Dawn's Traveller (open)

[byrch]

Dawn was little more than an hour away. Dooloomai walked quietly down a ridge, toward the place he would soon call home, Paddy Rush's Bogong. In his travels, he heard other bachelor stallions talk of it, with it's abundance of grass and mares. Upon hearing the mares part, Dooloomai had made up his mind to go there. Thinking of mares, Dooloomai thought of his home band, with his mother and aunties. He hadn't seen them in over 2 years, but the pain of being pushed out was still fresh. The company of bachelor stallions somewhat alleviated his loneliness, but they could never replace a gentle mare. He stopped his walking daydream at the scent of strange horses, thrusting his head up to get a better smell of them. Listening quietly, he could hear the faint sounds of other horses. His muscles began to tremble, as he got excited to be in the presence of other horses. The wind blew in his face their smell, and he could no longer contain himself, but bolted off down toward them. Hooves clattering against rock and branches, he kept his ears pricked to other sounds. The darkness before dawn kept his sight restricted, but he had other senses. Stopping at the sound of frantic neighs, he quivered with excitement at seeing faint shapes of other horses. He moved his head around, flaring his nostrils he tried to get some more scents of who was here. Other horses were hear, making faint noises, a swish of a tail here, a stomp there. Dooloomai sighed a relief, cocked his hind leg, and not caring who came to chew his hide, closed his eyes to take a little rest before dawn.

[Tiggs]

The sun had not even risen yet but the sky was taking on a pale golden hue, lighting the way more than enough for the grey mare. She had come this way many times, and could likely walk these paths in the death of night with her eyes closed. Mayrah was a mare that knew the High Country well. From Quambat in the South to the North of Murray’s Gorge, to Davies Plain in the West to the Bogong in the East; the mare was well travelled, and rarely stayed on one place for long.

Her hooves had brought her to the Bogong once again, perhaps with the intention of going further East and seeing what lay beyond. In the pre-dawn light, she moved as quietly as a ghost, and looked like one. Her coat was almost as pale as a candlebark, her mane and tail a shade darker. Once she had been a rosy dapple grey and before that, a dun-marked bay. As the seasons changed, so did she. Every year she looked more and more like her father, with her convex profile and abnormally long mane. She was barrel-chested and carried herself on proportionally-short powerful legs. She was perhaps a little taller than the average brumby mare, and just as fast.

The Bogong was a place for many herds, and Mayrah was not surprised to come across the fresh tracks of many brumbies. The newest was that of a stallion – lone, which did surprise her. Stallions in this season were surrounded by mares. She cast her mind back to the brief time she had run with a chestnut stallion. His interest in hr had been flattering, but she bore him no foals in the end and she moved on before the bushfire.

Coming out onto the Bogong, the mature mare was confident that she would meet many brumbies, but doubted they would convince her to stay for long. Adventure was in her heart, and movement was in her soul. She loved to see the High Country, and she only stopped to eat and sleep.

The path of the stallion led her right to him, and the mare snorted her surprise when her eyes picked him out in the pre-dawn gloom. She had come quite close before she saw him, his dark coat hid him well in the shadows. He was a big mature stallion from what she could tell, and though the mare was a loner by nature she could not fail to notice his prowess, even asleep as he was.

Scenting the air, she got a good healthy reading from him. He was not alone because of illness, though it was hard to tell anything else about him in the dark. The mare nickered, not keen to wake him but she felt she could not pass the lone brumby by.

[byrch]

Jerking awake, Dooloomai turned his head toward the sound of a nicker. Stretching his neck out, he scented the newcomer. His eyes widened as the smell told him it was a mare. He took a deeper breathe, letting her scent sink in. He could tell she was healthy, but until it became lighter, that was all he could find out. What he could see of her was a pale color, with a slightly darker mane and tail. She seemed to illuminate all around her, though very softly and subtly. Pricking his ears forward, he took a step toward her, nickered softly in return and asked "Who are you? Be you a mare, or spirit?" Not really believing she could be a ghost, he kept his neck outstretched, taking deep breathes to fill his head with her sweet smell. If she were a phantom, she was doing a beautiful job of seeming of this world. Or, more likely, he was dreaming, and would soon wake to a stallion chasing him, tearing his flanks apart. If this were a dream, he hoped it would last a little longer.

[Corowa]

It was a piccaninny dawn. A grey light stole over the lower flats of the Bogong. It was early enough; even the herds of brumbies that mostly ran there, still stood asleep.

Ballook had been woken by a dry northerly wind. It tore through the black sally gums, sending up a swirl of dust and leaves. The mare stretched the stiffness from her muscles, a dull ache radiating outwards from her swollen front leg. By now very much awake, Ballook started instinctively off into the bush. There was a track there, which ran the length of the Bogong, from the foothills of the Brindle Bull to the Little Thredbo River.

The mare limped down the narrow track, the silence of the bush disquieting. Ballook found it difficult to pick out what was ahead, and once or twice she had stumbled and almost fell. It was her instincts that led her, for she had walked this track many times before, and knew even in the darkness that the refreshing waters of Bull Creek were still a mile or so off.

Most of the mobs were farther back, preferring to stick to the open plain. Ballook caught only the occasional glimpse of another brumby through the trees, nothing more than a shadowy outline that was quickly swallowed up. The mare moved with more difficulty now, pausing every so often to catch her breath. Yet still, she headed determinedly in the direction of the creek. All that mattered was that she reached it.

The sight of two brumbies standing only a few yards ahead stopped the mare in her tracks. Ballook nickered a hoarse greeting and slowly made her way towards them. The mare’s pale blue coat was stained with dark patches of sweat, and the strain showed clearly on her face. She hoped they would let her stay with them until some of her strength returned. Lame and deeply exhausted as she was, Ballook did not want to be alone.

[Tiggs]

Nickering softly, the mare replied in a hushed tone, as if to respect the silence of the night, “I am just a mare,” she chuckled, touching her nose to his and blowing out air in a huff by way of a greeting, “I am no spirit, though I will take it as a compliment that you think I could be one.” The mare did pride herself on her ability to move quietly, and though she had mourned the loss of her dappled when they shed out white this season, she was slowly beginning to love her paler coat.

The stallion had an aura about him – or perhaps it was the lack of one – that put Mayrah at ease. The mare did not feel threatened or obligated in any way. The sleepy stallion seemed kind from the few words she had heard him speak, and the fact that he had not shied at her sudden arrival made her wonder if he was yet alert enough to have sensed her coming. “My name is Mayrah,” she told him, “named for the spring breeze.”

The first distant bird blurted his morning song, and the pale mare’s ear flickered at the sound. Soon the bush would be alive with the sound of waking birds as they heralded the rising sun. The mare’s ears flickered again, this time to the more distinct and closer sound of an approaching brumby. The pace was irregular, and Mayrah inhaled just as the mare called to them. Her voice seemed pained, and Mayrah could see as she came closer that her leg was badly lamed.

The grey mare nickered sympathetically in reply, able to smell the new and old sweat that clung to the mare. She was clearly not well, and the grey mare hoped that she would recover. Many a brumby perished after a leg injury, but this dark mare had time before winter to rest and recuperate, and if she survived until then, she might make it through.

[byrch]

Hearing her speak, Dooloomai quieted, and as their noses touched and they exchanged breaths, he relaxed even more, knowing no brutish stallion was coming through the pre-dawn light to tear him to shreds. As his sleepy eyes adjusted, he could see she was much like a ghost, she moved like one and looked like one. Her voice was soft and quiet, not wanting to disturb anyone near by.

Upon hearing her name, Mayrah, he nickered softly. A sound to his left caught the attention of an ear, swiviling. Before he could answer Mayrah with his name, she nickered over to another. Worried that it would be a potential threat, Dooloomai turned his head over to the newcomer. He could tell she was a mare, by scent, and wounded by the sight of her limping. Concern took over his expression, and taking a glance at Mayrah, started to walk over to this new mare, nickering gently, to both her and Mayrah, asking her to follow if she so chose to. He kept his expression pleasant, knowing that since he was such a large stallion, other horses usually were wary of him hurting them. He quietly called to her "Are you all right? Do you need any help?" As he reached her side, he could smell the strain she was under just to walk. He stretched his neck out to her nose, not wanting to be to intrusive and frightening her away.

[Corowa]

Ballook turned to look more properly at the blue roan stallion. The mare’s ears tilted forwards and she gave a tired nicker. The stallion was very heavily-built, but his eye was kind and he seemed concerned. He reminded her of Baralga, and Ballook gave him a gentle nose rub, not knowing how to reassure the stallion further.

Instead, she looked curiously at the strange mare beside him. The mare was white, with a silver mane and tail, a pale smudge in the darkness. Ballook guessed it had been this mare who had answered her, but did she belong to the blue roan stallion? Where there perhaps more mares, scattered through the prickly scrub?

“It is my leg,” Ballook told the stallion worriedly. “It has not fully healed, and every day the pain seems worse and worse. Sometimes it feels so hot and stiff, it as if I have been galloping for miles.”

Her front leg was horribly swollen from the forearm down. There was the outline of ribs under her coat, and Ballook knew if it did not heal up soon, she would die somewhere out here on the Bogong. When the grass was gone, the mare would need all her strength and cunning to survive. Yet the heat of fever had burnt every last scrap of fat from her bones.

[Tiggs]

Concerned, the grey mare came closer, following after the stallion. The roan mare spoke of a heat, and Mayrah felt the quiet night turn oppressive and sinister. Heat like that spelled a worse situation than Mayrah had thought. Not wanting to alarm the younger mare - she probably worried enough - Mayrah kept her voice calm and low.

"There is a stream not far from here, with corners deep enough to stand in. If you can make it there, it will help to cool your leg," she explained. The mare had been heading that way, and she had been rather determined to walk on that leg so she might have already known.

Looking to the stallion - whose compassion warmed her - Mayrah came to stand flank-to-flank with the white-faced mare. They might not keep her from tripping, but if she and the stallion walked by her side, it might help her balance. she could feel the heat of the mare through her side, and the grey mare reached out her nose to comfort the roan. "What is your name?" She asked, hoping to offer the mare a distraction from her pain, "I am Mayrah."

The creek was not far, but Mayrah worried that the mare had walked quite a way already, and could be too tired to make it the whole way. The water would cool her leg, and drinking would cool her from the inside. It was not a certain cure, but the mare needed to rest and Mayrah being a passionate soul hoped she would recover.

[byrch]

Shifting over to the injured mares other side, Dooloomai's heart sank as he caught sight of her injured leg. As they made their way slowly over to this creek, a very different thought came to Dooloomai, that he didn't know anything of this terrain. He looked over at Mayrah, who was focused on the mare between them. If any stallion came and tried to fight him when he had mares, he would be unprepared. The rival's would take advantage of any terrain they knew of, and he knew nothing of the high country. He'd seen it before, a stallion's sudden thought in the middle of a fight, remembering a sudden cliff just a few feet away, and bringing the fight over to there, where a single misstep could spell fatal. Shaking himself from these dark but true facts, he looked closer at the injured mare. Even at a respectful distance, where he wasn't touching her but close enough if she fell he could somewhat ease her landing, he could feel the heat radiating from her. Her ribs reached for the sky like the ridges that were spread around here, with deep valleys between each rib. She was lovely shade of blue roan, much lighter then Dooloomai's own dusty dark coat, but it seemed dulled from her sickness. He spoke to both mares as they slowly walked on "I never got the chance to tell you my name, it is Dooloomai, meaning thunder. May I ask yours?" He looked into the blue roan mares eyes, which looked pained and focused on every step she took.

[Corowa]

Ballook whickered gratefully to the silver-white mare. She could barely put any weight on her near front leg, and her whole shoulder felt like it was on fire. The two brumbies flanked her, and Ballook forced herself into a walk again. The pain from her leg was so bad; the mare could only limp along between them.

“I am Ballook, great-granddaughter of Whiteface,” she told the two brumbies as they walked. With each stride, Ballook was acutely aware of that blue roan stallion pressed close to her side. Each time his shoulder bumped hers, she could feel her coat prickle. The stallion filled her with curiously. She wondered if Dooloomai had come from the south, down where Whiteface had once run with his herd. Was he too descended from that vicious old stallion?

The track dropped down sharply through the scrub, and Ballook struggled to stay on her feet. The agony of her leg cleared everything from her mind. The mare was quite sure that if she went down here on this rugged stretch of track, she would never rise again. Still the two brumbies bore her along, and though Ballook stumbled once or twice, they kept her from falling.

The dry bush gave way to shrubby black sally gum, and she smelt water nearby. Her ears pricked up, and the mare gave a grunting whinny. They were close to Bull Creek now. It was only a few hundred yards away surely. Through the trees ahead, Ballook recognised the clump of rough-barked woolybutts that lined the creek. She tossed her head, and went as fast as her sore shoulder would permit. “Come, come!” she said urgently, “Before I collapse into a heap.”