A brumby hunter was yet another reason for not going back to the herd, but Dandaloo was longing for the feeling of being with the other mares, and the two year olds, the yearlings, and the foals — perhaps it was the feeling of being protected by numbers, and by Son of Storm if he was there. She had felt a sudden happiness when she had reached Quambat Flat.
If only that man had not come and lassoed the colt. So she kept Choopa in the forest country, occasionally in sight of the herd and Choopa and the little kangaroos and wallabies romped. Often they were joined by echidnas and wombats, and soon a family of dingoes came along too.
Choopa simply did not grow. All the other young animals grew and the kangaroos, in particular, began to be higher than his withers, but Choopa was getting very strong. Sometimes he found that he could do a new trick when dancing with his young mates. He might jump about on his hind legs, bow down and then leap up. Then, he would spring in the air and twirl around, and it would seem as if he were hearing music.
Dandaloo watched and enjoyed it all, but she was beginning to long more and more for the company of the herd … and yet Choopa did not grow. Perhaps all his wonderful tricks would do instead of size … but the very thought of a bigger horse kicking at him, biting, or throwing him, increased her whole aching love for him.
The kangaroos and wallabies were getting taller, larger — and the collection of young animals that was always close by seemed to multiply, too, for, wherever Dandaloo went seeking fresh grass and cool, clear water, young animals were woven into Choopa’s spell-like dance; woven into the dream. Always, as night crept through the bush, all the animals gathered together, and starlight shone in the ring of shining eyes. As the moon rose and Choopa got up from his sleep to dance again, the weaving of his dancing legs — through dark and light, dark and light — seemed to repeat the spell, so that even a mopoke in a branch above watched and wondered.
So they stayed in the forest country, finding fresh green grass near the deep pools that still existed in creeks in spite of the very hot, dry summer. Wherever they went, other little animals would come to the enchanted circle for a night or so, some of them joining in Choopa’s ritual pattern.
The watchers often stayed for hours, even while the dancer and Dandaloo slept within the circle.
It was the third or fourth full moon since Choopa’s birth and he had barely grown at all, but he was well muscled, and very strong. Dandaloo had almost ceased to notice that he was so small. But every time her longing for company drove her to move closer to the herd, she would feel a sudden twinge of fear for what might happen to Choopa, and also what might happen to his tribe of little friends, if she did introduce him to the herd.
She was pulled two ways — the natural wish for company on one side, and the fear of what the herd might do to her unnaturally small foal with his oddly flying legs on the other. But she often edged a little closer to the clear country of Quambat Flat, and the herd’s grazing ground.
It was from Limestone Creek at the lower end of the flat that the next lot of brumby hunters came. Dandaloo heard the sound of horses moving carelessly through the bush, long before the other animals did.
A wind had been blowing all day, making her nervous, so that she listened more intently than ever. She saw Choopa asleep under a black sallee. He seemed so very small and vulnerable, and for a moment she became one vast wish for the strength to protect him. The intensity of her feeling was conveyed to him by some current, so that he was charged with the power of it. He got up to rub against her, but just as their heads touched he saw — like a shadow in among the shadows of tree trunks — a tall horse and its long-legged rider. They were gone almost before he had seen them.
Dandaloo’s hair was tingling. She knew that the horse and man had been there, behind three huge candlebarks.
Choopa and Dandaloo, noses just touching, were as though frozen — still as granite rocks, still as the ice that would come in winter. There were only the faintest sounds, now, and the sounds seemed to be getting further away.
Dandaloo did not think that the man on the tall horse had seen them, but somehow they still could not move.
They waited and listened: the sounds seemed to be moving in the direction of Quambat Flat — slight movement among low branches, of hanging fronds of stringy barks, leaves and buds, brushed by some passing body … There were stealthy footfalls.
Even little wrens were hopping furtively. A small ground dove emerged from under a fallen branch and vanished into a thicket, but no birds sang. The bush was silent. Then softly, softly, there were more sounds, and Dandaloo and Choopa both realised that the two of them were in a direct line between these new sounds and the sounds that were going towards the flat. Then there did come a bush warning. A thrush chattered angrily — its ‘keep away, you’ve no business here’ sound.
The stealthy, creeping sounds were slowly getting closer. Choopa’s hair was rising. He was cold, and then he was hot. Sweat broke behind his ears. Dandaloo saw fear in Choopa’s eyes and she wondered, desperately, where they could go. Perhaps they could creep silently out towards the Quambat Ridge.
Suddenly there was no choice. There were more horsemen than she had expected. They were galloping. They were almost on top of Dandaloo and her miniature foal. She would have to take Choopa in the direction in which they were driven, and they would have to go fast … Choopa could not go fast … He put up his nose to touch hers and set off with her.
Choopa saw the big horses, heard their hooves thundering on the summer-hard ground. They were even shod with silver shoes. Choopa all at once felt afraid, not just for himself, though he could almost feel himself being run over by one of those great horses, but for the beloved old mother who was going slowly so that she stayed with him.
He could hear heavy horses crashing through the limbs and low shrubs, and his heart was banging against his ribs. Then he could see shadows flickering through bush to one side, racing on, men leaning over their necks, shadows flickering, there they were, horses and horsemen, and then gone, vanishing, appearing — shadows that seemed to be terror itself. Something was behind a black sallee trunk, something, swishing past branches. The movements, broken by trunk and limb, looked disjointed — giant horses quite close, then further away, going fast, faster, faster …
He knew that Dandaloo was right beside him, her legs by his head. Where were the young kangaroos and wallabies? Then the horses and riders seemed to have raced right away from them, swinging wide, passing them. Dandaloo propped in her tracks and young Choopa stopped beside her. They were at the very edge of the timber.
What was that thundering and hammering inside him, thumping so that his whole blue and white hide shook? Choopa knew he was sobbing for breath, and felt that he could not possibly get enough air. Dandaloo rubbed her head against his, as he collapsed.
A red film clouded his eyes, but he had to see what was happening on ahead. Ahead, both groups of men and horses were galloping after the herd.
By evening the flat had been quiet and empty for some hours. The horses with riders were gone. Nothing moved.
Choopa was sound asleep at Dandaloo’s feet, but she still gazed out over the flat and up at the slopes of the Cobberas. Son of Storm appeared halfway down the flat.
Out of the stillness into the sunset light, walking with stately strides, came two cream and silver stallions.
Baringa, King of the south country, and Lightning. They were the real owners of Quambat Flat, though they rarely appeared, having secret hiding places where their mares and silver foals were hidden away.
Dandaloo knew there was a very old friendship between them and Son of Storm. Now she wondered if the two silver stallions had heard the whispers in the snow gum leaves, the tales carried through the treetops by the flying phalangers, gliding from tree to tree, and in the songs of the lyrebirds, telling that an unbelievably small blue and white foal, with some wonderful gift, was in the south country, and that they had come to see for themselves.
Son of Storm was trotting to join those two magnificent horses. Mares and foals were appearing in the open, too. Dandaloo took a deep breath. This might be the time to go out on to Quambat Flat with Choopa.
She began to canter slowly, wanting to reach Son of Storm and the two silver horses before most of the herd did.
She had nudged Choopa, but did not realise that he was still half asleep and so slower than usual. For once, she was looking ahead, rather than back, to see if he were coming.
Choopa found himself getting left behind, and he was frighteningly alone in open country. He must hurry, hurry … Dandaloo had almost reached the two stallions, and a bunch of mares and foals were coming from the other way. Choopa, trying to gallop faster, felt his flying legs beginning to tangle, almost to knot themselves together.
He saw the earth coming up to meet him. He had a queer muddled picture of the big brown stallion, silver horses, his mother’s blue coat, and a collection of yearlings, mares and foals. For a flashed moment his heart gave a lurch of fright, then in a second he gathered his courage and self-possession together — and his sense of fun. He tucked his head under his chest, the way the echidnas had showed him, so that he somersaulted right in front of the three stallions and all the astounded mares and foals — somersaulted, and sprang to his feet, leapt up and twirled in the air, as though the music of the spheres, the unheard rhythm of the stars, had sounded for him.