Original subtitles

- Mrs. Mitchell, are you there?

- Jock?

- Yeah

- Is everything all right?

- You had a break in the fence down the track a bit.

Me and Egan stuck some dead branches in it.

Should hold it for a while.

We were worried you wouldn't find the break,

what with Tom being away and that.

You could've lost quite a few cattle.

What we did should home 'em I reckon,

at least 'till they arrive anyway.

- Would you like to come in?

- No, thanks anyway.

Best be gettin' ourselves home, I reckon.

If you need us at all you call alright?

- Okay, Jock.

- Okay, go in, go in.

- Indi?

Indi?

Are you alright, I heard you screaming?

Your favorite.

Dear.

- I feel so stupid.

It was just the blind.

It's a weird storm.

- Yes, yes it is.

There's definitely something in the air.

- That lightening nearly hit the house.

- Well thank heavens it didn't.

You know what they say about lightening never striking.

I don't think I've been this frightened

by a storm in a long time.

- But you know, there is something different about this one.

I can sort of feel it too.

- I'll tell you what, why don't you hop back into bed

and I'll read my book up here and keep you company, okay?

- Okay.

What did the men want?

- On their way back from the high country

they saw we had a fence down.

Some of the cattle were getting through,

so they patched it up for us.

They were just letting me know.

I think maybe we should go down to the bottom paddock in

the morning and see what the storm damage has done, alright?

- The wind is so loud.

What's the matter, Mum?

- I don't know.

There's something else.

Something different.

- Like what?

- Well maybe Thowra's out there tonight.

He'd be in his element.

- Who's Thowra?

- He's the great silver brumby.

Named for the wild wind that

blew the night that he was born.

I'm sure it's him.

- Well, I can't hear him.

- Well close your eyes.

Go on.

That's better.

Now shut out all other sounds, and concentrate.

Concentrate on the wind.

Listen.

Not for the sound of the wind,

but for what you hear on the wind.

Listen closely.

There's been talk about Thowra for a long time now.

Some say he lives.

Some say he never existed.

Some say he's a ghost.

But always there are tales of the mighty wild stallion.

The great palomino Brumby.

King of all the Cascade brumbies.

Can you hear him?

- I'm not sure.

- Listen carefully, you'll hear him.

It was on a night very like this, not so very long ago.

It was one of the wildest spring nights

that there has ever been.

No possums stirred, no wombats left their holes.

Only a few kangaroos, their last shelter

destroyed, were braving the fury of the storm.

And Belbel, a wild mountain brumby beautiful and wise,

who was preparing to give birth to a foal.

There was something mysterious and exciting in the wind.

Something important was about to happen.

Thowra she named him, for Thowra means wind.

She named him for the wild wind in which he was born.

He was a creamy, much lighter than his mother

and as he grew to be a stallion his mane and tail

would glisten silver in the moonlight.

BelBel knew he would be a prize indeed hunted all his life.

Hunted for his silvery mane and tail

and his striking cream coat.

By morning the storm had blown itself out and in the calm

light of dawn, BelBel emerged from her shelter to coax

her young creamy foal into the vastness of his new world.

The creamy, with the silver mane and tail.

Thowra would not be able to hide in the gray green

of the bush like the other brumbies.

He would have to rely on his speed and cunning

and all the knowledge and wisdom

that BelBel his mother could pass on to him.

- You're up early.

- I haven't been to bed.

- Mum.

- Well when else do I get a chance to write around here?

- Another book?

- Yeah.

- About the high country?

- Well sort of.

It's about a silver brumby.

Would like to read some?

- Yeah.

- Alright.

Here, try these.

I suppose I should have a wash and get ready for the day.

You know what I'd really like

is a cup of hot, strong coffee.

Any chance?

Indi?

- What?

I'm sorry Mum, sure.

- Thanks.

As the months quickly passed and the last snows

had melted from the mountain peaks,

BelBel taught Thowra the skills he would need to survive.

She passed on all the knowledge of the high country

that she had learnt over many years.

Its moods, its joys, its dangers.

It wasn't long before Thowra encountered the biggest danger

such a beautiful brumby would face.

Man.

What do you reckon Coolie?

How are we going to get this bloke out mate?

Are you going to do it?

No, I'm going to do it.

Whoa, whoa, come here.

Come on mate that's it, calm down.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, get over.

Check your legs.

Yeah you're alright.

Get up go on, go and see your mum, stand up.

Go on see your mum.

Shh whoa there.

Whoa there mate.

Yes, easy now mate.

Easy, come on, come on.

There we are.

- Thanks to BelBel,

Thowra escaped from his first encounter with Man.

But it certainly wasn't to be his last.

Thowra didn't realize that he'd become a challenge,

a prize, to be pursued and attained at all costs.

Belbel could tell Thowra would be a mighty stallion one day.

Proud and independent like her.

Running with the herd only when it suited him.

But he must learn to survive on his own.

For she could not always be by his side when danger arose.

When they were alone, BelBel taught him how to hide,

how to travel in the beds of streams,

leaving no sign nor scent of his going.

She taught him how to recognize the scent of wombat, and the

scent of kangaroo and of all the other bush creatures.

And eventually she taught him to recognize the scent

of Man, of his dog and the smell of smoke from his fire.

It wasn't long before Thowra decided

to put his new knowledge into practice.

He began to track some strange horses.

He kept well hidden as he followed the hoof marks

towards the grazing grounds of a fierce,

gray stallion known as The Brolga.

Because he'd always been by her side,

BelBel had not yet taught Thowra the danger

of trespassing onto the territory of another herd.

Especially not that of The Brolga.

The Brolga would never be as fast as the wind,

nor would he be as graceful a dancer as the bird

for whom he was named.

But he was already showing signs

of what he would be, an ugly determined fighter,

never resting till he got what he wanted.

BelBel led Thowra back to the territory of their own herd

and the protection of the mighty stallion Yarraman.

Yarraman was the finest, strongest stallion

of all the herds of the high country.

He was the King of the Cascade brumbies and now,

just when he was needed, he was here to protect his

handsome, but still foolish, son and his favorite mare.

When you've lived around here

a long time, you get to know the bush.

It speaks to you in the wind.

And if you listen, really listen and look, so carefully,

don't miss a thing, the bush will tell you its stories.

Think of how BelBel taught Thowra.

- But they're animals, they have different senses.

- Well maybe we have the same senses,

we just don't use them as often.

If you use them, then you'll understand what the wind

is saying and what the birds are telling you.

If you want to know the secrets of the bush,

you have to want to feel part of it.

So use your hands, touch the smooth bark

of a snowgum, and gradually you'll feel the magic.

- Is it really magic?

- Well it's understanding.

That's what true magic is.

The Aborigines have known it for thousands of years.

They believe the earth is their mother.

It's not a bad philosophy I think.

Stay open, and you'll read the signs.

In the direction of the wind, in the shape of the clouds,

the tracks of the animals.

But it's no good unless you feel at one with the bush.

You know how you can read a book, and yet not understand it?

It's the same with the bush.

Something's wrong.

- What is it mum?

- Dear.

You're hurt aren't you.

- How did you know?

- Your poor leg, shh.

I think maybe we should take him home

and see what we can do for him.

Come on.

Good, good.

There, we'll look after you.

Every summer, men returned to the High Country.

Every summer they came with their wide horned

red and white cattle, their dogs and their pack horses.

To man the high country was a pasture, a summer home,

a relief from the heat of the plains.

It was a place of beauty, and a source of income.

To most of the bush creatures the wallabies, wombats,

possums and kangaroos, man was a nuisance, an intruder.

But to the wild brumbies the arrival of Man

meant the arrival of danger.

- This is better isn't it mate?

You hear that?

You hear that, Echo?

Sounds like we've got a visitor.

Where's little creamy, Cooley?

How many did we get Murray?

- About 20.

- This should be Cody's lot, drop the rails.

Packer, get them out of the way.

Come on, come on.

Don't lose the creamy!

Hey, open the gate, drop the rails.

- It's a postcard from Melbourne.

From Dad, Harry and Honor.

And a parcel and some bills.

- Good.

Sorry.

Honor says she's missing home, and me of course.

- Reminds me of someone else who might be missing his home.

- Aw he's not ready yet, it's too soon.

How many other kangaroos do you know who are

wrapped up in blankets all day and bottle fed?

- But he needs looking after.

- You're going to have to let go, Indi.

He's never going to survive in

the bush on his own if you don't.

So why don't we make a start now?

Let's stick him in the back, alright.

- But he'll get bumped about and hurt all over again.

- Indi, he's not going to survive

a winter in the bush if he's used to blankets.

- But mum.

- Just do it, Indi.

He'll be fine in the back in his pouch, come on.

- Can I drive?

- Winter was bad that year.

Icy cold and constant snow.

Pools frozen solid and winter pastures hidden

cruelly beneath the ghostly white blanket.

It was cold, so very cold.

Even with the thick winter coats the horses had all grown.

Winter was the only time the brumbies were safe from man.

But their new enemies were

the elements and the cruel face of nature.

Winter called on all their knowledge of the bush

and all their instincts for survival.

BelBel knew which were the good shrubs

to eat and showed Thowra where to find them.

Neither BelBel nor Thowra suffered too badly that winter.

Others did.

The severity of the winter troubled Yarraman.

Even his secret winter pastures were covered with snow

which forced him to make a difficult choice.

If he kept his herd safe in the High Country,

they would starve.

If he led them down lower to find feed near the snowline,

they'd be dangerously close to Man.

And wherever they went, other stallions, equally desperate,

would stand their ground to protect their territory.

For the wild brumbies this was

the reality of winter survival.

I thought you were supposed to be helping?

- I am.

- He's going to be about ready to go back to the bush soon.

- Mum.

- We've been through this, Indi.

We've interfered with nature enough.

Time to let him go back where he belongs

and take his chances with all the other animals.

- Hello, Indi.

G'day Mrs. Mitchell.

Startin' a zoo?

- Not if I can help it.

How're things, Jock?

- Not too bad.

Rounded up some good brumbies the other day.

- Got some real beauties.

Gonna start breaking them in tomorrow.

Is Mr. Mitchell around?

- No, Tom's still in Melbourne.

He'll be back at the end of the week.

- Fair enough.

Just thought he might've been

interested in a couple of the brumbies.

- I'll let him know when he gets back.

- I'll be getting rid of most of them

at the stock sale at the end of next week.

But if he wants to come over before hand

he can go through the herd and pick out the best.

- That's very kind of you, Jock.

- No worries.

Well, I'd best be off.

You can come and watch me breakin' 'em in if you like, Indi.

- Thanks, Jock.

- See you.

- That was very rude, not answering Jock.

- Thought you didn't like him.

- Well not a lot.

But he's a good neighbor.

It's no skin off my nose to be pleasant.

- Jock's got a black horse!

- Yes, I guess he has got a black horse.

- Just like the man in the story.

Still, no need to be rude,

a lot of people have black horses.

- I've read all you've written.

- Have you?

- What happens next?

- I don't know.

Have to wait till I've written it.

Let's finish the car first, okay?

- Mum.

- Come on

- Steady.

Watch him, watch him.

Give me the rope!

- What's the matter?

- It's just so cruel.

- The horse breaking?

- Yes.

- I'm not sure if Jock's way is the only way.

- But how can they do it, Mum?

Be so mean to such a beautiful horse?

- Come here.

Let's go sit down, okay?

You're the one who insisted on going remember?

But I had to see, I had to find out.

- Yeah, now you know.

I did warn you you mightn't like it.

- It was like he wasn't the same horse any more.

- One of the hardest things to learn about life

is learning not to make too many judgments.

Jock wants to tame the brumby and sell him.

The brumby wants to go free.

I don't like what Jock does either.

But it's how he earns his living, I can't deny him that.

- He could make money some other way.

- Well some people would say

he was doing the region a favor.

The brumbies can cause an awful lot of damage.

- But that's no reason to be cruel.

- No, no it isn't.

With the passing of two winters Thowra had grown

from a gangly colt to one of the finest young stallions

ever seen in the high country.

He had learnt well the ways of the bush

and strutted his independence with confidence and daring.

His glistening coat and flowing silver mane

set him apart from all the other brumbies.

Wise BelBel's prediction had come true,

he was a prize indeed.

And wherever Thowra went soon after The Man would appear.

Always on his black horse.

Always his whip and dog.

Always seeking Thowra.

Determined.

Persistent.

But Thowra, reveling in the joy and vigor of life

thought he was too smart for The Man and loved to lead

him a merry dance through the snowgums.

On and on half glimpsed through the dappled light

but always a step or a jump ahead of the black horse.

The passing of time also heralded The Brolga's growth

to full maturity and in the glory of a new spring he

declared his challenge to the mighty Yarraman's supremacy.

They fought on and on and as the darkness raced from

the shadows of the setting sun, it took with it the strength

of the older Yarraman, lord of the Cascade brumbies.

As Thowra looked on he knew

this would be his proud father's final battle.

The Brolga was at his peak

and his stamina could not be matched.

Thowra also knew that one day the mountains would ring loud

with his cries and the earth would carry

his blood as he fought to win back a kingdom.

It was quite usual for one stallion to defeat another.

Defeat yes.

But not kill.

But Yarraman was too great a horse to simply be defeated,

so The Brolga had left him to die.

After the death of Yarraman, The Brolga inherited his herd,

including the wise mare BelBel.

Thowra was now truly alone.

But the spirit of the wind and the rugged mountains

embraced him as if he were a son of the high country itself.

Soon he had a herd of his own to protect and defend.

A handful of fillies and mares he had fought for

and won from other young stallions who roamed the bush.

And soon he would long for another,

one who would tempt him through the cunning of man.

- Eighty one pounds, eighty one pounds, two.

Eighty two pounds, a worthy horse.

Eighty two pounds, it's over there.

Eighty two pounds done.

All done at eighty two.

All done to Mr. Jeff Phillips, eighty two pounds.

Right the pack mule into the ring next.

Righto there, the pack mule is worth

forty or fifty pounds. Forty or fifty.

I'm bid ten pounds, thank you a ten pound bid.

And a bid fifteen, fifteen pound.

Twenty right twenty over there twenty pound bid.

Twenty two pounds, twenty two pound of money.

Three, twenty three pound.

Four, twenty four pounds.

Twenty four pounds, done, all done at twenty four pounds.

Here's the bid, twenty four pound.

Done all done.

Right the next horse in the ring is the palomino filly.

There we are.

Fourteen hands.

A magnificent filly.

Look at the color and fineness of breeding.

Owned and bred by Tugger McMahon of Corryong.

Right as she moves around the ring

is she worth one hundred pounds.

One hundred fifty, fifty pound.

Sixty, sixty pound bid seventy, seventy pound bid,

bid seventy, eighty, eighty pounds,

eighty, going to ninety, ninety pounds of money.

Ninety bid, ninety pound bidding.

Ninety pounds going up to one hundred.

One hundred bid, one hundred pound bid,

I'm bid one hundred pound going once, twice,

third and last call at one hundred pounds of money.

One hundred bidding any more for a finely bred filly.

- Two hundred.

- Two hundred pounds?

Two hundred pound bidding.

Two hundred, two hundred pound of money.

- Steady, steady.

Trot up girl, trot up.

Trot up, come on, trot up girl.

Steady, steady, come on, steady.

- The sight of the golden filly haunted Thowra.

Her beauty and grace fascinated him.

He knew he wanted her,

but he also knew she belong to The Man.

- I'll get you now.

I swear I will.

Golden.

Golden.

Come here, come here.

He's seen you now and he likes you.

And he'll be back.

- No.

No!

- As the cold nights and the first frosts marked

the ending of summer the men began to muster their cattle

and with them went the immediate danger.

And with them went more stories about the mystical

silver brumby and more tales of his deeds and his daring.

The Man went too, without his precious Golden.

But Thowra knew he'd be back to get her.

Especially now she was in foal to him.

Unlike the other brumbies, Golden was not used to

the harsh conditions of winter in the high country.

Especially for her sake Thowra kept his

small herd moving in search of better pastures.

Out you go, okay, out you hop, there we go, off you go.

- He wants to go.

- Go on.

- Scat, shoo, shoo.

See what I mean?

He's too used to us and the comforts of home,

it's all that coddling.

- Yes, mum.

- Go on.

- What'll we do?

He's still here.

- I don't know. - Shoo.

- Go on.

- Good.

- Look.

- He'll be all right now.

Quick, come on.

When the good weather returned no one realized that Golden,

having been with men all her life till Thowra

captured her, was lacking in the instinct

to take the stirrings of her unborn foal calmly.

At the last moment Golden left the herd to seek

the comfort and protection of her old master.

♪ Monday is washing day is every doggy happy ♪

- Nice and clean now.

I might even let you back in the hut.

Golden, Golden, Golden, Golden.

Whoa girl, whoa, whoa girl.

Golden, easy, easy.

Golden.

Look at you?

She came back to me silver horse!

Easy, easy, easy, easy.

Just relax, easy.

So you've decided to turn up as well.

Hey, good girl, good girl, that's it,

that's it, that's it, easy now.

Just ignore him.

I've got your daughter now, silver devil!

Let's just go and have a look around?

Ever get the feeling you're being watched Echo?

Come on Echo, come on!

H'yeah, h'yeah!

- Thowra, deliberately just keeping ahead,

led The Man a long way often letting him almost catch up,

so that the man thought he was gaining ground.

But Thowra knew what he was doing

and never let The Man have a chance of getting too close.

- I'll teach you to play with me horse.

- As Thowra led The Man further and further

away from the hut even the elements combined

to thwart the Mans pursuit.

As the light began to fade and the clouds gathered,

the wind as if summoned to his assistance carried

across the high country the enveloping mist and rain.

This was what Thowra wanted.

Disappearing like a ghost into the mist and rain.

The Man did not at first realize he had

lost Thowra and was almost lost himself.

He also failed to understand how the gathering storm

had been summoned by Thowra, the wild horse,

named for the wind that blew across the high plains.

- Golden.

Home Echo, home!

I'll get you!

I swear, I will get you.

No!

- Thowra kept a careful watch over Golden

and the foal that summer and as winter approached

he felt confident the threat of Man had passed.

After searching fruitlessly for Golden and her creamy foal,

The Man had left the mountains.

His hut stood empty and silent in the morning sunlight,

no smoke from the chimney, no barking of dogs.

Thowra knew he would not return until Spring.

But Thowra and his herd were not

to be left in peace for long.

The Brolga seized the opportunity to increase

his own herd by stealing Thowra's mares.

But Thowra sensed the danger and hurried back.

The Brolga was forced to return

to his own grounds empty handed.

But Thowra knew it was now time for the son of Yarraman

to claim his rightful place as King of the Cascade Brumbies.

It would not be a fight to the death for both were

magnificent stallions in the prime of their lives.

It would be a fight for supremacy,

a fight to stay on in the Cascades as King,

or leave as the vanquished never to return.

And it was The Brolga who bowed to the youth and grace

of Thowra relinquishing his place

to the younger son of brave Yarraman.

- I knew he could beat The Brolga mum.

Now Thowra's the King.

King of all the Cascade brumbies.

It's a fantastic story mum.

Can I take it to school with me when I go back?

Sarah and Jean will just love it.

- What makes you think it's finished?

Do you think The Man thinks it's finished?

- No one can beat Thowra, Mum.

- I've been waiting for you, Darcy.

- Seen any brumbies, Miss Mitchell?

- So it's true isn't it?

Thowra really does exist?

And now The Man has Darcy helping him

and Dad has always said that Darcy is the best rider

and tracker in the whole of the high country.

They're going to catch him, aren't they?

- We'll I don't know.

We're just going to have to pray that

Thowra is smarter and more cunning than even we think he is.

He will have to hide Golden and the foal somewhere safe,

where they won't find them.

Away from the rest of the herd who are too easy to track,

especially with Darcy.

And he'll have to use all his cunning

to make sure the men don't get too close.

- Come on, get him, h'yeah, h'yeah.

- Egan!

- Darcy said he gave them a proper run for their money.

Looked like they'd been dragged to hell and back

when they got back to my place.

But what an ending?

Darcy said it was unbelievable.

This ghost of a horse just heads for the cliff

and takes off into space.

Rather be dead than be captured.

- There's no way that maybe?

- No, no hope.

Nowhere to land except for the bottom.

- I'm sorry.

For years to come men around campfires,

women at country shows,

children in schools will tell stories of

a great silver brumby seen galloping on windpacked snow.

Of a ghost horse drinking at the Crackenback River.

Of a horse that everyone thought was dead appearing

in a blizzard at Dead Horse Gap and vanishing again.

Of the wild stallion cry that could only be Thowra's.

But no human really knows where the son of BelBel roams.

Thowra, the greatest brumby of them all.

♪ You live by the moon

♪ And the stars in the night

♪ A ghost in a storm

♪ The wind and the rain

♪ And the clouds and the trees

♪ Are singing your song

♪ You are the Son of the Wind

♪ Lover of freedom

♪ They hunt and they chase

♪ And they seek till they're done ♪

♪ Your soul can't be won

♪ You are the Son of the Wind

♪ Lover of freedom

♪ The wind and the rain

♪ And the clouds and the trees

♪ Are singing your song

♪ The wind and the rain

♪ And the clouds and the trees

♪ Are singing your song