sires’ mobs. But none attracted him as much as this spirited grey filly.

A roar of rage shattered the stillness, and Yallaban threw up his head, hearing the challenge in its sound.

At the far end of the flat, a big, heavy chestnut stood watching. Two bay fillies huddled nervously in the trees behind him. It was obvious he had been drawn by the filly’s call, and Yallaban squealed his displeasure. He had fought many times before, but his shoulder still troubled him, and this chestnut looked like a very strong young horse.

He trotted several feet forward, stopping to trumpet a furious challenge of his own. The other stallion advanced slowly, ears laid flat and eyes rolling. The two stallions tensely eyed each other; the air around them seemed to crackle with electricity. Yallaban shook his head and pawed the ground. His muscles flowed smoothly under his coat, no sign of stiffness now.

In an instant, the chestnut rushed forwards. Yallaban reared up on his hind legs to meet him. The two stallions crashed into each other, screaming and striking. The noise they made was terrifying, each stallion struggling desperately for advantage.

[Tiggs]

The poor stallion seemed confused for a moment, and then she neighed and it dawned on him. Quick as a flash, he nipped her rump none-too-kindly. The filly squealed and kicked out in warning. Laying her ears back, she flicked her tail imperiously and smirked. She danced away, but made no move to leave.

The call of another stallion halted her, and she threw up her head, ears perked in earnest. She did want the white-faced bay to succeed, but no mare could resist the charged atmosphere of an impending fight. The chestnut that answered her call was an impressive beast in his prime with fillies to show for it. Coreen flagged her tail and whinnied to the stallions, watching in anticipation as the two stallions advanced.

The bay had asked her what made her so sure he would fight for her, as if he would abandon the chance to have her at the prospect of a fight. Yet here came the opposition, and the white-faced stallion was not retreating. The filly had seen fights before, but none of them had been over her. It gave the battle more meaning, added a tension to it she had not expected.

Coreen gasped as the roaring champions collided, the noise of them deafening. Teeth met skin and hooves lashed out, squeals and roars and trumpeting calls all but drowned out the pounding of her own heart in her ears. The chestnut was the heavier of the two, but the bay had experience on his side. He seemed to see many of the blows coming, countering them with swift bites and blows that served to weaken his opponent.

The heavy chestnut hit the bay with an almighty blow, and Coreen thought the bay might stumble and that would be the end of it. But the bay struck back, and the chestnut had spent all his strength. Knowing he was beat, the red stallion bolted. Her white-faced bay took off after him, and she whinnied her encouragement.

Across the Bogong he drove him, back to his fillies. Coreen expected the victor to take them, but instead he turned and came back to her. His muscles worked flawlessly under his sweat-sheened coat; there was no lameness about him and he had only a few brutal bites on his neck to show for the battle.

The dusky grey mare came high-stepping towards him, neck arched and tail flagged. She nickered, the snide young mare replaced by an impressed filly. Prancing up to him, she slowed and reached out her muzzle. Up close, the quivering of her hide was obvious, and her coat was darkened a little by sweat. She was nervous, but tantalisingly so.

She had not really thought of what would happened should he win, and now she was acting without the confidence that she usually possessed in situations where she knew where she stood. Suddenly she was confronted with a mature stallion, who she was not intent on mocking, and who wanted her enough to fight for her.

The filly – usually so confident – felt her whole body tremble as she approached the stallion now. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, she reached out her nose and touched it to his. His skin was hot to the touch, and she shivered. Now that she had attracted the stallion she was completely unsure of what to do now she had him. She was tentative as a two-year-old, delicately touching her nose to every bite he had taken for her.

She pressed her flank against his, standing nose-to-tail. His warmth was comforting, and his scent even more so. Circling around him, she came to stand by his other side. While she tried to muster her confident exterior, the facade was weak, and there was a hint of nervousness in her voice, “It seems you would fight for me, and you would win me. My name is Coreen, for the end of the hills.” She looked up into his blue eye, feeling a flush of warmth rush though her. It was an alien feeling for the filly, who had never felt affection for anything in her life. But now here was this strong white-faced stallion, her white-faced stallion, and for once she was at a loss for what to do but stare with admiration in her warm brown eyes.

[Corowa]

The filly was badly trembling, and Yallaban realised she was only very young. He felt an unexpected tenderness towards her. It had been a long time, since he had run with any mares of his own. He had forgotten himself in the excitement of the fight, and he only hoped she had not been frightened off.

Yet the grey filly came to him. The sunlight glistened in the silver hairs of her mane and tail, and Yallaban stood breathless, shaken by a longing so great he worried he would not be able to contain it. The stallion felt his skin tingling madly beneath her touch. She was still so young and pliable, and the thought of her with any other, filled the gentle stallion with an uncharacteristic fury.

Finally she stopped, stood motionless by his side. Yallaban swung his head around and gently nibbled on her shoulder. To any other stallion watching, it was a possessive gesture, clearly stating that the grey filly was out of bounds. Yallaban was assured in the fact no other stallion would challenge him after he had so soundly thrashed the tall chestnut. It would give him time to recover, for the chestnut had been strong and even with all Yallaban's skill, he had still received several nasty blows.

“I am Yallaban,” he told the filly proudly. “My bimble is not far from the Bogong, only a few miles south. But for now, let us remain here a while. I have won the right to stay and none shall bother you while run with me.”

Yallaban shook out his mane and snorted. Coreen was his, and for now, he could take the time to enjoy her companionship. Giving her mane a gentle tug, the bay stallion settled down to graze contentedly beside his newly won filly.