Read Online Silver Brumby Kingdom by Elyne Mitchell - Free Book Online
Authors: Elyne Mitchell
Tags: Horses
Ads: Link
track. Sometime he would stop to graze, then she would find him.
There was no sound of hoofbeat ahead, but Yarolala, of course, was not soundless. She could have been heard by any horse who was close enough, but not by Baringa, because the wind bore the sounds away.
The darkness before dawn grew heavier, then there seemed to be a faint movement through it. Yarolala felt, almost more than saw, a shiver of grey — and still there was the scent, drawing and drawing her.
Faint blue illumined the dark. The trees were thinning and the scent grew stronger. Yorolala slackened her pace. Baringa might have stopped. She felt less sure of herself. She walked more quietly.
As she came to the edge of the trees, she paused. Ahead were rocks, heaped up rocks and flat rocks looming through the strange half-darkness, and below them seemed to be empty space, probably a grassy glade, perhaps a small creek.
Just as she made out the shape of Baringa between two great rocks, she heard a sound behind her and knew that she, too, was being followed.
“Lightning!” she thought, and stepped swiftly to one side, amongst thick trees.
There was the scent of Baringa still, strong on the breeze, drawing her, and through the thick leaves she could still see him, shadowy and insubstantial because there was no light. Then something hurtled past her along the track, sprang on to the rocks, sprang on to Baringa.
Yarolala gave a little cry and then stood silent. Baringa had leapt forward so that the other horse only crashed down on to his rump. In the resulting mix up of two stallions, and in the blue, shadowy light, Yarolala could only just make out that the attacker was not silver, not Lightning.
Baringa’s quick leap had saved him, but it had also put him in a difficult position for dealing with the other horse. He reared up and swung round in one move. The other horse was already coming in to attack. Yarolala had time to see that he was no horse that she had ever seen before, then there was an interlocked, moving mass of stallions as Baringa leaped upwards on his hindlegs and brought his forelegs smashing down on the advancing head and shoulders.
The horse roared with anger and tried to force him backwards over an edge of the rocks. Yarolala could hardly stop herself neighing a warning, but Baringa must have felt the air behind him and known that there was space. He stood firm. There was no room to jump to either side, so Baringa had to force himself against the terrific impact. The horse recoiled. Yarolala drew in her breath as she saw Baringa sway and then gather himself together enough to jump away from the edge.
In the bluish light, everything looked queerly fluid. The attacking horse seemed grey, the rocks were all caverns and hollows. Baringa faded into the atmosphere. The horse was leaping forward again, it twisted in the air, its teeth bared.
This was surely a very nimble horse, almost as nimble as Baringa, and it had the advantage of knowing the rocks in which they were fighting.
Then Yarolala saw Baringa leap on to a flat—topped rock above his opponent, obviously playing for time so that he could see the country over which he had to fight. She saw that other horse spring on to an opposite rock and fly across at Baringa, clearly knowing the distance between rock and rock so well that the queer quality of the ending night and the unstarted day did not make him falter.
Baringa had vanished. For a moment he was invisible in the strange light into which he had blended, but Yarolala saw him again, balanced on a sharp rock.
She looked closely at the other horse. Why had he attacked Baringa? Who was he? She remembered the story that Lighming’s stolen roan mares told of a lone horse, a killer. This could be close to the killer’s country — and the roan’s Country. Perhaps this horse was the killer. She began to sweat with fear, not fear for herself, but for Baringa, who now, fighting, was even more unforgettable than before.
The two
There was no sound of hoofbeat ahead, but Yarolala, of course, was not soundless. She could have been heard by any horse who was close enough, but not by Baringa, because the wind bore the sounds away.
The darkness before dawn grew heavier, then there seemed to be a faint movement through it. Yarolala felt, almost more than saw, a shiver of grey — and still there was the scent, drawing and drawing her.
Faint blue illumined the dark. The trees were thinning and the scent grew stronger. Yorolala slackened her pace. Baringa might have stopped. She felt less sure of herself. She walked more quietly.
As she came to the edge of the trees, she paused. Ahead were rocks, heaped up rocks and flat rocks looming through the strange half-darkness, and below them seemed to be empty space, probably a grassy glade, perhaps a small creek.
Just as she made out the shape of Baringa between two great rocks, she heard a sound behind her and knew that she, too, was being followed.
“Lightning!” she thought, and stepped swiftly to one side, amongst thick trees.
There was the scent of Baringa still, strong on the breeze, drawing her, and through the thick leaves she could still see him, shadowy and insubstantial because there was no light. Then something hurtled past her along the track, sprang on to the rocks, sprang on to Baringa.
Yarolala gave a little cry and then stood silent. Baringa had leapt forward so that the other horse only crashed down on to his rump. In the resulting mix up of two stallions, and in the blue, shadowy light, Yarolala could only just make out that the attacker was not silver, not Lightning.
Baringa’s quick leap had saved him, but it had also put him in a difficult position for dealing with the other horse. He reared up and swung round in one move. The other horse was already coming in to attack. Yarolala had time to see that he was no horse that she had ever seen before, then there was an interlocked, moving mass of stallions as Baringa leaped upwards on his hindlegs and brought his forelegs smashing down on the advancing head and shoulders.
The horse roared with anger and tried to force him backwards over an edge of the rocks. Yarolala could hardly stop herself neighing a warning, but Baringa must have felt the air behind him and known that there was space. He stood firm. There was no room to jump to either side, so Baringa had to force himself against the terrific impact. The horse recoiled. Yarolala drew in her breath as she saw Baringa sway and then gather himself together enough to jump away from the edge.
In the bluish light, everything looked queerly fluid. The attacking horse seemed grey, the rocks were all caverns and hollows. Baringa faded into the atmosphere. The horse was leaping forward again, it twisted in the air, its teeth bared.
This was surely a very nimble horse, almost as nimble as Baringa, and it had the advantage of knowing the rocks in which they were fighting.
Then Yarolala saw Baringa leap on to a flat—topped rock above his opponent, obviously playing for time so that he could see the country over which he had to fight. She saw that other horse spring on to an opposite rock and fly across at Baringa, clearly knowing the distance between rock and rock so well that the queer quality of the ending night and the unstarted day did not make him falter.
Baringa had vanished. For a moment he was invisible in the strange light into which he had blended, but Yarolala saw him again, balanced on a sharp rock.
She looked closely at the other horse. Why had he attacked Baringa? Who was he? She remembered the story that Lighming’s stolen roan mares told of a lone horse, a killer. This could be close to the killer’s country — and the roan’s Country. Perhaps this horse was the killer. She began to sweat with fear, not fear for herself, but for Baringa, who now, fighting, was even more unforgettable than before.
The two
Similar Books
