mare of the south, [O]

[yaruka]

As Kareela approached the others proudly the queerly marked palomino whinnied in greeting. He nickered in response to her, nudging her with his own nose at her playful nip and nuzzle. “I am Wilgee, whither have you come, young one? What is it the winds tell from the south?” asked the mare shyly.
"Greetings Wilgee." said the creamy colt, "I am Kareela, named for the southern winds of which you speak. Yet all is quiet in the South, and I have come to the High Country in search of adventure on this glorious winter day." He watched the other creamy, surely a distant relative of his, squeal furiously at the chesnut before whirling and galloping up the slope. She was swift, as he was, and as Wilgee surely was too. His muscles trembled in excitement at the thought of the fun the three of them could having racing across the Brogla's land. Tossing his head with a cheeky glint in his dark eyes, he whinnied to Wilgee, loud enough for Illoura to hear and know that she was included "Come, let us lead this chestnut on a dance made for those of the snow. We will see if he is worthy of the company of such mares as yourselves." Though the creamy colt was not in the slightest bit interested in trying to claim the mares, he could not resist teasing the other stallion. With a mocking whinny to the older male he spun about, rearing once so that his silver coat caught the light and his mane and tail glistened in the sun. Then he was down on all fours again, playfully nipping Wilgee and taking off across the snowy flat.

[Corowa]

Transfixed by this beautiful silver colt, Wilgee felt her hide prickling queerly, every hair standing on end so she stirred restlessly. The wind too seemed restless, those south winds of which the colt spoke, and Wilgee too young to understand what it meant was filled with this trembling excitement. Giving him a teasing nip, the filly struck out playfully with her foreleg. The sudden angry squeal stopped her in her tracks, and Wilgee shook in every limb as Illoura shot down the slope towards Kallinga. Like an angry gadfly, the filly struck. Lashing out furiously with her heels, she whirled nimbly about and then was up and away the steep line of slope. Fascinated by the filly’s violence, how she dared menace the chestnut stallion, Wilgee stood with ears curiously pricked and head held high.

The stallion seemed not to notice the other’s threat, and Wilgee wondered at that too, for surely this stallion would punish Illoura with bites and kicks. Great-grandson of the Brolga, surely he would want that creamy filly as the Brolga himself had so wanted Golden. Instead, Kallinga stretched out his nose to her once more, and Wilgee snorted with amusement. Answering his invitation with a soft whicker, the filly stepped lightly forwards. Wilgee was gentler than the fierce Illoura; she did not hate Kallinga, for he was foolish and proud much as any other young stallion. Mocking him with a nip, the filly swung about and curiously sniffed his flank, the faint scent of eucalypt and ti tree lingering still.

“I run with no stallion,” she answered softly. “I am of Thowra’s blood, as restless and free as the very winds themselves. There is no stallion that could hold me, and no stallion who could ever tame me.” Then she too turned and cantered up the precipitous slope after those two creamy brumbies. Kareela called, and Wilgee swiftly followed. For in this country of giant mountain ash, of deep gullies dropping so steeply down, those ancient tales of silver brumbies were spoken once more.

OOC: I think we should end it here