Silver Brumby Echoing

by Elyne Mitchell

  Perhaps Club Lake in its enclosed glacial cirque had given all the secrets it could, all the fears, all the joys.

  Dandaloo stretched and began to head off up the gentle slope, up over onto the Divide. Mount Northcote was close above that double lake. They must go.

  And they went.

  Eleven

  Frost was already closing in when they cantered down the snowgrass slopes in that gully that led to Little Austria.

  Choopa had caught a glimpse of his beloved lake from the top of Mount Northcote, and was eager to get there. Dandaloo and Son of Storm followed behind him. Suddenly they were all feeling happy.

  Choopa was quite deeply expecting to find the two white foals and the snowflake filly there on the edge of the lake.

  They were, of course, far back on the banks of the Snowy, where the Club Lake stream flowed into the river. In fact the filly had followed along quietly, climbing Northcote and cantering down the other side, when she saw Choopa sit down in the little gully that was filled with white purslane.

  Tears were beginning to form around the corners of his eyes. His head drooped down among the white flowers. There had been a wonderful moment of music and dance with the three young ones; a secret unfolding by that other cold lake below Carruther’s Peak. He shut his eyes.

  Dandaloo crept up beside him and lay down. She saw the lovely filly come drifting down the snowgrass slopes, and Dandaloo called in welcome. Then that gentle Son of Storm came and stood beside the two blue roans.

  The filly stood still for a moment, one forefoot raised.

  Dandaloo called again, and Son of Storm looked up at the tiny filly and he called her softly, too, while she put her foot down, and one foot after the other kept descending towards the group, in the centre of which Choopa lay sleeping, tears squeezing beneath his eyelids.

  The filly reached the group, and rubbed against Dandaloo. Dandaloo gave a soft whickering sound of welcome. Choopa stirred and finally lifted his head. He looked, almost with disbelief, at the filly whose nose was drooping down towards him.

  It was Dandaloo who urged him up on to his feet. In a moment those hooves were dancing on the snowgrass, and the little filly was stepping out a pattern beside him — the pair of tiny horses danced beside the magic double lake.

  When Choopa rose in a courbette, she tried to copy him. He was delighted, then leapt through the air in a levade, feeling, suddenly, that he was possessed by beauty and perfection, then he was standing beside her, urging her to try to waltz.

  Choopa bowed deeply to her and wished that Franz could have fastened spangles on his forefeet, he so deeply wanted to be beautiful.

  There they were, dancing, when the moon rose above Mount Lee and Carruther’s Peak.

  Soon after moonrise, it was time to start for Quambat Flat. Dandaloo and Son of Storm began to head south.

  Choopa was undecided. He followed them after one long, lingering look at his magic lake. Then he gave the little filly a nip and tugged her by the mane to follow, then danced ahead of her. He made the dance as irresistible as he could.

  She followed.

  They climbed out of the Canyon onto the stony cattle road that went below a shaly bluff, then along the Divide on the Northcote Pass and below Mueller’s Peak before it went up onto the highest mountain where the remains of last winter’s snow hung above Lake Cootapatamba.

  Dandaloo, with her fine feeling for direction and distance, followed the cattle road, and they all jogged along after her. Son of Storm, bringing up the rear, was elated that they were at last safely heading for home. He kept a friendly eye on Jounama, too. It would be stupid to split their party now.

  Choopa did not really want to leave the high country and its lakes. There’d be another trip to climb up again but, for now, what fun to have Jounama coming too! If only the twin white foals had come also — they would have great games.

  So the four went on towards the Ramshead, dropping over near the head of Leatherbarrel Creek.

  Choopa watched Jounama to see if she seemed affected by her feeling of being thrust out into space. Of flying through the air into the freezing water of Club Lake.

  Jounama was tired. The freezing waters of Club Lake had taken most of the energy out of her. She just followed. As the descent down the slopes of the Ramshead Range steepened, she placed her feet as carefully as she saw Choopa placing his.

  When they reached the treeline and were in amongst snow gums, there was the welcoming sound of the pardalote which had lived there for years. Dandaloo picked an unerring way through the snow gums, till they reached a flat place and were on a little path that leads down to Dead Horse Gap.

  Choopa danced along jauntily, occasionally rubbing against a tree trunk or branch. There were steeper slopes ahead and then the Gap itself, then a climb. He knew Jounama was tired and cold, but the further they went into forests, the warmer they would get.

  When at last Dandaloo stopped to rest and they all dropped down onto the snowgrass and stretched out wearily, Choopa went to sleep but found himself dreaming that he was still struggling to pull Jounama out of Club Lake with huge effort — lung-bursting effort. The dreams kept changing. Sometimes he was dancing with Jounama and the strange-eyed, white foals on the surface of Lake Albina, weaving through shadows of bright coloured mist, till the bright colours were in Jounama’s ears. Finally, he slept peacefully, but the tears still squeezed out below his eyelids.

  Dandaloo, when it was time to go on, got up to waken him with love overflowing, saw the welling teardrops, and rubbed her face against them.

  Choopa raised his head to hers. He realised whatever was the promise, the secret, the dream, would elude him no longer. Then he turned to stir Jounama but she was not there. The space between her and Son of Storm was empty — just the grass pressed down with the shape of her.

  Choopa started up with a desperate neigh. For a moment it seemed that an answer sounded a long way away — an answer that seemed to come from under water, deeply below water …

  It was not true — Choopa could see that neither Dandaloo nor Son of Storm heard it. He put his head down onto the snowgrass between his front legs, and called and called.

  The only neigh that answered came from one of the white foals — a young colt’s neigh, uncertain and sad.

  Rain started in a misty drizzle. Choopa was already so cold that he could not get much more miserable. He forced himself to open his eyes; the rain blended with his tears but he saw a faint rainbow through the rain. Dandaloo and Son of Storm lay down on either side of him with their comforting warmth. Choopa rubbed his face with one foreleg and with the sound of the rain, the dream of dancing on the lake returned, as though all the young horses were dancing in front of a rainbow coloured mist, and as though snow dust or spray of cold, cold water was touched with colour too. He called Jounama once more and then slept away his dreams.

  Dandaloo’s nose sniffed the scent of tears on his dear face. Then when he was deeply asleep, she and Son of Storm went seeking Jounama.

  They were troubled. Somehow it had seemed that Jounama would not be very capable of looking after herself. Also, Old Strawberry might come looking for her and would be a danger to Choopa.

  They searched for her tracks and scent and went off quietly.

  Choopa woke after a while. His world was empty and he was utterly alone.

  He got up and started to follow.

  Twelve

  The western face of the mountains was darkly lit with sunset, and all the striations of rocks down off Carruther’s Peak, all the steep gullies and crags, were suffused with sunset’s glow when Choopa peered over the brink of The Sentinel gully.

  A hoof print of Jounama’s was there for him to see, as she had stepped over the edge onto a faint wombat’s track.

  He looked further. Undoubtedly she was following that wombat’s path. Choopa stepped down on to it himself, and just then he saw the wombat on ahead, bumbling along without paying any attention to young horses that might pass hi
m.

  Choopa recognised the wombat as a friend of his. Jounama had already passed the wombat some time ago, leaving Choopa as the only one following. Choopa quickened his pace and blew greetings softly to the round, furry animal. The wombat glanced around and gave Choopa a very encouraging look.

  Jounama was already at the steep slopes of The Sentinel, and turning back to follow the zigzagging path as it slowly lost height down the gully.

  Choopa followed the wombat.

  The wombat stopped at a hole beside the track, then suddenly went down the hole and was gone. He left Choopa standing on a little shelf in a last ray of sunlight. He waited for something to happen. The wombat surely must return. Choopa waited a little longer, then feeling sleepy in the sunshine he lay down on the little shelf and, in spite of being anxious for Jounama, he quite soon went to sleep.

  The last of the light was now glowing through the Sentinel Gully, and the strong scent of the mountain ash leaves were rising upward when Choopa woke.

  There, against the dusty light of the sunset, were the three young horses: the twin foals and the tiny yearling with the faint look of sunset in her forelock and mane — the jewel of Old Strawberry’s herd.

  Choopa nearly sprang up to greet her, but he lay still as she walked slowly over the little platform. He lay quite still as she got closer and closer — as she extended her trembling nose to his ears. But when her nose touched one of his blue ears, that ear twitched slightly, and Jounama leapt away.

  She sprang off the small platform, and was gone over the creek and beyond the little waterfall, half-hidden by spray. To Choopa, she could have been ribboned in rainbow. He wondered where the two white foals were — they had been there when he woke up — but he did not stop to think for long, as he leapt after Jounama. His swinging legs seemed to tie themselves in knots, and he fell, he somersaulted, he sprang up and burst through the edge of the little pool below the waterfall.

  Jounama was gone.

  He looked all around, and saw Dandaloo standing far above, looking down the steep gully. Suddenly he called her, and she answered and then started down the steep gully. Just beside her was Son of Storm. They must have hurried after him.

  Jounama appeared on the slopes of The Sentinel, and then vanished.

  Choopa went to the crop of rocks on The Sentinel where she had been standing, but there was no sign of her, no hoof marks. Then he went upwards on the zigzagging wombat track to join Dandaloo and Son of Storm. Behind him, darkness began slowly to creep up the gully.

  He heard a soft call that somehow he knew was Jounama’s, and he wondered if she were following those ghostly twins. He had already realised that the twins saw very well in the dark. He thought of them, all three dancing around Lake Albina, their legs spangled with the splashed-up water of the magic lake.

  He looked back and the oblique light of sunset nearly blinded him. For a moment he thought he heard Franz’s music, but then he realised he was a long way from the Snowy River and Charlotte Pass. If he got up onto the main Divide, he might see where those wildly beautiful young horses went, although the fact that the foals could see in the dark did not mean that they showed up in the night.

  Choopa kept plodding up the zigzagging wombat path, and Dandaloo and Son of Storm waited for him. He did not know that, from where his mother stood, she saw him haloed by the western light, and that she felt over and over again that some promise must come true.

  He hurried.

  The light went off the western face last of all. The eastern side — the Snowy River and Club Lake — would be pewter-cold.

  Son of Storm knew that darkness would claim that eastern face and he knew he should hurry if he wanted to see what was happening over there.

  He turned back, and started to climb the steep gully again. It was all as he had known it would be when he reached the Divide — the Snowy, visible down below as a pewter and blue and rose ribbon, and Club Lake reflecting the last light in the sky.

  What he had not expected was that Old Strawberry would be balanced on the edge of the Divide, looking this way and that, as if wondering where the young ones had gone.

  Son of Storm looked towards The Sentinel. He knew that Jounama and the white twins were somewhere there, but already shadows were falling on the slopes. Suddenly, in one shadowed gully, he saw a ghostly wisp of white … and knew by the stiffening of Old Strawberry that he had seen the two white ghosts.

  Then Son of Storm saw the third — Jounama — and wondered what Old Strawberry would do next. He did not have to wait and wonder … Old Strawberry headed towards The Sentinel ridge.

  Son of Storm thought there must be a track there somewhere. He watched Old Strawberry closely, and it was as though he did not pick his way carefully at all. It looked, to Son of Storm, as if he must fall and hurtle down the steep slopes.

  Then Old Strawberry stumbled and fell, but did not slide. He picked himself up and went on more carefully down the knife-edge ridge and precipitous slopes of The Sentinel and, opposite, were the cliffs and rocks of Watson’s Crags.

  He stopped once, and seemed to look down and see the little ghosts. Then he leapt forward urgently again — carelessly, Son of Storm thought — and Son of Storm went more carefully himself, so that he could watch Old Strawberry and eventually see the whole scene that was unfolding on the slopes of The Sentinel and in the gully.

  Presently, he was bothered to see Dandaloo and Choopa starting to climb upwards towards the slope of The Sentinel.

  Somehow they must have known there was a path.

  Son of Storm hurried and got more and more anxious about the meeting that must occur on the steep slopes. Both Choopa and Dandaloo faded into the night. He strained his eyes to see them.

  Suddenly he saw the strange, bundle-shaped figure of a wombat cutting across the gully, and then Choopa following it.

  Son of Storm almost stopped to watch.

  Then Old Strawberry lost a foothold and began to hurtle down the side of The Sentinel, directly above the three ghosts.

  Son of Storm knew in every bone and vein that he had to save Old Strawberry from sweeping them all away. Choopa, below, knew he must hurry to save the situation. All he could think of was his struggle to pull Jounama out of that freezing, deep, Club Lake. Now his lungs were bursting in his chest again as he forced his short legs up the steep slopes of The Sentinel.

  In a blur, he saw Dandaloo above him, and another blur that he saw, with a sigh of relief, was the shape of the wombat. Surely the wombat would know of a climbable track.

  Choopa called, but the sound was only a whisper, almost a sob. He stopped and tried again. This time the wombat heard and turned around, then came back a short distance as though encouraging him to follow. Choopa determined to hurry even more, if that was possible. He heard his own breath rasping somewhere inside his blue roan chest.

  It was a strange scene. He could see Son of Storm far above — a dark horse only just visible in the darkness; his mother, lighter coloured; then the three ghosts, and, finally, Old Strawberry also more visible than Son of Storm. Old Strawberry was hurrying at a wild speed down The Sentinel ridge, a wild and dangerous speed. Night was closing in, darkening the scene, but Choopa carried it all in his mind’s eye — the whole thing enclosed in the sides of Sentinel’s peak and the curved gully, except that Old Strawberry was on the top of the ridge, silhouetted against the faintly-lit night sky.

  A shiver had gone right down Choopa’s backbone as he recognised Old Strawberry. Even as he strained to climb up, his short blue hind legs pushing, he knew that the pale roan horse would try to kill him if Choopa caught up with Jounama and the two white ghosts, knew that it was really Jounama of whom the old stallion was deeply protective.

  But who was it who had pulled Jounama out of Club Lake’s freezing waters? Choopa’s future was tied up with his past — his enormous effort to save Jounama.

  Then it happened. That big roan stallion lost his footing, flew through the air, and came down on the steep
slope of The Sentinel, starting immediately to slide down what was the small funnel gouged out by a spring avalanche of snow and rock. Choopa, trying to keep climbing and watch at the same time, realised that the small funnel was directly above the two white ghosts, and above Jounama.

  Old Strawberry might keep on sliding, and sweep the three young ones down ahead of him.

  The darkness in that small avalanche gully would be intense.

  Choopa could just see the wombat veer to one side, as though to make sure he could not be collected by the sliding, struggling horse. He saw the slowly sliding stallion gather enough speed to sweep Jounama off her feet, so that she was sliding, too; the two little ghosts — able to see in the dark — seemed to spring to one side and save themselves.

  Gasping for breath, Choopa struggled on. Suddenly he knew that, by some wonderful effort, Dandaloo had appeared close by. He could hear Son of Storm hurrying across the slope, far up the gully, but mainly Choopa’s attention was on Jounama and the big stallion.

  The collision with Jounama had slowed down the slide of Old Strawberry, and below them was a rock-filled hollow.

  Dandaloo might get there first. Choopa pushed himself up even faster, haunches aching. He was hoping that hollow would stop their slide — if it were curved enough. Then he saw them gather speed on some snowgrass. Jounama was trying to dig in her hooves and get herself away from Old Strawberry.

  Choopa wondered what he would do. He could only imagine himself grabbing Jounama by the mane and holding on fast. He did not wonder what would happen if the two of them were stopped by the rocks in the hollow.

  He reached the hollow fast, and stepped in amongst the rocks very carefully — Jounama’s battle to dig in her hooves had had the effect of slowing her, so that Old Strawberry had slipped past her and into that small basin where, in fact, the rocks held up his slide, even, perhaps, broke some of his bones. For a short moment, Choopa wondered what Old Strawberry might try to do if, indeed, he were unhurt and could get up on to his feet, among those rocks?