Stallion Mage: A Horse Shifter Mpreg Romance (COMPLETE)

Forever Changed

When the mage awoke, it was just before dawn.  Alvarr's throat was on fire with thirst.  His whole body ached, but no water would come to him inside the cave.  He got to his legs.  To his relief, they held him.

But why wouldn't they?  It was only a violent dream, he told himself.  He realized he probably had taken ill, and the strange dream and his terrible thirst were caused by fever.

But camp was not far.  He would seek out the Elders in the healing hut after he had found some water.  I will be fine, he thought, and exited the cave.

As soon as his hooves touched the earth, he heard the clear whisper of water.  Alvarr swayed, disoriented at the invisible tug of energy that pointed him toward a small smudge of trees.  Where there are trees, there is water. 

With his back to the emerging sunrise, he walked slowly to conserve his energy.  His eyes wanted to close against the weak light, for his head still hurt, but his thirst was too powerful to ignore. 

He had never been ill before, and he hoped never to feel it again.  His magic was right there on the surface, though.  Does illness make it stronger?  He was used to calling it forth, but now,  Alvarr didn't have to reach for it at all. 

His powers danced through his body and spirit.  It felt different somehow, a steady flow of power rather than the unpredictable storms that had been crackling through him for an entire season. 

As minutes passed, the sun rose behind him.  In the first light, Alvarr felt like he was the only one alive.  But, he admitted, at home won't be much different.  Even if the other stallion-shifters accepted him, the mage instinctively knew that the companionship of the tribe wouldn't be enough.  Not for him.

But what else is there?

The smudge of trees was still a distance away.  Here and there, Alvarr bent his head to pull some of the half-dried plains grass.  It was tough, but sweet.  He only hoped it would not make his thirst worse. 

His shadow stretched out ahead of him, elongated and distorted by the ground.  Like a foal, he amused himself watching how the top of his head came to a point, and his legs looked like long sticks moving under his body.  I'm giddy with sickness.

But as he got closer, Alvarr could smell the water.  All on its own, his body picked up speed.  He cantered toward the trees, and his headache eased.  As he got under the canopy of branches, he sensed their healthy, clean energy as they drew from the constant water supply.

There it is!  Alvarr plunged in the still small pond up to his knees and thrust his muzzle down to the surface.  The water was cold with the tang of iron, and each time he drank, he felt better.

It was a long minute before he was finally satisfied.  He shook his head, sending his mane flying, and watched the water become calm and flat again. 

Only then did he allow himself to think about his terrible dream, and the painting he had found in the cave.  Surely, Elder Mastok already knew about it.  It hadn't been lost on Alvarr that his coloring and mage-stripe was exactly the same as the mare-mage from both his dream and the painting. 

Do I really think I'm a monster?  He did fear losing control of himself, but he did not truly think he could ever, ever be capable of the deeds the mare-mage had done in his dream.  His magic could do no harm, he was sure of it.
 
Alvarr bent his head to examine himself, then stumbled backward out of the pond and collapsed on the ground.

Growing from the center of his forehead, right where his mage-stripe began, was a single white horn. 

Fever is making me crazy.  This can't possibly be real.  He did not want to look again, but forced himself back to the water.  He took a deep breath and leaned over; his own reflection wavered in the moving surface, complete with horn.

A horror, cold as a burial ground, settled over his heart.  He pointed his head toward a tree, then walked toward it.  The horn stopped his progress, piercing the bark.

Either he was still dreaming or driven crazy from illness, or the horn was real.

With a cry, Alvarr wheeled around and thundered out of the woods.  Without thought, without direction, he fled, his hooves shredding the grass underneath him.

A tremor shook the ground, and he brought himself up short.  Flanks heaving, he turned around and looked for the source of the tremor.

It was easy to find.  In the very place he had just been, one tree after another fell.  They crashed into each other in a chaotic tangle, uprooted by some invisible force.

What is this?  But deep inside, he knew.  Alvarr was somehow the source of the destruction.  "What am I?" he screamed into the empty wind.

And then, the mage ran so fast sparks shot from under his feet. 

When he came back to himself, the camp was in sight.  Of course, his instincts would lead him back home, he thought bitterly, slowing to a walk.  But was there really any safety for him now?  He couldn't imagine what they would say when they saw him now.  Would they cast him out of the tribe completely?

Unless…  Alvarr stopped before any keen-sighted stallion saw him.  Unless I wear my two-legged shape.  He was afraid to try, but he had to.  The mage closed his eyes.

A surge of power unlike anything he'd ever experienced went through the mage's body.  It was like a flicker of lightning, and then it was gone.  He put a human hand on his stomach.  A strange warmth had run through him like he had swallowed heated sand. 

Carefully, Alvarr felt all over his forehead and scalp.  Thank Nature.  There was no sign of a horn, not even a little.  On weary feet, he walked the rest of the way toward the camp. 

Now, to find an Elder.