Lost (Open)

[Tiggs]

The Boggy in winter was an eerie place. The mist was dense, and with the sky low and overcast and the ground blanketed in snow, it was a world of white. A strange shape moved at its edge. It looked horse-like, but there were too many legs and the colouring was mottled and broken. It was in fact three brumbies, but they all looked stranger than any other brumby in the High Country.

The largest, the mother of the other two, was white all over with dark brown spots all over her coat. Her sparse mane and tail were streaked with brown, and she travelled with her head low and ears held back against the cold air. The second most distinguishable looked to be a year old and walked as close to her mother as she could mange. She too was white, but instead of spots, bay colouring was present on her legs and in selected spots on the front of her chest and neck. She looked like she had been in a chance encounter with some very stubborn mud, or as if the snow falling from the sky had formed a solid blanket over her back and face. The third was hard to distinguish and if she moved away from her mother, she might melt into the mist. She had the build of a young two-year-old, and in her winter coat, she was a pale palomino, almost all white, with a clean white blanket of spots over her rump.

The mother Crayola led the two – Castelle and Kurrin – across the uneven ground in an aimless direction. She had no destination, this was it, but she still seemed lost. The going was hard, and more than one ungainly Castelle tripped on hidden tussocks or snowed-over puddles whose ice could not hold the weight of a horse. Kurrin seemed to be in her element, but Crayola eventually came to a halt. She snuffled over both her daughters, checking their legs before she was content they were not hurt.

With a dejected air, Crayola began pawing at the ground to uncover the tough grass and reeds hidden under the snow. Castelle and Kurrin were unused to the taste of the wetland grass but they ate from the uncovered patch readily. While Castelle kept close to Crayola, Kurrin ventured off a few metres to uncover her own patch of grass. Crayola encouraged the behaviour by nickering gently, proud that her oldest daughter had learnt how to find food in winter. As much as Crayola hated the fact – Kurrin would be leaving her soon – and the appaloosa mare would be sad to see her go.

Kurrin ventured a little further until she could no longer see her mother through the mist. She squealed and cantered back to nuzzle her mother and then tried again. She got a little further each time, running back to her mother and stretching her confidence a little bit more with each trip. When she’d plucked up the courage to stay on her own for a few minutes, the shape of something stirring in the mist accompanied by the crunch of snow under hooves had her squealing and racing back to Crayola. “I saw someone.” She whispered, sticking to her mother’s spotted flank.

Crayola lifted her head sharply, calling out hopefully. “Yindi? Tingara?” She nickered wordlessly again to help pinpoint her position. Her desolation had been due to the recent loss of her adopted daughter, Yindi. In the brumby run, it had been easy to keep her spotted daughters close but Yindi and her black coat had been lost in the press of dark bodies. Tingara too she had lost – her stallion – and her hopeful expression was earnest. She really expected it to be one of them, and her short tail even waggled a little in anticipation.

[Ehetere]

Nepelle was trotting purposefully through the snow filled world, even though he had no idea where he was going. This new country was exciting and invigorating; as was the falling snow. All the same; he longed for the heat of the sun and to be able to see the sky again. Through the mist, the scent of three mare drifted to him; but it was distorted and confused by the wind and snow. He strode forward with more determination, even though he had no real idea if there was a stallion with them or if there was any other horses. But no matter what; he had to have a look.

Nepelle kept going and going, all the while the smell of the three mares strengthening, and he became more confident that it was just them in the snow and mist. Perhaps there were no other horses but they in the great boggy country. Just then, the snow cleared enough for Nepelle to barely see the shape of a beautiful golden filly appear in almost mid air; her mane and tail thrown wild by the wind. He only saw her for a second; she may have never been there at all she had been so insubstantial, but Nepelle had seen enough to know that she was exceptionally beautiful, and that he wanted her for his herd.

As he cantered forward through the snow after the filly, he heard another mare call out; "Yindi? Tingara?" These names meant nothing to him of course; but her words did give away the three horses' exact locations. He came forward more slowly now, careful not to make a noise that might scare them off. But in the white world he was walking through; they were so hard to spot. They all must have pale coats, and this made Nepelle excited. No matter how glorious he was, he had never managed to collect any mares down in his previous home in the low country; at least not collect any and keep them. Finally, Nepelle saw the oddest patches of brown through the snow and as he moved closer there was indeed the faded outline of three horses.

They were all different; but all beautiful in their own ways. The largest and obviously oldest of the three had the oddest assortment of spots covering her white coat. The other two fillies were obviously her daughters. There was a almost completely white filly foal with what looked like mud all over her coat. And then there was that beautiful pale gold filly that he had sighted before - and she was glorious. There was no doubt that these three were a family, and for there to be a family there must be a father. But despite Nepelle's caution, he knew that fillies couldn't stay with their herds forever and now he longed for this pale gold wraith to come with him; preferably before her father tuned up on the scene. He rose on his hind legs into the most perfect rear; saluting the mother and the two fillies instead of the sky for a change. When he dropped back down on all fours again, he began to dance and prance his way gradually over to the little group; trying not to send them fleeing into the enveloping white where he would surely not find them again in a hurry.

[Tiggs]

As the brumby came closer, Crayola gave an excited whinny. When the mist cleared and she could see the colour of the brumby, she looked severely disappointed. Not Yindi or Tingara. Was it Fira? The spiteful chestnut brumby mare from Tingara’s herd? Not exactly the brumby she wanted to see, but it was a familiar face nonetheless. She nickered again in a friendly greeting, and then she finally realised it was no one she knew.

It was a stallion, though typically, Crayola was not worried by that. She maintained the simple thought that no brumby would ever hurt her, and so strange stallions were just another friend to make. Aside from her foals, friends were her favourite thing in the world. Distracted for the moment from her sad situation, Crayola watched the chestnut dance and nickered approvingly. He was quite good at that, wasn’t he?

Kurrin meanwhile did not share her mother’s blasé approach to life. The chestnut scared her, as did most things, and she quivered at her mother’s side. He was so large! His prancing just served to worry her more as she stared at his flashing hooves. If one of those hit her, she would surely be crushed. She wished she was a foal again and she could hide under her mother. Crayola never let any harm come to her, she would be safe with her.

Crayola noticed her older daughter shivering and she nuzzled the pale golden filly reassuringly. The mare was quite used to her daughter’s nervous nature, and she comforted her with a rub of her mottled nose between her daughter’s ears. “No need to worry, sunshine, we’re in no danger.” Kurrin calmed, but the whites around her dark eyes were still visible as she stared at the chestnut fearfully.

Castelle hid behind her mother, not as frightened as her sister but still a little worried by the presence of a stranger. Crayola nibbled her short forelock before turning back to watch the stallion. He was certainly impressive and as he came closer, Crayola extended her muzzle in greeting. “You’re exciting.” She said sincerely. “My name is Crayola – have you seen a black filly?”

Kurrin shrunk back, hiding behind her mother’s rump and peeking over her spotted back. She was starting to look a little more curious, but she was clearly worried about such an imposing stallion so close.

[Ehetere]

Nepelle stopped prancing when he thought that he was near enough to the mare and fillies to have a conversation without having to shout. Despite all of his gentle movements; he could see that the golden filly he wanted to woo had shunk back away from him. Did she not like his dancing? He moved closer again, and touched noses politely with the mare. "You're exciting. My name is Crayola – have you seen a black filly?” asked the spotty mare, stepping back again. Her little foal was hiding behind her rump; and Nepelle thought that she may grow up to be beautiful herself. But it was on the golden filly he focused his main attention on. She was an even more unusual colour than he had first thought. She would have been considered a silver brumby, were it not for the white patch on her rump; but it made her all the more exotic.

"I am Nepelle; and I have come from far down south in the foothills. I have seen several black fillies on my travels, but I do not think the chances of them being the particular filly you are looking for is very high," nickered Nepelle, deciding that it would be rude not to reply to the mare and further examine her silvery daughter, who was now beginning to peek out from behind both her mother and younger sister. Deciding that perhaps being very gentle and calm would coax the little filly out of hiding, Nepelle said, "And what are three beautiful fillies like you three doing out here is the cold and snow all alone. Surely you have a herd and a stallion?" Nepelle knew how to convince a mare to join his her; he had been excellent at it down in the lower country; but he had no idea of the traditions and ways of the high country brumbies, other than the basic legends like the silver brumbies.

[Tiggs]

The appaloosa was hopeful at the mention of him seeing black fillies, but her expression faltered when he said none of them were Yindi. The fact that he had no idea what she looked like didn’t cross her mind. She should have checked, but her absent-mindedness had her train of thought flicking between tracks like a toddler playing with the controls.

Crayola was reminded of the time when she had no stallion before Tingara came. She had been in the Boggy one summer, mothered in mud up to her flanks and Tingara had accepted her into his little herd. He would always remind her of what he thought of her colouring, and so the compliment from the chestnut was well received. “Thank you, Tingara tells us we are beautiful all the time. He hasn’t done that in a while though. I haven’t seen him since we were running with all those horses. There were men, I didn’t like them. Me and Kurrin and Castelle were alone together after that. You’re right, it is quite cold. It was always warm with more mares and Tingara. Winter is lonely without him.” The mare was a rambler, and seemed to speak whatever came to mind.

She reached out her muzzle again and shuffled forward, picking her legs up high to step over the snow. “You’re a stallion.” She stated. She wanted to ask him if he was warm in winter. If he kept his mares warm when the snow was cold like Tingara. An idea was coming to mind. Until Tingara came to find her, perhaps Nepelle would keep her daughters and her warm. She could pretend he was Tingara, and then she wouldn’t be alone.

Castelle shuffled forward with her mother, but Kurrin lingered behind, unwilling to put less space between her and the fiery chestnut. The way he was looking at her was frightening. It was similar to the way Tingara looked at Crayola, but that was comforting, it meant Crayola and Tingara were happy. The chestnut, Nepelle, applying that same look to her was confusing. She didn’t know how to respond. Crayola was always grooming Tingara, but the idea of getting that close made her shy back a few steps. She almost wanted to run away, but then she would be alone without her mother and younger sister. What should she do?

[Ehetere]

Nepelle nickered softly, almost laughing at the mare's ramblings. She was an odd one that was for sure; but all the same quite endearing. But trying to understand her was quite confusing; to say the least. Tingara must be the mare's stallion and the two fillies' sire - but Nepelle had no idea who he was other than that since he had barely even entered the high country at this point and had certainly not seen many other horses who he could converse with. The mare also seemed to be describing what sounded like a brumby run; a big one too! This would explain why they were separated from their herd and were out here all alone in the wilderness. Nepelle had also gleaned the two fillies' names from their mother but was no closer to finding out which was which. Crayola reacher out her muzzle to him again and stepped closer; the little filly foal close behind her. Nepelle could see that they were indeed very cold and shivering; probably longing for the warmth of their herd. There was a small bank of trees a short distance away in the direction from whence he had come; and perhaps he should take these three there and shelter them from the worst of the weather. He was beginning to get the impression that the mare's stallion was no where nearby, or else he would have found her already; knowing the country much better than he. So the put his nose out gently to meet Crayola's again and said gently as possible to all three of them; "You should all get out of the snow and cold - at least stay warm until this blizzard passes. There is a bank of trees just behind me; and we will all be warmer if we are sheltered from many of these flakes and the wind."

So he led off in the direction of the trees, always checking behind him to see that the trio was following. Crayola and her filly foal followed happily, even eagerly; hurrying to get out of the storm. The beautiful golden filly however was still lagging behind; promptly refusing to come any closer. It now dawned on Nepelle that she may, strange as it seemed, actually be afraid of him. No other mare he had met in his life had ever been afraid of him - he had been the kindest, gentlest, most glorious stallion in all the low lands and many of the young pretty fillies had wanted to share in his fire; but the other older brutish stallions had prevented that. Never before had a filly actually shrunk away from his fiery coat and mane.

Nepelle finally saw the tree line up ahead; after being afraid that he had lost his bearings when he had chased after the beautiful filly and become as lost as Crayola and her foals. He trotted forward faster now; and nickered back to the three behind him to indicate that shelter was near. Oh how he wanted to trumpet his call into the storm; challenging anything or anyone who dared to stand in his way - but he restrained himself in fear that he would frighten the filly even more; enough to even send her fleeing in the opposite direction. This spring he would reach his full grown strength - and he would fight any stallion he wanted; be it for fillies or mares and never fear losing; only glory in his strength and the rhythmic sound of his hooves thundering over the land. But who ever heard of a five year old stallion with no herd? He should at least have one filly or mare to share his springtime glory with; and he oh so badly wanted the golden filly who was currently hidden behind a curtain of falling snow.

[Tiggs]

The appaloosa mare rubbed her nose on the stallion’s neck gratefully and with Castelle close at her side, followed unquestioningly after him. The offer was just what she had hoped for, and she felt warmer just thinking that his kindness would bring them a safe and warmer night. “Thank you, Napelle, your body heat will keep Castelle and Kurrin warm. I try, but there is only one of me and I am not big enough for two.” She pressed close to his side, her nose to his flank as the trees loomed out of the mist.

Kurrin was torn. There was an invisible rope keeping her in sight of her mother, and she moved forward involuntarily as it pulled on her. She wanted Tingara back. Her father would keep her safe, and she would not have to follow this chestnut stallion. The snow and mist almost enveloped her mother and the stallion and before they were lost completely, she bounded forward and stayed just within sight. As the tress loomed grey and foreboding ahead, she stopped, legs locking. Trees meant they would stop, and that distance would have to be closed. She stood quivering with the unfounded fear as the three up ahead faded from view. What should she do?

Crayola looked back over her shoulder as they stopped under the trees and her ears flickered anxiously when she could not see Kurrin. She nickered for her elses daughter, and just before she was about to go back and get her, her golden shape came slowly into view. Huffing, she stood Castelle beside Napelle and trotted out to her palomino daughter. “Come on, sunshine, no time to dawdle.” With a hefty push with a strength belying her size and demeanour, she herded Kurrin up to Napelle.

Kurrin put up a little resistance, but she was too surprised to make much of a go at it as she was forcefully applied to Napelle’s side. She stood, small and wide-eyed next to Napelle and unable to move with her flank pressed close to the chestnut’s. Crayola gave her a playful nip and circled round to stand on Napelle’s opposite side, putting her smaller daughter between them for maximum warmth. Kurrin was wracked with that inability to move, and she stared sightlessly ahead. The warmth of the stallion burned against her flank and she wanted to shy from it and melt into it. She shivered just a little, and it was a wonder she hadn’t already broken into a sweat. Her dainty nostrils quivered and she studiously avoided looking at the stallion, knowing full well he was looking at her.

Crayola meanwhile had settled quite comfortably and after drying Castelle as well as she could, she dropped off into a light doze.

[Ehetere]

When they reached the trees Nepelle realised the golden filly was no longer following him. He paused, and then rather unexpectedly, Crayola turned promptly around and hustled the pale filly up and down to where Nepelle was standing and waiting. When her mother pushed her to his side; Nepelle could clearly tell that she was absolutely terrified. This was an obstacle he had not expected. Nepelle had been prepared to fight any number of stallions for the beautiful filly who was now trembling beside him; but he had no idea of how to fight her fear - this was all so new and confusing. Nepelle was also worried that, without her mother there to reassure her, she still may just make a wild break for it into the wild weather. And then Nepelle would have to try as had as he could to find and unfamiliar filly in unfamiliar country before she died of cold or hunger.

Crayola dropped her head to doze after attending to the little filly foal who was pressed to Nepelle’s other flank. The little foal seemed quite content to stand there; happy to be warm and cosy, so why should the pale filly be so afraid after being raised by such a confident mother? Had something disturbed her in the past? Had another stallion tried to take her mother and then been killed by her father? Nepelle had no answers; just multitudes of harrying questions. Unable to stand not knowing any longer, he lowered his head so not to look as imposing and quietly asked the filly at his side, “Why do you tremble so? You and your mother and your sister are safe and warm away from the storm. What causes you so much fear?”

[Tiggs]

Kurrin daren’t move in case she came even closer to the stallion. Her breathing was shallow, but his ribs rose and fell naturally so their sides met more firmly at those steady intervals. His foreign smell was tickling her senses, and she was overwhelmed by the strangeness of him. Her father always smelt safe and comforting, but this stallion set all her senses on edge. His smell was bitter yet somehow pleasant, and he was entirely a different colour. His shape under the fiery pelt was all the wrong shape as well. His chest was deep and broad, and even the sound of his breathing was different. It all conspired to add to her nervousness, and she closed her eyes to block some of the stimulus out.

His voice had her ears flickering as if it were too loud when it was only a whisper. Why did he scare her so? Her mother had always encouraged honesty by her example, and Kurrin found her voice enough to answer in a timid whisper. “You’re different.” She couldn’t explain it more clearly than that. He was an unknown, a stranger. He was dangerous and confusing, and if she could think beyond her panic, she might realise why.

She was coming close to physical maturity. As a stallion, he excited her budding instincts and contradicted her knowledge that she should be wary of strangers. The resulting array of mixed signals caused a confusion that she mistook for pure fear. To put it into the simple explanation she could not discern, she found him exhilarating, and didn’t know how to react. She could have just of easily chosen blind adoration rather than fear, but she continued to quaver beside him as his closeness besieged her senses.

[Ehetere]

"You're different," replied the filly finally, and for one of the few times in his life; Nepelle was totally and utterly shocked. How could it possibly be that simple? Variety was the spice of life; how could anyone be afraid of change and new things? His mind failed to comprehend any of what she meant, and never guessed that she herself may be just as confused over her feelings as he was. The more Nepelle thought about it, the more and more his pride hurt. She disliked him because he was different. He scared her because he wasn't her usual herd or sire. How could he possibly fix that? He stepped away from her slightly; careful not to wake the dozing mare and foal. He looked at her with hurt and disappointment in his eyes; despairing that anyone, let alone one as beautiful as she could be afraid of him.

Nepelle despaired that perhaps this beautiful filly; cast like frozen gold against the snow and ice, would never follow him because of her fear. But how would she ever know another apart those from her herd if she was always afraid to try new things; without leaping despite not knowing where to land? Slowly, so slowly, Nepelle reached out with his muzzle to the filly; but not closing the distance between them; leaving it open for her. If she was ever going to get over her fears; it was going to start here. Nepelle looked deep into her fearful eyes; offering safety and promising that no harm would ever come to her if she was to at least accept him. Nepelle also knew that if she refused his offer that he would assuredly try again; and would keep trying until the day he died; she was so beautiful. He would fight every stallion in the high country and the foot hills too if only it meant that he could keep her and call her his own. So he hang there; his nose extended waiting to see what the filly would do.