---

Jack manages to get some enthusiasm out of Brass for 'away', but when he tries to get up to a canter in such dense forest the big gelding tries only briefly before slowing to a trot and trying to circle back towards the other horses, weaving nervously through every clear space he can find. Tugging at the reins to try and get him back on course causes the hefty bay to sidestep and stop in fearful defiance, snorting protest and showing the whites of his eyes as though pleading with his rider to acknowledge he's a range treader, not a charger, nor even so much as a cutting horse, and that way is danger.

It's at this point Jack notices the forest looks completely unfamiliar, or possibly too familiar, trees on trees on trees, all wreathed about with vines and brush and echoing with the layered pulse of insect noise. He's pretty sure he can still hear Murphy and can tell which way is back to the others.

Brass shudders under him. The particular way the light filters through the canopy makes it hard to tell even where the axis of east and west lies, all directions vague though the forest itself is solid and absoloute, filling the air with the thick scent of eucalyptus. He's pretty sure he cannot have got as far away from his companions as it feels.

Pretty sure.


[[a Spot Hidden, please]]

Jack chews at his lip nervously as he casts about for something more than "pretty sure." He pats Brass's neck firmly, making soothing noises.

The pit of his stomach wants to halloo until someone hears him and comes to fetch him back. But there's deadly danger about, too, and he doesn't want to be found by that instead.

Jack Duggan rolled 73 for Spot Hidden 50.

The trees are trees are trees, sclerophyll and distant rock-grown pine. The cicadas chant constantly to themselves and their echoes and the air holding its dull and seeming-sourceless light. Somewhere, he hears Murphy yelp and curse, or what might be Murphy. Brass shifts restlessly, unsure where to turn.

It's as Jack scans the too-close, brush-choked limits of what he can see that Brass abruptly rumbles and tries to make a turn to move his flank away from a terrible corpselike stink, sidestepping a circle.

From its source comes a murmur in a tongue unknown to Jack ("Ah? Beth mae hi wedi'i wneud...") and for one mad moment when he looks down he thinks what he sees could be his own face, transfigured under dirt, wild hair and stubble: the same stature, rough lines, slight curls. He fails to wholly process the sight before Bowen has leapt up and grabbed his shirt. Gravity lurches.

Jack flails, twists, grabs at something as Brass squeals protest at this unwelcome change of rider - he lands briefly upright, staggering back in a half-crouch to finally overbalance and sit. Bowen heaves himself awkwardly across the saddle and Brass gets a look of sheer panic, fighting the rein when it's gripped and hopping his forehooves off the ground, clearly terrified of the thing now on his back.

*IIIIIhhhuuuhhhuuhhnnn!*

Bowen looks down, the light diffused by the canopy behind him like a saint as he sits the increasingly upset and froth-flinging horse. He's calm and grey-pale as a dead man, but his hair is plastered down with living sweat and his shirt is stuck to his chest over a slash of vile dark seepage that pales to weak green and yellow fluids through the cloth. When he can tear his eyes away from that walking rot Jack sees the blade fashioned from a bayonet in Bowen's right hand, held up, far up there, as though ready to strike.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 18:20, Fri 09 Oct 2020.

Jack drops as close to the ground as he can in a crouch to avoid the blade.

He scuttles under Brass's head to Bowen's off side. He reaches up to grab the head strap of the bridle and--much as he hates to--drags it down and twists it as close to upside-down as he can, letting his weight drag his horse's head down and around.

[I'm thinking something akin to bulldogging a steer, hoping to throw Brass onto his side or at least dismount the unsteady Bowen.]
This message was last edited by the player at 02:33, Sat 10 Oct 2020.

Jack's fingers hook under the dry leather of the bridle and Brass tenses, still more terrified by things going on near his legs.

[[give me a DEX to see how much/if you can roll him, and note that Brass will think he's being severely punished, since 'throwing' a horse is like using the emergency scruff-roll-throat-grab on a dog. I mean, Bowen was going to stab him in the butt because Bowen has places to be, but poor Brass doesn't know that.]]

Jack snags the bridle and throws his whole weight downward.

Jack Duggan rolled 75 for DEX 50. Damme!

Brass staggers sideways with his head pulled low to the ground. Bowen is thrown forward somewhat, but catches himself against the pommel and stares down, managing to catch Jack's eye. When he speaks, his tone is gentle, made more melodious by the bobbing intonation of south Wales.

"I need to find her right now at the minute. Don't worry, I'll come back for you." He smiles, giving Brass just enough rein to shake his head before pulling it back again. "You're needed too."

Then the long steel blade flashes up and darts down behind him, coming up tipped in red. Brass screams.

The big bay bucks, rears and once given rein finally gives in to instinct and bolts, heavy hooves kicking up loam. There's no way Bowen could possibly be in control of the beast, but he doesn't seem to care.


[[Bowen keeps his seat and incentivises some rapid forward motion.
A DEX roll, please, to avoid any knocks/getting underhoof down there.]]

"Bastard!" shouts Jack at the injury done his horse. Then he's tumbling, trying to wrap his head in his arms to protect it.

Jack Duggan rolled 70 for DEX 50.

Luck is with him: though the panicked horse surges forward and the big forehooves thump against the ground beyond him, he catches no more than a clip to the shoulder from a back hoof, narrowly missing his ear. It hurts, and tips him down into the leaf litter (memory speaks of lying stricken near the blackened stump, the exact shape of the twigs near his hands...how much time?), but as the shuddering impacts on the ground become more distant it's clear that nothing's broken, at least.

[[Jack suceeds at being lucky and only takes 2HP damage. He is now without a horse, however.]]

Jack rolls over, looking up through the interlaced branches to catch a glimpse of sky. After a moment he gets to his feet, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He'll pay out Bowen when he finds him, jabbing Brass like that.

With no better idea of where to head, he starts in following Brass's progress as best he can.