Dark Side of the Moon [Open]

[Ehetere]

There was a peace that came with the bush at night, though the bush was far from still. Cicada calls still buzzed incessantly, accompanied by the calls of the night birds, of possums in their trees. Wombats burrowed, wallabies crept, dingoes howled and the great flying phalangers glided from tree to tree. No, the bush was not quiet not still, but it was peaceful.

There was a hum in the night noise, and a mother possum scurried back into her hollow. The wallabies crept away and the dingoes retreated into the scrub. A horse as pale as the moon itself moved between the pale ghost gums, blending with the white of their bark. No moon shone to illuminate his ghostly hide, but for the night creatures it didn’t need to. They all saw and felt the presence of an ancient legend, of horses who galloped recklessly though the dark of the night, eyes glowing red.

On closer inspection they might have noticed there was something amiss, that one of his eyes was an icy blue, not red, that his coat was not bone white, but possessed at hint of cream. His once silken hide was smattered with scars of battles past, and his step was one of a wearniness that belied his age. The fallen king returned, all but defeated, to a land he had once called his home.

Jirrand stopped on the banks of the Crackenback, listening to the pleasant burbling of water over rocks. The big river was far less swollen than in spring or summer, but there was still enough water for a cooling swim on a particularly hot day. He dipped his pink muzzle to its cool surface and drank, long and deep, so the water might fill the hole left by his journey in life. He’d lost his mate, his herd, his Kingship, his freedom and then the delicate filly he’d tried to save. After months of searching, he had turned his nose northwards, for the stallion knew in his heart that she was dead.

[byrch]

Cooinda breathed deep. The autumn nights were getting longer, and winter was on it's way soon. There were still the few hot days, and the grazing was good. The bush was alive with nocturnal activity. Her silvery coat glittered in the moonlight. She was not a nightrunner, but she could be mistaken for one, her coat so bright in both the sun and moon. Her leg bars and shoulder stripes were a dark contrast on her, which told stallions and other beings she wasn't a prized silver or feared nightrunner.

Stepping lightly down toward the river, she kept her ears pricked and tried not to fall in the darkness. In clearings, the moon showed her the way, but in the trees, the dark shadows played tricks on her mind, putting dark holes where there were none, and branches reaching out to her, caressing her mane and neck.

She had left the strange white faced colt and moon filly a while ago. He had been to young to hold unto a fake like her, and though the two were both nice, Cooinda just wandered off, looking for new pastures, and never found the two yet. That's how it usually was with her, wandering away, and stallions let her.

Coming up to the river, she noticed another white horse like her. Smelling the air before her, she could tell he was a stallion, and a fit one. His coat was littered with battle scars. A slight shiver went through her body, wondering at how old he could be to have gained them.

Giving a whicker of greeting, she slowly walked over to where the pale stallion was.

[Ehetere]

There was a whicker from downstream, and Jirrand swung his head up, ears alert to spot any approaching danger. He had not expected to come across any horses at this time of night, or on a night like this with very little light to guide less accustomed eyes. Jirrand had been living a nocturnal existence for some time now, and he knew that his night vision was stronger for it.

She stood out like a moon against an ink black sky, and his heart leaped thinking the mare was from the herd, having shadowed him since the fire and come to retrieve him. To punish him for stealing back the filly they had taken. He searched her gaze and was relieved to find a pair of ice blue eyes staring back, not blood red. She was not a Nightrunner then, though she could almost pass for one. She was not built like one from the herd of the night; shorter, more meat on her bones, distinctly ponylike. Jirrand was not purebred, as pure as the night-devil’s blood could be, but he certainly still bore the markings of his heritage. No, she could not be one of the midnight herd.

As she approached, he strained all his senses, testing the surrounding bush for any other signs of horses. It was not just any stallion who might own her that worried him, though the pale stallion was far from his prime, but moreso the fact that the Nightrunners may well have followed him, surely they did not wish to let him get away with his treachery. And if they found him here with this mare, they would surely want to take her as payment.

Jirrand could not let that happen, he’d seen too many young horses die in his family’s outrageous pursuit of new blood. His mother had been perhaps the most sane in seeing that an outside stallion might offer the solution, rather than forcing mares and fillies to run themselves to death. He quite liked to think his mother had loved his father as well, though his creation might have been nothing more than a necessity to further his breed.

As the pale filly approached, Jirrand noticed strange markings on her legs, and down her spine. Curious, he had never seen such a strangely coloured horse before, and his interest spiked. She might not be some distant cousin of his, but she certainly must have an interesting past to acquire such a queer coat.

“Well met, filly of the night!” he said as she picked her way around a small outcrop. What brings you out here on a night when no moon shines to light your path?”

[byrch]

As she walked toward him, she noticed how he listened around, paying much attention to the tree line. She softly blew through her nose, she didn’t have any stallion to guard her, no fierce one to come charging to gather her up. They had all just left her, though she had really left them, as her attention waned from this patch of grass to the next. The thing that really disheartened her, was that she hadn’t missed them, or that they had missed her. She couldn’t help that she walked off away from them. But, she figured they were out after better mares, not fakes like herself.

Coming back to her happy self, Cooinda came right up to him, the pale stallion. Brushing her nose up against his, she seemed to have no boundaries. That’s just how she was; she never really learned proper horse etiquette, since she was most often mistaken for a silver.

She noticed just how muscular he was up close. The scars were scattered around his hide, some just shallow scratches, others deep gouges. He must have been a stallion of many fights.

As he spoke, she looked up into his face. It was a beautiful face, from what little moonlight she could see with. He had his own luminescence, as bright as the large star in the sky. No, brighter, for his eyes were so entrancing. The left one was like hers, a deep sea that was easily lost in. The right one, as she gazed into it, had that same trancing effect, but of a different sort. In the dim light, it looked dark, almost like the blood of raging stallions fighting. Her breathe quickened for a moment, realizing that he most be part of the feared herds members, a nightrunner. But, she felt safe around him, and his blue most mean something better than the pure evil stories she had heard of when she was a foal.

Looking back to his blue eye, she answered, “I’ve been wandering for awhile. I come to this river for a drink, and to find some grass nearby.” She looked up toward the sky, noticing that indeed, there was no moon tonight. “I didn’t notice that there was no moon, I just walked to where I saw another horse, like me.” Before catching herself, she had said the last part. She regretted uttering it, for surely he would be angry with her, for he was not like her, with his blue and red eyes, and no markings on his legs and back. She tucked her head in, hoping he wouldn’t lash out at her for the insult of making them equals in color.