Moonstone Promise by Karen Wood

brownish-grey and grass grew under a low open forest.
    The brumbies knew he was there.
    One small brown mare, heavy with foal, seemed to be the leader. She stayed in the centre of the mob and another seven or so circled her, protecting her at all times. Luke wondered why they all followed her. There was nothing powerful or impressive about her. She didn’t blow her nostrils or stamp her feet; she didn’t bite or kick or charge at the others. She just calmly ate and when she moved on, the others moved on with her.
    When Luke made too much noise, she was the first to startle and lead the others to a safer place. Late in the afternoon, she took them to water to drink, and she led them to higher ground when the sun began to sink behind the hills and it grew cold. Even the big red stallion seemed to follow her.
    The stallion, he noticed, always stayed at the rear of the group, protecting them, pushing forward any stragglers or frail ones. He was so different from Biyanga at home. The young foals all seemed eager to be around him, stretching out their necks and snapping their gums. He was gentle and playful with them.
    Rusty seemed to go from mare to mare, each of whom took turns looking after him. When he slept, stretched out with his eyes closed, absorbing the sun, the mares would keep their ears tuned in his direction.
    He had friends his own age, too. The other foals would canter up and invite him to play, then gallop about on the outskirts of the herd, bucking and frolicking. They would rear up and paddle their legs, or nip at each others’ flanks as they trotted past.
    Luke couldn’t get enough of their antics. He jogged over to the hills every day and followed them vast distances along the creeks and into the forests.
    It was on the third day of watching them, around midday, that he felt a hand on his shoulder. Bob crouched down next to him.
    â€˜Check out the brown mare,’ said Luke, pointing to her. ‘She’s the boss. Wouldn’t pick it, would you?’
    â€˜Yeah, it’s all about the knowledge. They know who the clever one is,’ said Bob. ‘Same way my mob. Youngsters know who to follow and watch and learn from.’
    â€˜They follow her everywhere,’ Luke marvelled. ‘I can’t work out why.’
    â€˜They use a lot of body language. See that colt over there?’ asked Bob, pointing to a young chocolate horse grazing on the outskirts of the mob. ‘He’s in big trouble with ’em. Don’t know what he did wrong, but that mare’s not happy with him. See how she keeps her back to him?’
    Luke looked at her; sure enough, her back was to the colt. She shifted every time he tried to approach. ‘He plays too rough. The little ones are scared of him.’
    â€˜He’ll have to go away and learn what he did wrong before she’s gonna let him back in,’ said Bob.
    â€˜I can’t work out which foal belongs to what mare,’ said Luke. ‘They all seem to look after each other.’
    Bob nodded. ‘The aunties look after the young ones so their mum can have a break – she’ll go and graze some better pasture on her own, or have a lay-down. Everyone in the mob helps to raise the young one, keep it safe, teach it how to sense danger. Growing up is not just about getting the mother’s milk. The young ones gotta learn how to be part of the group.’
    Luke got the distinct feeling Bob was trying to tell him something. ‘Same way your mob?’
    Bob nodded. ‘The longer you stay with your mob, the better protected you are. Young ones can’t predict danger like the old ones can.’ He looked pointedly at Luke.‘You stay with your brothers until you’re ready. They’ll guide you and protect you.’
    â€˜Yeah, well, that’d be good if I had any brothers,’ said Luke.
    â€˜You got brothers back home, Luke.’ Bob frowned at him. ‘You should send Lawson a message,