Come Home [Quinja/Wurrun/Nukara]

[E!]

Panic. Pain. Loss. These things he had experienced during and since the fire. He had lost them, lost her! His darling Quinja, his beautiful, beautiful Quinja. His first mare, his first love, the mother of his first foal. And she was gone! Taken away from him in a whirl of smoke and ashes and terrifying flames. The fire had leaped upon them without warning, it had raged through the bush and chased them, chased him, Quinja, Wurrun, Nukara and his son Ballima. Chased them until they had been separated. Only he, Nukara and Ballima remained together, their hides blackened and burnt as they had found shelter in an overhang near one of the many tributaries that ran off the Cascades.

Ever since then they had been moving. Bokara would not, could not rest until he had brought his family back together again. Until he had his beloved at his side. As it were, he and Nukara had followed whatever trails and talk they could to find themselves here, at the Boggy. There had been only one print, but a print he could have recognized anywhere - Quinja had been this way, and recently. Nose to the ground, the big bay stallion made his way to and fro, frantic, hopeful. He lifted his head, his beautiful big brown eyes full of pain and worry, a hint of despair making them duller than they would usually have been. In all the of the high country, how was he supposed to find two mares! That was, considering whether they had been snatched up by another stallion or not.

The thought made his heart drop. No matter, he would fight until his last breath to bring them back. He was a beautiful beast - his coat a deep bay, slick and clinging to his well muscled, graceful body, his face fine boned and beautiful. He may not have had a creamy coat, but Bokara was one to be desired, as were the beautiful mares he loved. Quinja, as beautiful as an approaching storm. Wurrun, the colour of the mist that lay so quietly above the ground at the Moyungal and finally Nukara, like a falling snowflake, and just as delicate. After a quick touch to Nukara's muzzle, he resumed his search, heart aching. Where was she! Where was she! He released a fierce call and the air seemed to ring with his emotion, leaving the Boggy silent. Not even a bird stirred.

His heart thudded in time with his hooves: Where. Where. Where. Where. He would find them. He would not give up hope - never. Not even if the fire had claimed their lives and he spent the rest of his years finding out what had happened to his sweet, lovely mares, he would find them. He called again, heartache evident in his usually musical tones, calling to the world to help. For the world was empty without his Quinja, without his family.

[Rivre]

The fire had driven all happiness from the high country. It had burnt bush and singed hide - many of the brumbies it chased were swallowed by flame and ash - the memory of it burnt into the grey mare's eye-lids, reminding her of the perished every time the shutters closed over her eyes. But she was a jovial thing, round and sweet natured, so she plodded determinedly after her pinning stallion, wondering at his loss and snuffling whatever trace he found, trying to implant some hope into his unwavering resolve. Ballima had managed to stay with them too, and the young horse gave little away to the pert snowy filly other than that 'it' followed. Nukara found their travel tiring, her sides heavingl, sweat foaming at her flanks and dripping from her neck, mixing with the ash and grime that made her once sparkling moon-lit hide a dusty muddy grey dapple. She had grazed a little too much before their flight, but she had lost some of that roundness and the lither shape suited her well, making travel more bearable - usually.

The great bay stallion she followed was Bokara, the only stallion she had ever let herself come to love, but she knew he did not feel as strongly about her as she did for him. He had eyes only for Quinja, the beautiful mare Nukara had come to call a friend. She missed her dearly and it was with a heavy heart she tagged her lonely call to the end of Bokara's, thankful for the moments rest. It seemed the grey filly had been this way recently and despite blowing hard from constant powering travel, the little grey ovals pricked with hope. Velvety bay muzzle brushed her greyed one and Nukara offered a soft nicker of encouragement, trotting willfully after her stallion, hooves meeting the ground with a renewed and violent determination that furrowed her neat brows.