He did not hear the sound or the splash. This lake must have solid ice below it, too. This cold was like an iron band. Water, aching water was filling his ears and nose. He began to struggle …
He bobbed up just near where the filly had surfaced. She sank again, but he was swimming strongly. Up came the filly’s head and her pink-tipped ears just beside him.
Choopa opened his mouth and shipped a lot of water, but gathered in her mane and held on with clenched teeth and neck muscles straining. He could see the edge of the lake and began steering towards it.
Then he saw Old Strawberry coming carefully down the slope above the water.
He was not limping or streaming blood, so he must have got down without falling. He would be ready for violence.
Choopa could only think of holding the filly’s head out of the water, and steering her to the bank. There might be a shallow shelf like in Lake Albina, but what then?
What then?
Choopa dug in with the tips of his hooves at the edge and tightened his grip on the filly, pulling with all the strength in his neck and shoulders till he landed her onto the bank well above the water. He collapsed on the ground beside her, quite exhausted.
There stood Old Strawberry, not far away.
Dandaloo, far above, peered over the edge of the steep slopes and cliffs. She had seen the filly’s fall and flight through air, then, to her horror, saw Choopa’s mad race downwards, his battle to keep on his feet and upright, saw him fly through the air over the edge.
Now she saw Old Strawberry start to move towards Choopa.
Eight
The stars had already lost their brilliance. It would soon be the black dark before the first dawn light. There were no stars, now, to be reflected in the dark, dark waters of Club Lake.
It was becoming difficult for the old blue roan mare to see the best way to go down that very steep slope off Carruther’s ridge towards the cliffs that drop sheer into Club Lake.
Dandaloo tested each foothold before she put her weight on it. She could hear splashing down below, but could not see anything in that dark pool that seemed to reach up towards her. Choopa must be down there, and she was certain he was alive. Old Strawberry was somehow down there, too, alive or dead.
Dandaloo went doggedly on. At last she sent a gentle call to Choopa, throwing her voice down into the dark, down into that deep, black hollow.
The answer that came back had a weird echo off the water and off the surrounding rock walls, but it conveyed without doubt that Choopa was glad to know she was nearby.
She called again, but mingled with his answer was a furious trumpet that simply had to be Old Strawberry’s.
A cold shiver crept over Dandaloo’s blue hide — and down below, in the dark black water, a cold shiver crept through Choopa — though already he was frozen from his long efforts to drag the filly from the water.
Dandaloo could barely see the steep slope on which she was treading; all was black dark. She peered into the blackness where she knew Club Lake would be. Her eyes stung with the effort to see something and she rubbed her eyes on her forelegs, suddenly feeling forlorn and alone. She heard a splash and for a moment, it seemed as if two lissom white ghosts floated into her vision, way down below. They were not two longed-for visions of Choopa; they were very small ghosts, quite white. Perhaps they were those two motherless white foals who had appeared all of a sudden at Lake Albina, and had been like March flies attached to Old Strawberry. It seemed as if they were flying down the cliffs that form one side of Club Lake. Even bewitched, they surely could not fly? Were they foals really? She remembered their strange eyes. They had no mother. Where had they come from?
Dandaloo kept on creeping, one leg after the other, on two, three, four, down that steep shaly slope. Once she stumbled, and slid a few trotting steps to keep her balance, and to stop falling.
She realised there was something or someone close behind her. She got her balance again and turned her head to look behind. One shape she could barely see, and another shape which was surely a white mane.
The stars twinkled once and went out. Once they were reflected in the waters of Club Lake, and Dandaloo could see that it was still a long way below her. She stood for a few seconds, but she had to go on. She had to find Choopa and get him back to Lake Albina, and finally back to Quambat Flat.
Perhaps she should call Son of Storm again? Make that secret call that could be heard over mountains and valleys. Son of Storm could not be far away. She must call, and she did call.
She kept creeping on down into that abyss of black dark where Choopa and Old Strawberry were both engulfed in the heavy darkness.
At last she heard a soft whiffling sound. She stopped stock-still and answered Son of Storm, and waited to feel his warm touch.
When he was standing beside her, she threw a call down to Choopa again. Son of Storm threw his gentle greeting, too, but as Strawberry’s trumpeting challenge rang out, he threw a fierce challenge back. Had not he, Son of Storm, given Old Strawberry quite a beating? That big, blundering, bullying stallion had better not forget it!
Together the old mare and the gentle brown stallion walked carefully down the steep slope above Club Lake.
Dandaloo’s knees were aching, and her shins too, the slope was so steep. She tried angling across it, but that was not good. There was a small snowgrass shelf on which she could rest. She stopped and peered down into the dark abyss again. Yes, there were Choopa and the snowflake filly, lying close together. They must both be nearly frozen. She must get to Choopa.
Choopa knew that Dandaloo was coming, knew Son of Storm was with her, but first of all he had to get the snowflake filly further away from the water and then drive Strawberry right away.
He could not even sigh with relief when he felt solid rock under his hooves. His jaws were clamped tight on the filly’s mane as he pulled her with him.
He was also stiff with cold.
At last he began to climb away from the water and pull the filly onto the rocky bank. It was then that the dark bulk of Strawberry loomed in front of him, but also then that two white lissom ghosts flitted into the black dark.
Those white foals had acted like March flies, nipping and darting at Strawberry. They might again …
Choopa tugged and pulled at the filly. Strawberry came closer to the edge — he was snorting angrily. Didn’t he understand that Choopa was saving that miniature, beautiful filly of whom he was so proud? Perhaps he only thought that the blue roan dwarf was going to steal her?
Choopa, too tired to pull much longer, could just see the two white foals out of the corner of his eye. They were standing, watching.
Strawberry took a step closer.
It was time for the white foals to menace the old stallion. Choopa gave one last tug to the filly’s mane, then letting go his hold on her mane, called to the white foals and then called to Dandaloo and Son of Storm. Their answering calls rang out. The white foals sprang towards Strawberry.
Soon Choopa could hear Dandaloo and Son of Storm, their hooves rolling stones as they came down toward the lake. He called again to tell them where he was, then another call to hype up the white foals in their March-fly attack on Strawberry.
In a moment or so Dandaloo and Son of Storm were beside Choopa and the filly, who really looked as though dead.
Choopa’s legs gave way beneath him and he lay down.
Dandaloo took one bitterly cold ear of Choopa’s into her mouth. Then she lay down beside him, lying close to warm him. She was anxious about the depth and strength of his awful shivering. Once before, he had been warmed by wombats, when snow fell thick and fast and freezing upon him, way away to the south. There was not one wombat to be seen. As she looked around she saw Old Strawberry getting closer to her huddled, frozen group at the edge of the lake.
Son of Storm blew a snorting message at her nose, as good as saying not to worry. She waited till Old Strawberry got a few steps closer, then she sprang up with a furious scream.
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Son of Storm sprang, too, from right beside her. Strawberry would not come one step closer to Choopa — and he didn’t. He turned and galloped down the banks of the little stream that flowed out of Club Lake.
Son of Storm and Dandaloo were both surprised and puzzled that Strawberry did not try to get straight back on the Divide, however steep the climb would be.
Then those two March-fly white foals began to chase him straight down the creek, snapping at him.
It was time, Dandaloo knew, for her to gallop after him, screaming her terrifying screams. Son of Storm knew that it was time for him to join in the chase, too — it was time to get rid of Old Strawberry forever. But Dandaloo knew she needed to stay with her little blue roan dwarf, so frozen, and the filly too. She lay down beside them.
Son of Storm went, down the banks of the little stream, after Old Strawberry himself.
Choopa never stirred, nor did the filly, more beautiful than a flake of snow. Indeed, she was so cold and so full of ice-cold water, that she was near to death.
Dandaloo raised her head up and touched the filly’s nose with hers, wondering if she were truly alive.
The filly seemed to draw in a big breath. Dandaloo blew warm air into the faintly breathing nostrils, leaning across Choopa to do it. Then she heard the galloping hooves and Son of Storm’s roar.
Strawberry must have doubled back.
Dandaloo felt Choopa moving beneath her, and she blew desperately into his nostrils too, rubbed her head along his.
The two young ones must not die of cold. When Son of Storm got back he could help her warm them.
Light was creeping over the sky above Carruther’s Peak. Day was coming. Just then she saw the great blundering form of Old Strawberry coming straight for them. She sprang up, screaming at him, and made the huge horse turn uphill.
In no time at all the March-fly foals had caught up with her and were driving him up the steep slope to one side of Club Lake — precipitous snowgrass slopes with an occasional outcrop of rocks. Old Strawberry would be pushing himself to get up there quickly — and Son of Storm intended to force him to climb for his life.
Thinking of life and death, Strawberry had seen Choopa pull the beautiful filly out of the lake, saw her lying there as though drowned beside Choopa, and was determined to kill Choopa if he could. Dandaloo was right — the big strawberry roan was set on destroying her blue roan dwarf.
Nine
Choopa began to wake, while Son of Storm and the March-fly foals continued to chase Old Strawberry up the snowgrass slopes. Dandaloo was worried and gave Choopa a gentle nip on one ear. His legs began to ache as the blood started to warm up — ache and tingle. Life was taking over. Choopa stretched those aching legs, stretched his back and his neck.
He knew the filly had not drowned, but he had not pulled her out of the lake for her to die on the bank. He took a mouthful of her neck and wither and bit hard enough to startle her — as though to say, ‘Come on. Time to get moving.’
Dandaloo blew one more lungful of warm air into the snowflake’s nostrils and rubbed her head along her neck. Jounama had not had warm air blown into her, nor a warm rub on her head and neck, for a long time. Life began to beat through her freezing body.
Choopa saw her pink-tinged ears begin to twitch, and a trembling of her nostrils. His struggle to pull her out of that icy water was going to be worth it. She was alive. She easily could have been dead and at the bottom of Club Lake.
The filly raised her head. She was certainly alive. Choopa started to rear and dance. He wondered if she would be able to get up and dance and play with him. He had waited to play for so long.
Dandaloo was determined that Strawberry shouldn’t harm Choopa. She joined in the chase, still screaming.
Just then the two white foals came cantering down the hill, having become bored with chasing Old Strawberry, and they started to buck and rear around Choopa.
Dandaloo looked down from the steep hillside and she saw the filly heaving herself up onto her feet, shaking ice water off her coat.
Then Dandaloo saw her do a stiff totter backwards, as though she were still frozen from the ice-cold lake water.
So Dandaloo saw Choopa in a levade, the two white foals galloping round him, and the snowflake filly rearing up and trying to dance beside Choopa. The old mare whinnied with delight.
Visions for an old mare to hold in memory: Choopa encircled by a mist-bow above the Snowy River, and now playing with three young foals — white, like ghosts — on the banks of Club Lake, out of which he had pulled the snowflake filly.
Surely he would be playing here forever, held in the intensity of that moment, in and out of time, framed by the half-circle of cliffs and crags, and the summit of Carruther’s Peak, above.
There was this vision in the old mare’s mind, and perhaps permanently imprinted on this place — blue roan dwarf doing his airs-above-the-ground and, in his mind, music playing as perhaps it really was playing over Charlotte Pass on the other side of the Snowy River. Music and dance near the Snowy River; all the tales and legends weaving into the flow of the snowmelt stream.
Dandaloo turned to follow Son of Storm, who was chasing Old Strawberry. It was a long steep climb, up onto the ridge of Carruther’s. At last Dandaloo and Son of Storm forced Old Strawberry far, far up the ridge and scrambled up, themselves, after him.
There, high above Club Lake, and in the warm early rays of sunlight, Dandaloo stood and looked back down again.
There was the lake, just catching a first sunbeam, and beside it the young horses dancing — the two white foals, and the miniature filly whom Choopa had pulled out of the ice-bound lake.
Son of Storm watched, too, till stronger sunlight slid down onto the lake — sunlight that would warm the two who had been so long in the water — then he nudged Dandaloo to come with him and keep driving Strawberry back where he came from.
So Dandaloo went on side by side with Son of Storm. In her mind she saw the two pictures of her dancing dwarf — encased in a mist-bow on a rock in the Snowy River, and dancing with the ghostly young colts and the filly who was perhaps a dwarf, on the edge of Club Lake — fixed in place and time.
Ten
Old Strawberry stumbled, slipped and rolled down the steep Sentinel gully and, of course, Jounama was not there, this time, to see his descent.
Dandaloo and Son of Storm watched his highly undignified return to his herd, and then they went back to join Choopa at the lake, hoping to persuade him to return to Quambat Flat. They took great care on the steep slopes.
Dandaloo was sure that Choopa was seeking for something that was still unfound. In fact, she wondered if he really knew for what he was searching. He did know that he was really seeking something, really seeking. In her mind kept floating the two visions — Choopa dancing within a glowing mist-bow on the rocks in the Snowy River, and Choopa playing with the three young ones.
Choopa was alone beside Club Lake — the two foals and the filly were no longer there.
Dandaloo called and he answered. Son of Storm called too. From where they stood, high on Carruther’s ridge, they saw a gliding flicker of movement down the banks of the creek. The young ones had left Choopa on his own, even his beautiful and exciting dancing had not held them, and the surrounding of Club Lake was empty of all but the blue roan dwarf who had danced for a while and then lay down with tears in his eyes.
At last Choopa began climbing up above the lake to meet his mother and Son of Storm. The brown hawks, far above the ridge, flew down towards him and they were calling, telling him that Old Strawberry had finally fallen to the foot of Sentinel gully, so Choopa knew that the big bully stallion had been chased to his home. His chance to revenge himself for that stunning blow on the side of his head was gone for a while.
Choopa climbed more slowly, occasionally looking down into the lake in case that filly was still sinking and bobbing up, sinking and bobbing up.
Dandaloo, still placing her feet with great care, m
oved a little faster. She had no wish to hurtle down into the water. Old Strawberry might be careless on steep slopes, but she was not. It became more and more urgent to touch Choopa.
Her hooves brushed through a mat of golden stars, and the strong scent rose around her. Just then Choopa climbed up beside her, and she gave a soft, nickering whinny.
The rivulets of tears had dried as they ran down his dear roan nose. Dandaloo rubbed against them.
Choopa was so glad to have her with him again, and not to be alone, that he suddenly reared in a courbette, then offered all his perfectly executed airs-above-the-ground to his old roan mother.
There was the sound of hooves approaching on shale and bare earth.
The snowflake filly had come back.
Choopa saw her and danced even more perfectly. When he finally lay down, there were Dandaloo and Son of Storm whinnying to Jounama to follow them home. Better to get into lower country before the coming night’s frost came settling down, coating the animals in a film of ice.
A wombat came bundling down the last slope of Mount Lee.
There they all were, in that ancient glacial cirque, bound together by the perfection of the little dwarf dancing: the old mother; the gentle stallion, inheritor of a hundred legends; and the wombat, inheritor of the ancient land; the dwarf snowflake filly, her ears touched with the pink spring dust, saved from Club Lake for an unknown future.
There they all were, a perfect mix to dance on into the future, a perfect mix for the matrix of dreams.
Choopa would never grow into a big handsome stallion, fast as the wind; Dandaloo knew that. But somehow, somehow his dreams would come true. They should get home before frost closed in and before the heavy snows came. Yet Dandaloo also knew that as soon as they were in the sheltering bush around Quambat Flat, they would all want to reach the high double lake again — not this deep, deep freezing Club Lake.