Someone like you (O)

[Rivre]

Shale rock and tor was what lit the precarious path across a disjointed country, glowing silvery grey in the tepid heat of the day. Heather sprung up in places between the crags, spewing purples and violets into the grey mass, colouring the walkway of the avid explorer. Few trees covered the expanse at this height, but the little mare didn't seem to mind much, with her coat of pale chestnut splashed with white and neat hooves reaching into the gaps produced by years of weathering. Summer was no longer at its best and a chill was evident in the breeze that pushed her upwards, revealing its secrets for any that would care to listen. However - she did not, for Felon was not the most consciousnesses of brumbies. Pale mane whipped in a frenzy about her placid features, liquid honey brown eyes surveying the rise of the Ramshead with eagerness and childish curiosity.

She was young and had much to learn from the high country and it's ways - she didn't think of the dangers of exposing herself - nor did she counter the thought with the fact that any tamed horse would be lamed by the difficult country, she merely wanted to see how far and how wide the expanse of the country spread. She was also, indiscreetly searching for other horses to gabble on to. She wanted to hear stories of the magnificent ghost horse that haunted the place she traveled.

She was lithe in frame, with long and thin creamy locks, a wide chest and well-slung shoulder that sloped gently, conformation easily rendering the incline passable. And as she moved, the country seemed to slide away from beneath her, as if the cracks and nooks were of no obvious danger to such neat legs. The last length of her journey brought her to the top of the southern Ramshead, fragile head thrown up and nostrils quivering, the tormenting winds changing once again to wail directly into her mass so that she had to brace herself against its onslaught. Everything was so small from up here! Ears pricked and attentions fully on way lay below, the ditsy little mare forgot all about checking her surrounds first and let out an excited squeal that seemed to roll across the hills and tor, echoed back and forth as of the horses of the past hollered a response.

[E!]

The Ramsheads were not entirely his favourite place to be - however, considering the Ramsheads held a comfortably cool breeze, whereas down on the flats there appeared to be none, Iuk had traveled with his little black and white mare, Ganandurr, to the higher slopes in order to cool himself off. He was used to the cooler weather closer to the Moyungal, therefore he planned to either find somewhere up on the Ramsheads to make his bimble, or make his place down in the valley he had found not so long ago.

His pale body wound its way easily through the rocks and vegetation, cremello hide standing out against the countryside as it always did. Iuk turned to wait for Ganandurr, pale blue eyes scanning behind and around her suspiciously. He still doubted the stout mares commitment to him, but for once was content to leave well enough alone - for now. He was insanely jealous, and just a little bit insane. So when a loud call rang out from above him, the cremello stallion whipped around, teeth bared. However, the call was only from a mare by the sounds of it, and Iuk calmed down enough to pick up the pace, intent on finding the source of the call.

There she was. A honey-sweet mare that looked only a bit younger than himself. His voice joined the echoes of hers, rough and strong - a big change from what it had used to be in his younger days. The strength of age certainly had done wonders for him. He waited for a reaction, ears pricked and eyes focused.

[Rivre]

The prevailing winds gushed across the deep scars of the high country, weathering the rock and forcing trees to bend to it's will, pushing the pale mare closer to the edge so that she had to dig neat hooves into the nooks they were placed in, ears flickering as one of the echos came back with an almost independent interest. Did she really sound like that? Throwing up her head she turned half-heartedly to gaze at the tor that reverberated her call and stopped with clarified urgency at spotting a ghostly stallion appearing to rise from the slopes. Was it his deep tones that had reached her ears? Turning to face him fully, thin billowing locks were finally pushed from her eyes so that she could inspect the approaching horse with more accuracy.

To any sane mare fear would have been the initial emotion to invade her heart, but with Felon it was mere curiosity and fascination. She didn't bother to wonder if he would attempt to steal her away - for it wasn't in her wishes to be taken so - she just assumed with her child-like innocence that he would be a good and noble stallion. Well she would have done, if the poor round thing hadn't thought that he was an apparition himself of the legendary Thowra. Offering an awed nicker of welcome, features open with an innocence that would strike any on-looker as stupidity, and it was a little, chestnut and white mare picked her way back down the hilly tor, against the wind and every normal creatures gut instinct, she looked into 'pretty' red burning gaze and offered her pale nose in extension.

"Greetings ghost horse of the Ramshead!" she hailed, tones cheerful and surprisingly melodious, "What honour is bestowed on me that you would come out of hiding? Where have you been? What stories do you tell?" It was only after this initial onslaught of questions that Felon gazed at the black and white mound she had assumed to be a part of the high country and in fact found it to be a lithe and well conformed filly! Snorting in surprise, she felt heat flood her hide and the prickling of rising hair as she took in the reality of her situation. She was quite used to seeing ghosts, and the reality of it was that she could be herself in their company without the possibility of danger. It seemed this time though, the the horses before her were quite real, and the touch of his hide confirmed her suspicions. Trying to hide her horror she backed away a little, seemingly unaware of the huge drop behind her - the game she had been playing now horribly realistic. At least it was to her, for every other horse this was a situation they would scoff at without the need for any dramatic weather.