Just then, down through the last glimmer of twilight, stepping high and free, like a cloud, a moth, a ghost in the shape of a horse — came the Silver Stallion. Wild, beautiful, and free...

there grew up around the campfires stories of a great silver stallion seen galloping over wind-packed snow way up on the Ramshead Range; of a ghost horse that drank at the Crackenback River; of a...

beauty such as theirs was something with which one lived joyously — racing with the wind, with storm and snow, dancing in the frost or among the golden wattles, galloping, galloping in the spring sun....

Long miles of snow and mountains spun out behind him, and his hooves scattered stardust or snow crystals. He went bounding on and on, right on the spine of the world, thrust out against the...

Life and summer are fleeting,’ sang the bird. ‘Snow and dark, and the winter comes. Nothing remains the same.

For God took a handful of blizzard snow, blew on it and created the horse.

All the love of the high, wild places, all the amazing joy in being alive sounded in his voice

Spring comes to the Australian Alps like an invisible spirit. There is not the tremendous surge of upthrust life that there is in the lowland valleys, and no wild flowers bloom in the snow mountains...

There was some rhythm, some ecstasy in this dance of flight that expressed the fact that happiness which touches depths and rises beyond physical confines is as old as consciousness, yet ever renewed, and is...

the oncoming night was filled with the mystery of unknown places and of distance, of things that happened long ago and happenings yet to com

I? I am the wind,’ said Thowra. ‘I come, I pass, and I am gone.’ The strange feathers moved up and down, the strange voice said tartly: ‘And are your sons the same?’ ‘My son...

Dreams were dreams; only one facet of what might be the truth of the world

A long shaft of light came down from the sun behind the clouds and fell on the rearing, striking horses so that Thowra was the glittering foam on a waterfall, was quicksilver held for a...

Here, also, the future was cried aloud by the wind through the rocks, so that all those who heard would shiver, and then the liquid spring song of the thrush would make all the beauty...

Legends of the Silver Stallion had been told for years now, whenever mountain stockmen met round the campfires or on the winding hill tracks. Songs were sung about him to the cattle and both songs...