The Silver Brumby. Elyne Mitchell
neigh of a stallion.
He scrambled to his feet and was just going to neigh in tremulous answer when Bel Bel gave him a swift nip.
“Why, oh why, have I got such an excitable son?” she said, half in anger, half in pride. “It is not your place to answer that call,” and just then Yarraman’s wild cry rang out.
There was an instant’s electric silence; not one of the herd moved or let go a breath. Then, faraway again, but shrill with anger, came the stallion cry.
“Tomorrow will start the fights for the grass that we haven’t found yet,” said Mirri acidly.
“And the youngest, lightest horse will have an advantage in this snow,” Bel Bel added.
The foals dropped off to sleep again, but there was a restless lack of ease among the mares and young colts and fillies.
Not long after the grey dawn, The Brolga and some of his mares appeared out of the mist and clouds.
Yarraman pranced forward out from his herd, stepping high, head up imperiously, tail held high and free.
Along came The Brolga, rearing and screaming.
A shock of excitement ran through the herd. The Brolga was growing into a noble horse; yet their own Yarraman was superb – like a sun god against the grey clouds and white snow.
Thowra shivered. The Brolga, like his mother and himself, had that queer quality of merging with snow and cloud. In a real fight that might prove an advantage over the bright chestnut.
He could smell the two stallions’ anger and excitement as they went to meet each other; there was a roar from both horses as they reached within striking distance. Then the snow was flying from their hooves as they circled each other, striking, biting, screaming. Thowra saw blood staining the snow, and the mud and the snow and the blood churned underfoot.
Yarraman had The Brolga in a terrific grip with his teeth, but suddenly the older horse’s hooves slipped in the snow and he was forced to let go. Round and round they circled again. The nimbler, lighter Brolga could certainly keep his feet better and when Yarraman slipped again, he managed to get a cruel hold just above the chestnut’s wither. Screaming with rage and pain, Yarraman lashed out and missed him, and then with a tremendous effort shook himself free and planted both heels in The Brolga’s chest, almost winding him.
The Brolga had a gash above one eye, too, where Yarraman had struck. It half-blinded him, but he could still move more lightly and surely than the heavier horse. Now, each was trying for the deadly grip on the wither. Yarraman succeeded, but now he was so breathless that the watching herd could see that, even if he defeated the younger horse this
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.