Read Online The Silver Brumby by Elyne Mitchell - Free Book Online

the mountain called the Brindle Bull and they would have a whole new world to explore. Even the touch of the cold, wet clouds, or the sting of a wet branch across the eyes, could not cool their excitement.
    They did not stop except for an occasional drink, and they kept off any of the usual tracks in case, by any chance, the others had doubled back in the clouds. Finally they slithered down a smooth, wet rock face into the Crackenback River and stood, tired and trembling, while the water tugged at their legs.
    By the time they were clambering up the steep, stony slopes of the Brindle Bull, the wet clouds had turned to rain, heavy, cold rain that felt as if it might become one of those swift flurries of snow in summer that leave the mountains gleaming white in a hot summer sky for a brief hour or two. It was hardly a good day for the start of an adventure, but the colts had been well taught by their mothers to find their way whatever the weather, and they kept on, scrambling up the steep slopes, pulling themselves up on rocky cliffs, forcing their way through shoulder-high heather till they were nearly at the top.
    There they stopped where some snowgums grew thickly below a rock buttress, providing some shelter from the driving rain. As they stood there the clouds suddenly blew a few feet apart on the top of the mountain. Trembling with an excitement he did not understand, Thowra saw against the pale rift of sky, as though against a faintly lighted window, a herd of horses pass in ones and twos; like shadows — and they were led by a grey horse who seemed to melt into the clouds.

Man on a black horse
    Thowra and Storm were very careful where they went on the Brindle Bull, watching for tracks of The Brolga’s herd, listening, smelling. It took them some days to find out the herd’s grazing place, and after that they kept well away, down the sides of the mountain, in snowgum woods where there was only enough grass to make a picking for two colts.
    There were one or two tiny hanging valleys on the southern slope, where the snow-daisies’ leaves made a silver carpet and presently the daisies themselves, large and white, starred the ground. In one of these valleys the colts often grazed. There were rocky gorges off either side, and a quick getaway if they needed one.
    The Brolga and his herd probably knew they were there, and were unworried by the presence of two young colts. Bel Bel may have recognized Thowra’s spoor and been glad to know that he and Storm were close. Thowra being the only creamy foal she had borne, she had not forgotten him as a mare usually forgets a foal after it has become independent and left her. And because she often spoke of Thowra and Storm, Mirri remembered Storm, too.
    One day the colts had wandered low enough to see into the Big Boggy Creek. Thowra had learnt now, in The Brolga’s country, to use all the cunning Bel Bel had taught him and keep hidden in the fringe of trees, or in patches of light and shade. Often he had only just remembered in time to check his impulse to leap up on to a high rock before he had looked properly around first.
    This time they peered into the valley of the Big Boggy from some hop scrub. There were a few cattle grazing along the grassy floor of the valley, the sight of which made them very cautious, but there was no sign of anything else. All seemed very peaceful, with no movement, other than that of the head-down cattle. Thowra leapt from one granite block to another till he was on top of a great heap of rocks. There was still nothing disquieting to see. Storm came up beside him.
    ‘It is too open,’ said Thowra regretfully. ‘We would be foolish to go there, though some of that good grass would be nice.’
    They stood for quite a while, looking down longingly, and then moved slowly along the southern slopes, keeping the delicious-looking valley in sight. All of a sudden Thowra stopped and raised his head, his nostrils curling as he sniffed the air.
    ‘Smoke!’