The silver beauty (O)

[Corowa]

The lone brumby grazed in a pocket of timber a few miles south of Leatherbarrel Creek. There was only the faintest suggestion of a pale-coloured filly through the stand of tall eucalypts. Occasionally, a creamy head could be seen, framed briefly by the rough trunks of two box gums.

Poorinda moved slowly through the broken patches of bush. It was only by luck that she had avoided the notice of stockmen in the valley below. She had never gone any further north than the Thredbo River before, but Poorinda found herself bored with this unfamiliar country. She had seen only one or two scattered mobs on her way up through Dead Horse Gap, and much of the snowgrass here had already lost its sweetness.

It was very quiet. Not even the currawong called, as it sat on the branch of a wide-spread gum. Poorinda knew that any other brumbies were quite some distance away, and the filly stopped for a second, jolted by the sudden realisation that she was very much alone here. Poorinda shook herself angrily. Surely, there was nothing to be afraid of!

The filly forced herself out of those last, sheltering trees. Now she stood in the open, her creamy coat picking up every bit of light that filled this deep gully. Poorinda left that strange eucalypt forest behind as she trotted across the open flat. Poorinda knew she should be moving lower now that summer had turned to autumn, but the filly did not want to return yet to the gentle valleys of the Cascades.

[Ehetere]

The young sooty colt had long since simmered down from the foul mood he’d been in after losing both his fillies to the bay colt. Truth be told, he only considered the curious silver maned bay a real loss, though the scrubby filly’s attentions had been appropriately doting. He’d come to accept that realistically he shouldn’t expect to keep any mares or fillies he might claim, since most other horses his age wouldn’t have even left the herd yet. He was just advanced.

He had wandered north, past the land of his ancestors to the wilds of the Ramsheads. Despite being his mother’s son, there was sense in his head and he intended to enjoy this freedom before he truly had to settle down and protect a herd. He had visited the high mountains but a few times in his short life, and he was looking forward to becoming better acquainted with them.

He set his pale hooves down silently, sure footed and clearly well versed in the ways of the bush. His mother may have been a fickle creature, but she was far from stupid when it came to remaining free, having passed her knowledge onto her once silver son. The air was filled with promise, summer had given way to autumn and the heat had released its grip a little. Wirriwirri doubted he would find other horses up here, the herds were making their way south already with whispers of winter on the wind.

There was movement below, and his gaze turned sharply as a pale form caught his eye. Gazing down with disbelief, he saw it was not a man on his pale horse, but a creamy filly walking out of the trees in the valley below. The only silver he’d ever known was his mother, and even then he only had fleeting memories. He often wondered what had happened to them all, whether they’d all been captured. Obviously the men had not got this one, though she couldn’t have been much older than he. The light seemed to play on her coat like the gleaming reflection of the sun itself, absorbing its brilliance. He even felt a twinge of jealousy - is that what he would have looked like? Used to look like?

He called out to her, interestingly devoid of longing that most male calls would be to her, rather a sort of curiosity. He picked his way through the sparse shrub and wallaby trail, lithe frame twisting this way and that so that he might reach the valley floor. He could only hope that she had not run away when he reached it.

[Corowa]

Poorinda was surprised when a young stallion’s neigh rang out over the valley. The two-year-old filly stood stock still, as she strained to pick out those last dying echoes. Yet, no other call came, and the easterly wind had blown any scent away. Poorinda felt a brief flash of disappointment. Perhaps, that exciting call had not been intended for her. But even so, it meant at least there were other wild horses nearby.

High up on the headwall of the valley, there was the faintest flicker of movement. There was a clear track along the ridge, where the timber thinned to a few patches of scrub. The view upwards was obstructed by a belt of tall box gums. Poorinda stared hard at a spot between the narrow, rough-barked trunks. She was sure there was a dark-coloured horse up on those tall cliffs.

Poorinda felt a burning curiosity about this mysterious young stallion. She started to fidget, filled as she was by a strange sort of restlessness. She certainly longed for company, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure whether this young stallion was friendly or not. Poorinda’s restlessness grew, until it seemed her whole body trembled with this odd feeling of impatience. Finally, she was unable to contain herself any longer. With a sudden rashness, Poorinda threw her own throbbing call out over the mountains. The filly waited then, waited, and listened for an answer.