Monique’s Mare

The emotion rises in Lotties chest. She feels it settle as a clenching sensation in her throat. Re-adjusting the zipper on her woollen sweater as she tries to swallow painfully past it. Round, cornflower blue eyes surrounded by thick, pale lashes dart back and forth. Not focused on the rocky path head of her, overgrown with pepper bush, is barley visible in the dim morning light. Although, the first break of dawn illuminates the silver trunks of the proud gum trees towering overhead.

Shutting her eyes tightly, as to squeeze out the turbulent memories. The bay mare stirs beneath her in sequence with her emotions. Snorting nervously and shuffling sideways away from the path. Lottie looks down, clenching her eyes shut and then fluttering them open, in attempt to clear her thoughts.

The mares spring shed of a red-bay coat, slicked with sweat from the mountains incline. A deep crimson hue against the white foam appearing from the worn leather breastplate. Replicating the scene of fresh blood and white waves breaking against coastal rocks. The mare’s long dark mane, swaying back and forth with tense snorts, too familiar to long dark tangled hair swept rhythmically by the oceans swell.

Steady there Lottie hums internally as she reaches forward and firmly strokes the mare's muscular neck. Swiping away the daunting scene and wiping the sweat from the palm of her hand onto her jeans.

Reclaiming awareness of her surrounds, feeling safe in the dense Australian bush and cradled carefully by the surrounding mountains in contrast to the vastness of the ocean memories.

Forced to calm her mind for the mare's benefit, a quite tear wells in her soft eyes, dripping down her cheek. She does not wipe it away as she sits back in the worn dark leather of the saddle, taking the ends of the mares long black mane in her fingertips gently, feeling the coarseness of the weathered ends from a harsh winter in the snowy mountains.

Lottie watches the dark mane fall through the fingers of her right hand as she holds the reins in her left, guiding the mare through the pepper bush and back to the path. Rotating her hand to examine two rings, with horsehair and dust encrusted around them. A soft, round cut, Ceylon blue sapphire mounted on a simple yellow gold band, too large for her petite fingers, falls from side to side on her index finger. Lottie props it up by rubbing it against her middle finger. The ring replicates the colours Lottie sees from her reflection. On her ring finger proudly sits a pear cut cobalt blue sapphire, mounted on a charcoal titanium band. The band is three lengths braided together, delicately weaving its way up to embrace the impressive stone. The depth, of the electric blue, cobalt stone is endless as Lottie turns it in the emerging light. Replicating the depth of stern, cautious eyes that Lottie vividly remembers looking into for the last time. When black storm clouds, deafening thunder, and vicious waves crashed and curled around her. Them. Lottie tries not to think of a time there was a them. Now there is only a her.

The spring air is surprisingly warm on her face in the dense bush in contrast to the bitter winter just past. The mare breaths heavily from the climb, yet determined, stretching her nose out low and balancing her body with ease as her tough black hooves navigate the trail. A breeze rises around her as they approach the rocky horizon of the mountain. Icy, remnants of the snowy winter. It caresses and tickles the hair at the nape of Lotties neck, her blonde tendrils falling from the twist secured by her wide brimmed felt hat pulled down low on her tense brows. The mare lifts her head at the breach the horizon and Lottie looks out at the pastel pink hues of the sky, eye level with the dissipating misty clouds at this altitude.

The sun emerges from behind a shadowy mountain in the distance and Lottie turns to studying the valley below. An open plain of yellowing tussocks with the slight green hue of spring grasses making their way through the rich soil beneath. The stark openness of the plain a contrast to the jagged edges of dense gum trees framing its edges. Hues of green and blue leaves above the grey, brown and salmon coloured tree trunks below. A creek, almost black in the early morning light, meanders its way across the plain like a disorientated snake. Twist and turns with no reason, yet a rhyme not visible to the human eye.

Lottie takes in the scene that will transform dramatically as the sun rises higher in the sky, illuminating another colour palette and scene entirely. The bay mare snorts at the small herd of brumbies below on the plain while they nervously graze by the tree line. Lottie squints to confirm their presence, as from up on the mountain they are mere small dark shapes, easily mistaken for the shadows of the tree’s.

This is Lottie’s favourite time of day to climb Tantangara mountain, from Sawyer’s hut, and see the soft hues of Wild Horse plain below, only visible in the early morning light.

Monique taught her this.

Lottie curled her fingers tightly into the hair of the mare's mane. Emotion welling up again as she recalls the times Monique would bring her up here at this time of day, despite Lotties protests of saddling her horse in the dark.

Another breeze, this time stronger. Lottie quickly lifts her hand to hold down her hat, too late. The wide brim hat flys from her head and tumbles across the rough ground with the wind. Lottie urges the mare towards it on the ground, nestles amongst a collection of rock’s covered in silvery and sage moss. The mare snorts and steps sideways in protest of being ridden towards an item foreign to her on the ground.

Lottie steps out of the saddle with ease, in one graceful movement, and stoops forward reaching for the hat. The mare continues to snort nervously at the hat.

The wind comes again in a blustery gust. Whipping Lottie’s hair in her face, she lifted her arm now holding her hat to swipe the hair aside with her arm, as a small branch above snapped and fell to the ground near Lottie and the mare. The flighty mare pivots quickly from the fallen branch, pulling the rein from Lottie’s hand.

Woo mare Lottie cooed softly as she pulled her hat back down over her thick blonde hair. Another wind gust from behind pushed Lottie forward, stumbling on the rocky surface slightly. The mare tucked her tail and jumped forwards from the sudden movement now snorting at the rein dragging on the ground to the side of her. The mare spins from the rein, and when seeing the rein drag along side her hind leg, begins spinning and rocking her compact body back and forth. Not quite a buck, too innocent, but enough to send the oxbows by her sides flying and startling the mare further into her dramatic display.

“Woo mare Woo” Lottie called out louder, approaching the shocked mare into stationary trembling. Lottie cautiously picks up the rein from the ground, studying the mares defence: tense legs, treamoring withers, twitching ears. The mare shot sideways again, Lottie held the rein tightly this time and pulled the mare back to face her after being dragged by the reins a few paces across the rocks.

Steady honey Lottie cooed again as she reached out, settling the mare with her palm on the white star usually hidden beneath a thick black forelock, which was now swepped wildly behind one pert nervous ear. Lottie’s gaze rested on the two rings again, with the mare and the mountains in the background.

She smiled slightly. A warmth in her chest.

Lottie gathered the reins and gently placed her left boot in the iron, ready to swing up. Another gust of wind, unusually short, shot the nervous mare forward again. Lottie, losing her footing in the iron, held the rein firm again and settled the mare beside her.

Lottie then looked around, then up at the sky defeated.

“You think this is funny?” Lottie then lowers her head and frowns at herself.

Don’t me silly she looks around it’s just the wind.

Lottie steps back up atop the mare swiftly, settling into the saddle and gathering her reins before another gust of icy wind induces more havoc.

This time a gentle breeze from behind the duo. The mare beneath Lottie lets out a big sigh and relaxes. Shaking her head casually with a calmed lowered head and relaxed ears.

Lottie reaches back and pats the mare on her shinny round rump. The breeze continues to tickle and curl around Lottie’s neck. She closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation.

Just like the sensation of Monique running her fingers up her neck and into her hair to sooth her as a child.

Lottie reaches forward and dose just that to the mare’s dark mane, the cobalt blue sapphire tangled in the tendrils.

Monique’s mare. Her big sister's mare.