Love and Butterfies [Lark]

[Tiggs]

This was it, this was the place. The appaloosa mare with a coat of almost silver stood on a knoll of grass where her heart had first flown free. She had stood here as a filly, trembling against her mother as she made that most frightening of choices; to leave her birth herd. This was the exact spot where she had thrown caution to the wind and started that merry chace through the High Country, Nepelle hot on her heels.

Her first love had chased her through the depths of winter, finally catching her when Spring came. Her big strong stallion had loved her, and she had loved him. Their love had been as beautiful as the High Country itself. Shy at first, the filly had come to trust Nepelle more than any brumby. She was at his side always.

But just as all things must, that love had died. She couldn’t pinpoint when or why, but that feeling for Nepelle was gone now, the pain of it rapidly dwindling by the day. She could no longer linger on it. Visiting this place was her final farewell to her love, and a fresh start.

Snorting, the pale mare tossed up her head and half-reared on the hillock of grass. A pair of pale yellow butterflies, dancing their own chase of love circled around the mare, and she kicked up her hooves and followed them across the grassy meadow. She had never seen this part of the Brindle Bull without a thick layering of snow, and she could see that it had everything to offer; good grazing, shade under the eucalypts and even a small babbling brook. The place was simply perfect.

[Ehetere]

The wind howled through the hills and valleys, thrashing branches and creaking limbs of trees creating an eerie chorus of a summer storm. The rain came down hard, pounding the earth, the shrubs, the trees the bushes. The downpour continued long into the night, thick cloud blocking out but the faintest traces of light. A dark shadow limped through the wind and rain, all but invisible to any eyes that could be peering out of thickets and hollows. And as the storm finally blew itself out in the early hours of the morning, the soaking grey stallion fell to the ground exhausted, sleeping where he lay barely under the protection of a rocky overhang and a snowgum growing from between the boulders.

Dawn broke, revealing a landscape heavily cloaked in golden fog. Birds sang, and everywhere was wet with both dew and the previous night’s rainwater. Lark woke shivering, still wet and cold after having a fitful few hours of rest. Fate would be cruel indeed for the damp and the cold to get to his chest, and mistrusting the hand that life liked to deal him, he struggled stiffly to his feet. Everything ached, from the cuts on his muzzle to his back leg which felt like it was on fire. The rock had ripped up his flesh, more than even the roan stallion and he could barely put weight on it.

He shook himself, attempting to rid his coat of some of the moisture only to nearly lose his balance and go toppling over. Despite the rain and cold from the night before, Lark knew the day was going to be a stinker - humidity was still heavy in the air, and all this water was going to heat up till it was practically steam as the day wore on. He did not look forward to having his coat dry only to dampen it in sweat again.

He set off slowly, hobbling along a well known track. The Brindle Bull was one of Lark’s favourite haunts, so it was no surprise the steel grey stallion had chosen it to hide away and recover. He knew where he was heading - just on the other side of the great mountain lay a massive cliff face, sheltering a small clearing perfect for both hiding and recovery. The thick blanket of snowgums would disguise his presence, and he could lay in the shade in the cool, eating the sweet snowgrass at his leisure before wallowing in the cool soak to wash away the blood of his injuries.

His progress was slow - painfully slow. A trip that might normally have seen him in his hideaway before the sun had gotten much above the horizon had him still travelling along at noon, with the scorching heat roasting his dark hide. Scowling up at the sky briefly, he paused to catch his breath and master the pain before continuing on. Up ahead there was a little brook where he could quench his thirst and rest a while. Just up ahead...

Abruptly a flash of creamy hide and silver mane was on him in a flash, nearly crashing into him as he emerged from the snowgums. Hindered though he may be, Lark never forgot his mother’s lessons as much as he detested her. He could move like nothing but a dark shadow, even on three legs though it did slow him down. Better not to be followed by any stallions or men in this condition. Clearly, this silver whilly-whilly hadn’t heard or seen him coming until it was almost too late. Thinking the ghost of that wretched Thowra was coming to punish him, as every horse in the High Country seemed to be lately, Lark half reared in fright squealing in pain as he put weight on his injured leg. Snaking out his neck and laying his ears flat against his neck, he tried to look as menacing as a horse of his condition could be.

The ghost it seemed was not a ghost at all, but a creamy filly with a smattering of snow across her rump. Any other stallion or colt might have jumped for joy at finding a silver filly alone in the breeding season, however Lark only scowled in her direction. He didn’t like creamies, pompous posing show ponies the lot of them! Besides, he really wasn’t in the mood right now, despite the fact that she seemed to be in season. With a low grumbling snort he pushed past her and continued on towards the brook, paying her no other heed at all. When he hobbled up to the bank he immediately dropped his muzzle and slurped at the refreshingly cool water, revelling in the wonderful cool that washed through his body as it trickled down to his stomach.

[Tiggs]

Twisting and dancing, Kurrin chased the butterflies around the clearing, scattering a surprised group of rabbits and sending a grumpy old wombat back into his burrow. She felt that weight that plagued her heart in recent seasons lifting a little bit more. Ever since se and Eerin had played down by Dead Horse Creek, that weight on her soul had been easier and easier to move. Eerin had unwrapped the bonds that held it, and Kurrin was slowly pulling free. She could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and her spirits were high at the thought of such freedom.

Flinty hooves hitting the ground and flicking up dry turf, the mare missed the grey stallion emerging from the trees, almost barrelling into the beast. With a surprised squeal, the mare propped to a halt, throwing up her flaxen-maned head. Nostrils quivering, the mare watched the stallion come across the small clearing, hardly failing to notice the pain he was in. Like a storm cloud covering the sun, the dark stallion’s aura smothered the mood. The butterflies disappeared over the tree line, and even the birds fell quiet.

The mare shivered, realising that this stallion could well be a danger even despite his injuries. She couldn’t seem to help herself though; she felt sympathy for the poor male as he heavily favoured one leg. He had clearly been in a bad fight – and by the amount of old scars littering his hide – he had been in many more before. Kurrin nickered, voice deep and comforting. He reminded her so much of Nepelle after the string of fights which had led to his unshakable indifference to her.

She couldn’t imagine what he had been though, but Kurrin could feel the weight that he carried with him, and all of a sudden, she didn’t want to see another brumby crumble under it. With another soft nicker, she trotted over to him, lowering her head and saddling her ears. Her tone was hopeful, and she cautiously reached her muzzle toward him. She was determined to help him, before his emotional pain settled deep. She couldn’t fix Nepelle, and now she never would be able to, so perhaps she could balance the karma of it by helping this stallion who was clearly in need.

[Ehetere]

Muzzle still firmly planted in the sweet cool water, Lark flicked an ear back to see whether the pesky creamy mare had left yet or not. Could she not see he wanted to be alone? Why would any mare on her own in this season wish to remain around when their own safety could be at risk? He lifted his head around, water still dribbling from his chin. She was still standing there, a look of unmistakable pity written on her features. Lark sighed, pinning his ears a little more in case she thought of coming to ask if he was ‘aright?’. What a stupid question: did he look alright? Of course not, he looked as though he’d been brutally abused by a whole mob of brumbies, which wasn’t so far off the truth.

The mare gave a gentle nicker and Lark all but shuddered. Oh, the embarrassment of it all! To be pitied by one of those insufferable silvers, the shame! Normally he would have tried to terrify her, threaten her with violence, and if that failed simply escape her oppressive presence by outrunning her. He could barely muster the energy to lift his head, and he was certainly in no condition to run anywhere however, so there was little he could do but glare in her direction as she trotted over, warm eyes full of love and affection. Why oh why! Why was she here! Surely she had some other beautiful strong stallion to be fawning over? Hordes of colts to flirt with and tease? The man to lead a chase? Some other stupid silver business?

She reached her velvety muzzle out, and unlike any other colt or stallion in his position who’d be thanking the gods for their kindness, Lark snapped at her, teeth barely missing the end of her nose. He was in no mood for silver antics - even when he wasn’t battered and bruised their stupid ways and over bearing sense of being better than everyone made his mane curl.

He lifted his head abruptly, getting it out of her reach. Even in this state he was taller than her, and he eyed her with a meaningful glare. “Go away,” he said plainly, attempting to look as menacing as possible. Turning his rump to face her, ensuring his tail flicked against her hide as he did, he limped off in the direction of the little snowgum glade, arching over towards the creek and creating an inviting looking resting place. He would regain some of his strength and continue on towards his chosen hideaway when the heat was less intense. His pride had been hurt even more than his body had, and it would take some time for both to recover. He did not want any horse to see him defeated like this, especially that creamy mare.

[Tiggs]

The stallion was abrupt, and rebuffed her with a near miss. Squealing in surprise, Kurrin tossed her head, looking at the steely stallion with a hurt expression. She was only trying to help! But she could see his pain, and if he were in a better state, he might not lash out like that. His spiteful tone made the mare drop her head, ears pivoting back, upset but not angry. He must be very hurt inside if he would shun company so viciously.

She warily eyed his rump as he swung it toward her, but it seemed he was not aggravated enough to kick, only lash his tail against her flank. The mare was smarting from his rebuke, but she was determined not to give up so easily. Clearly he wanted to be alone, but Kurrin had let Nepelle work out the defeats of his battles when he wanted to be alone, and it had done him no good.

The poor stallion limped heavily, and Kurrin hoped he would not try and go far on that leg. Thankfully he stopped not far away under a shady snowgum, and Kurrin plucked up her courage to approach him a second time. The creamy mare came to him cautiously, nickering in greeting again. She stayed in the sunlight, the shadow of the snowgum like a barrier between them.

Flicking her tail, the mare steeled herself and reached out her nose into the shadow. He might well nip at her again, but she had to try! He had to know he didn’t have to be alone, and she would stay with him while he dealt with his pain. Kurrin could feel a stubbornness forming about this. It would take more than a nip and some harsh words to deter her from her goal; of helping this stallion, and lifting the weight he carried in his heart.

[Ehetere]

The filly squealed as if surprised by his response. Could she not see he had no wish for the pity of other brumbies? Lark was no sentimental colt, he had found very little comfort in the company of others in his life, and those he had, well... They turned out to be the worst of all.

Hoping that this filly would see reason and leave him to wallow in his pool of pain and self pity, Lark rested his weight on his good hind leg, dozing in the shade. There, again came her friendly whicker offering assistance and Lark peeked out from underneath his long forelock with a half closed eye to spy the creamy coming over again. He sighed, battle ravaged body slumping in defeat. He was too exhausted to escape her, too sore to fight her. Apparently not straight forward enough for her to understand. He wanted nothing more than to be alone. The world had shunned him many times over, and now he would shun the world.

Her footsteps came closer, slowing as though she was wary. Perhaps not quite as thick as a snowgum’s trunk, but only barely. If she’d learnt her lesson properly she’d have been running in the opposite direction, back on her carefree way to her life of golden sunshine. Lark it seemed had never been destined for that path, the cruel hand of fate smiting him down at every turn. Bitterness had long seeped into the steely stallion’s heart, every defeat every slight he’d experienced hardening it, making it that much more difficult to erase or fix. Happiness was fleeting if he’d ever even felt it at all, and always seemed to be followed by soul crushing defeat. No, better not to long for happiness if with it only came disaster.

As so often happened with the grey stallion, depressing gloomy thoughts quickly turned to anger. Why did fate punish him so? Why, for it had done so from birth with his wretched mother and her wretched ways. Why had she named him thus? Seen fit to bite and nip and even kick like none of the other mothers did? And why could he not make her love him as she had loved his older brother? What had he done to deserve any of that? Nothing! Despite all his best efforts, nothing he did could please the malicious grey mare.

And mares! Oh, they were nothing but trouble! From the vicious bullying grey who’d teased and taunted him as a suckling and even into adulthood, to the little bands of fillies who thought it prudent to laugh at his losses. And then there was Jiba. Here, a mare who seemed to have eyes for none but him, but still she teased him, taunted him, offered him her foals, and then betrayed him in the most brutal of ways at the very drop of a stone! Lies, all of it lies! She was a witch, cruel and sadistic, taking pleasure in toying with him, and then breaking him down to lows he had not known were even possible to reach.

Consorting with his brother, very nearly the bane of his existence for as long as he could remember. That presumptuous posing pale grey was as much the source of his problems as his mother was, perhaps more. It was his fault that his mother did not love him, the perfect son, chosen for greatness under her hoof. Lark was but the second born son, least loved, a shadow compared to his shining older sibling. And here he was, with the mare that by all rights should never have left Lark’s side. Damn then. Damn them all! Damn his mother and her vile temper, damn Jiba and her fickle betraying hide, and damn his oh-so-perfect brother may he rot in a shallow grave or be captured and saddled by man for the rest of his days. Lark refused to be beaten, he refused! He would see to it that every horse that once wronged him without so much as the provocation to do so would be sorry, sorry for what they had done.

Strength renewed at this promise, he peeked out once more to discover the creamy mare was still there, muzzle outstretched again. He could nip her easily once more, and she probably knew that. So why was she still here? Giving up on feigning sleep, he lifted his head and surveyed her with both dark eyes wide open once more. Lark did not understand her presence: why did any creamy filly want to help him? He supposed it was one of the damned habits of the silvers his mother had always talked about. Lark had never quite figured out why she hated silvers so, other than his mother thought their coats vastly overrated. He personally found their antics and morals quite sickening, but then he felt similarly about his brother’s.

This silver filly seemed to fit that mould, helping other horses in need or some other rubbish like that. The stallion could not deny her beauty though, how the dappled light played across her light hide, dancing intricate patterns across her back. She would certainly be a prize for any stallion to call his own, certainly in this season. She smelt of musk and honey, a heady scent that so hung around mares in spring and summer, drawing in colts and stallions like flies. Lark could just imagine how jealous his brother would be with the creamy standing at his side, fairer than any mare in his herd. His mother too would turn in her grave if there she so rested knowing her son owned a creamy filly, or else disown him at the first mention of it. So much the better, he’d finally be rid of the small biting mare who’d hung like a dark cloud over his life. And Jiba. Oh, how she would be chastened, knowing she’d scorned him to be replaced by a creature far more desired, admired and fair than she.

Slowly, he arched his neck out, muzzle outstretched nostrils flaring to meet her soft muzzle. He let it rest there for a moment, then two, drinking in her scent. Then he pulled back, returning to his previous posture with his head held high with a nobility in his stance that he was not consciously aware of. Lark had never really tried to charm a filly before, he very much doubted his method of courting Jiba would please this innocent looking creamy. If it were up to him, mares and fillies would come as they were told, pleasantries being but a waste of time. His stomach churned in protest as he fought back disgust at having to sink to this level.

“Why do you come to me?” he asked, not quite hitting base with how to charm a mare. There were some things he would never allow himself to do, and one of them was to become his brother, with his ridiculous complements. “Why come to me, when a creamy filly such as yourself could be resting safe and fat on summer grass in a herd? Being up here alone is dangerous for one as beautiful as you - there could be bad stallions about.” He almost stumbled over the one disgusting complement, and held back a grin at his last comment but on the whole the performance was close to flawless.

[Tiggs]

Her heart soared when he finally looked up; she was getting through to him! She nickered softly, breathlessly, as his eyes softened and he reached his muzzle out to her. He was so different from Nepelle, but so similar in many ways. She didn’t feel completely safe with him, but then she had been wary of Nepelle for a long time with they first met. This stallion was dark like a storm cloud, where Nepelle had been bright like the heart of a fire.

Delicate nostrils quivering, the mare rubbed her nose against his, feeling their whiskers intermingle. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment before she slowly stepped back from this self-indulgence. She was here to help him! Not the other way round.

The stallion’s voice was still gruff, but no longer sharp and unkind. It was pleasant to listen to, and the compliments did not go unwarranted either. The mare ducked her head modestly, thanking him with a throaty nicker. “You are in need,” she said, dark eyes downcast, shy, tentative to meet his. “I have no herd, but I knew this place. I seek only to help you,” she offered her nose out again, gently brushing his cheek and blowing hot air from her nose over his.

He talked of bad stallions, and she wondered if one of whom had done this to him. She shuddered at the thought of how stallions could so easily hurt each other. She understood why they must, but she could not truly comprehend. Kurrin’s questing gentle touch reached for a fresh mark on his neck. The skin was ragged, and the surrounding fur caked with blood.

Gentle, so careful not to hurt him, the creamy mare began to groom away the blood. She could do nothing for the wound itself, but she could not imagine the feeling of stuff fur was comfortable. She could not take away his physical pain, but she could make him as comfortable as possible.

[Ehetere]

On any other occasion Lark would have mocked her. Oh how he would have mocked her, jeered her adoring eyes, her little whickers of delight when he finally reached out to her, as if she was desperate to have his touch. He had little doubt that all mares were the same, all of them seeking but one thing in this weather. Were a few kind words and his very presence enough to have her eating out of his hoof? Was it really going to be that easy? No wonder his infernal brother had a herd, Lark very much doubted it was because of his intelligence.

She dropped her head a little, but it was clear she’d liked what he’d said to her. So it was that easy then. He kept his eyes on hers, their attention unwavering from underneath dark locks of mane. His luck seemed improved - she had no herd, not that he’d have had any qualms tempting her away from one if she did have a stallion. Any fool who let his mares go wandering, well they were free game. Even ones who didn’t in Lark’s opinion.

She brushed against his cheek, and the steel grey held perfectly still, completely unaccustomed to words of comfort, such gentle touch. Even kindness in general, very little had the grey colt experienced. Taking a gamble, he reached his head out and rubbed it against her own cheek, snuffling and blowing hot air as if to apologize for her lack of herd.

The creamy moved down then, to his neck and Lark half laid back his ears in protest. Understandably he was a little uneasy about horses touching him. The last mare to groom him and show him kindness had promptly deserted him after giving him a violent beating without cause, rhyme or reason. She reached out and began to tenderly work away the dried blood and gore around the gash, pulling at the wound occasionally having Lark wince a little. He’d been quite content to remain bloodied until he was sure all of his wounds were healed and then go and find a rough trunked tree. He supposed if it meant this filly’s company he could live with this. The wounds would probably heal better too, though Lark wouldn’t have minded the scars.

Unsure of where to proceed from here, Lark stretched out with his neck and laid his head across her withers so he could pull her closer. That was suave right? In this heat the added body heat was far from welcome, but Lark was going to put up with it without complaint or fidgeting. And if she found it uncomfortable, well then he could suggest a little wallowing in the brook. The position was actually quite peaceful, relaxing. But he was here to woo her, not use her as an instrument for a more comfortable nap. ”Why does one as lovely as yourself not have a stallion?” he asked softly to her ear, able to turn to it easily from his height. She was decidedly shorter than himself, he stood nearly head and shoulders over her.

Despite the urge to itch at her incessant picking of his skin, Lark made a few low appreciative whickers of encouragement. Let her think she was helping him, if it so pleased her. She had seemed docile and calm thus far, but he wondered whether she truly intended to stay. Perhaps he could use his injuries to keep her here, under the guise of needing ‘looking after’.

[Tiggs]

He was gentle, oh-so gentle. She quivered at his very touch, and she returned his gentle nuzzles by grooming his flank. The pelt here was mostly untouched, though she guessed there might be bruises by the way he flinched at even her most delicate of touches. She felt for him, and when she reached her head up high to see his withers, she could see just how much damage had been inflicted on him. Teeth had worried at his shoulders, and she could not imagine how much it much hurt him to walk.

She left his withers alone, craning her head to scratch lower on his spine where fewer marks pained him. She wished she could groom away all his pain, or even take some into herself to ease his burden. He must be a brave stallion to withstand all this, and Kurrin’s heart gave a surge of admiration towards him.

Struck by a sudden shyness, and unable to answer his question, the palomino mare continued to groom him as if he hadn’t said anything. The stallion was a relative stranger, after all, and she wasn’t sure she could explain Nepelle to him when she didn’t understand why she was alone completely herself.

The heat of his body was becoming stifling, and Kurrin fairly squirmed. The brook was calling to her, and after cleaning his pelt of blood and sweat, she could do with the cool water. She carefully pulled away from him, feeling almost cold away from his side. She all but submerged her nose in the water, slurping at the refreshing brook. Glancing up, she wondered if he might join her, as it seemed strange to suddenly be away from him.