Stallion Mage: A Horse Shifter Mpreg Romance (COMPLETE)

A Stallion Alone

Alvarr did not trail the leader back toward camp.  In a way, he had expected this moment to come.  Laren had never fully accepted him, after all.  Though the mage still felt echoes of the pleasure they had shared, why would it have changed anything?

He threw back my gift.

Alvarr stayed within the sanctuary of the woods, hoping to let the silence quiet his own unsettled thoughts.  Around him, things grew unnaturally out of season, but this, too, was changing.

As soon as the mage turned away, what had grown withered and disappeared. The barren ground could no longer support anything, even with the help of Alvarr. 

The Elders are right.  The land itself is ill. 

And as the stallion tribe's only mage, Alvarr was the only one who could heal it. He realized that now.

Not even Laren could.  The stallion leader was still afraid of magic, still unwilling to accept anything out of order. Alvarr supposed that made sense, but the thought was not a comfort.  He remembered what Barron had said: You're powerful, Alvarr. Everyone can feel it. Thane and Nassor think you're as powerful as our leader.

He tossed his head. At least there was nothing to hold him back from seeking his own answers. Finding a nest of dried leaves and needles, he shifted to man-shape and settled down to rest and meditate until the cover of deep darkness.

When a nightbird's shriek pulled him out of his trance, Alvarr's mood had darkened as well. He'd tried to relax his power and let his energy mix with the whole of Nature's, yet where they were was as empty of power as an old stream bed. But he had energy to spare.  

This shouldn't be happening.  His hand went to his stomach, where he perceived the power to be trapped, and tried to release it.  If anything, the knot of energy tightened.

The mage rose and shifted to four-legs until he got close to the camp. Then, on silent human feet, he padded into the main entrance. No one was awake. He did not go to his dwelling but headed for the dim white shape of the healer's tent.

Carefully, he entered the dark interior and paused, listening for any Elders who may be sleeping toward the back. Their breathing sounded, light and even, and he knelt next to the rock that hid Elder Mastok's book.

It's all right if they wake up. Of anyone, they will understand. Still, Alvarr did not want anyone to hold him back. He lifted the rock and withdrew the strange set of flat pale leaves with the ancient tribe's wisdom somehow preserved on it.

Then, he shifted, and his horn glowed like starlight. With its point, he moved the thick, solid leaf from its place, opening it to the thin leaves inside. The top leaf had unreadable squiggles in brown.

Shifting again to man-shape, he groped for the top leaf and moved it to show the next one. He shifted, examining it by the light of his horn. In this way, he worked through the leaves. Some had drawings of the mare-mage and her mate, the black stallion.

He quickly left those behind him, not wanting to revisit the sad story. Toward the last few leaves, Alvarr found the page he needed. Black pointed shapes were at the center of the page. If I am right, those are our mountains.

He found the river, where he had never gone before. "Have you ever been to the river?" the Elder had asked.  Something was there, something the Elder had seen.

 Alvarr examined the drawing, but there was nothing more to it.  The terrain beyond the river had been left blank.  He wrapped the collection of leaves back in that wondrous white cloth, and put it back under the rock.