Royal Decree [Dulloora/Iluka]

[Tiggs]

It was hard work being a queen. All day she spent bossing the other mares around, and even though it was for their own good, Calca got the distinct feeling they didn’t appreciate it! Well they were only common mares. None of them were descendants of moonfillies, sunstallions, or even silvers! They couldn’t be expected to have more than a few braincells between them. So Calca had decided to take a break from the pointless creatures (or more likely, they were getting a break from her) to graze alone for the day.

Balaroo was down in the valley below the Ridge with the mares, out of sight but definitely not out of mind. Her King occupied her thoughts most of the time now. With his rich sunlit coat, white hot mane and tail and char-dipped legs. He was a sunstallion, guardian of the moonfillies, and she was his queen. Their foal had begun to grow inside her belly, and she could not be more pleased. If there was ever a reason to be fat like the common mares, a foal by her dream stallion was it.

Calca herself may not be a full-blooded moonfilly, but she shared enough of their blood to have the pale mane and tail, and the same affinity for the moon and stars. On warm autumn days like this, she was quite lethargic and calm. Her belly in particular felt warm and comforting, and she wondered if it was the foal was happy to bask in the sunlight, just like its father. She craned her neck around to touch her muzzle to her barely-rounded stomach and sighed contentedly.


While her unborn foal was content, her first son was having a distinctly worse day. A bad season, in fact. Fillies and mares alike scorned him, and no matter what he tried, nothing seemed to work. He’s tried being nice, he’d tried being mean. He’d tried being appealing and he’d tried stealing. They just didn’t appreciate him in the way they should! If Kolya wasn’t so stubborn, he would have given up by now. But the dun colt was determined to have fillies of his own, and he would stoop to anything to get them.

He’d returned to Dead Horse Ridge, remembering this was the place he had met that stupid filly Dulloora. She’d teased him, led him a merry dance, and yet he had nothing to show for it. He hated that dusky filly, yet he wanted her for his own all the same. Stepping out onto the bare hill, Kolya saw one familiar mare, and he couldn’t decide whether he was pleased or disappointed to see her. It was Calca, his mother.

The lighter dun mare lifted her head from grazing before he could decide whether to sty or go, making the decision for him. Her ears perked forwards when she saw him, and he nickered politely to her before trotting over. They greeted each other with a touch of muzzles, and Calca drew back to look over him, “Kolya, my son, you are looking well! How many mares must you have by now, my handsome boy?”

Standing together, the family resemblance was obvious. He stood as tall as her now, with scope to grow a little more. They were both a dark brown dun, with Calca being lighter in body, mane and tail. Kolya was broader, with an oddly mottled muzzle and almost jet black mane and tail. Calca’s expression was expectant, but her enthusiasm dimmed when Kolya looked awkwardly away before he answered, “None, mother,” he replied dully, “I’ve tried! But they just don’t listen to me,” he turned his white-cornered eyes turned to his mother, and the usually irritable stallion looked strangely doleful.

Calca sighed, and tugged his forelock. “Oh Kolya, what have I always said? Words mean nothing without actions to sweeten it!” She bumped her muzzle under his, pushing his head up, “Stop looking so pitiful. That’s it. No mare wants an emotional stallion. Good boy,” she nickered and nuzzled his neck, “Ears forward... no, forward, that’s it. And tail up? There! Much better. Just remember, my son, a good pose goes before sweet words.”

Kolya complied, albeit grudgingly. He wasn’t quite sure what his mother meant most of the time, but he trusted her judgement. If she said that this ridiculous pose would impress fillies, then so be it. He couldn’t see how posing like an idiot would help. His ears already felt unnatural pushed forward like that, and he hated the way the wind pushed his tail around like that when it was flagged. Unless fillies suddenly burst from the scrub, he was inclined to think his mother just wanted to embarrass him.