Book Of Book Ideas

The Silver Brumby's Flight

You might need to have read The Silver Brumby (1 & 3 probably) to be able to understand this. Since this is just a book of starters you can skip to the next chapter if you want.

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The first thing I ever remember was the moon, it was shining down on my face it was a great white circle - a full moon. Prehaps I remember the moon so well because otherwise it was so dark, the fog soon covered the moon and the world turned black again. But after a while I could make out the dark shape of my mother, and I could see behind her the shapes of other horses. She nuzzled me up and I shakily got to my feet, I was soon standing by mother nursing while she grazed. It was my first night, there was no stars just the glimmer of the moon and I laid down. I remember before I closed my eyes the image of a pale stallion.

From the time I opened my eyes the next morning everything seemed magical, maybe it was the fact that we were a ghost herd. Maybe the fact that the silver horses in our herd seemed so different or maybe it was my father, the stallion. He was a pale horse, cream under the spring sun he pranced and reared taking his heard down the mountain. His name was Yarrowing, his father was the great stallion, Thowra. 

It was in those early days, when we, the newborn foals didn't really do anything and just stayed by our mothers, my mother was a chestnut called Chessie. It was only after the first couple of months I realised how mean she was, I was the youngest foal and often struggled to keep up with the herd on my skinny legs. My mother always stayed near Yarrowing, who never seemed to mind much, when the herd stopped to eat all the foals went and played. But I was always alone, some of the foals were taught the ways of the bush by their mothers, I always stuck out. I took to ghosting after horses, moving in and out the shadows, watching anad learning from the other horses. It was one day when I was around four months old that Yarrowing took me aside.

I had noticed that the herd, unless they were mother of a foal, never paid attention to us foals. Maybe it was because we slowed the heard down so much but I was now the same size of the other foals and was starting to eat grass, so I wasn't slowing the herd down. 

I remember when Yarrowing spoke his voice reminded me of water running calmly down the mountain side around rocks and sticks. He said, "Zephyr you were named for the wind,  like my father, your grandsire, your mother has not taught you the ways of the bush. When men come you won't be able to defned yourself against them follow and I will teach you."

I often thought that I was Yarrowing's favourite, but I know now he did that so the herd wasn't caught by men. It took two months, so by the time I was six months I knew all that Yarrowing could teach me, but not all that Thowra knew. It was in the summer when the earth was hard and grass was hard to find when the men came. Yarrowing said they came late, but no horse heard the sounds of cow's that summer. Only a couple of men chased us, but we dissapeared I soon crept off from the herd. It was on those lonely nights when I wandered around while the world and herd slept that I saw them.

Ghost horses, three of them, they passed by the sleeping herd, so sliently that not even Yarrowing stirred. I watched as the leader of the trio, reared quietly, I could smell the horses exciment from here. Suddenly the leader of the trio reared, "It is I, Thowra!" He called out, the horses in the herd startled, I wanted to go down but knew I shouldn't. Only Yarrowing stirred and he walked off with Thowra into the dark night, I soon went down to the herd and slept. When I awoke Yarrowing was back and no signs of Thowra and the mysterious horses were left, and I wondered if I had been asleep.  As Yarrowing moved the herd towards the river, I saw one hoof mark, one of a wild horse who had never been tamed, and I knew the silver brumby, Thowra had been here. 

It was when I was almost one, when I saw a real fight between Yarrowing and a brown stallion fighting for his own herd. I watched as Yarrowing reared and plunged, he seemed to fight with strength and although blows were landed on him he landed the heavier blows. The brown stallion snorted and neighed, puffed and panted but he only managed to land a few heavy blows on the cream horse. Soon the brown stallion reared and backed off, his neck bleeding from a large gash where Yarrowing had slashed with his teeth. Yarrowing had blood drooping into his eye from a blow above his eye. But he held his head high with pride and my mother Chessie nuzzled him but he walked over to Frost, a white mare who was the prettiest in the herd.