Stallion Mage: A Horse Shifter Mpreg Romance (COMPLETE)

Laid To Rest

On four legs, he grazed on the sweet, tender grass beneath the trees. What he had already found was both exciting and frightening.  Alvarr had no way of knowing the contents of those flat leaves, but if he brought them to the Elders, and they showed details of a way of life the equines didn't know, what would that do to the tribe?

The more traditional members might respond with anger and violence.

I don't want to be the one who brings change.  The mage was already different enough, a stallion with magic and a glowing horn.  When he returned, he just wanted to live with the tribe again as one of them.  Maybe Laren would honor him for his bravery and finally accept him fully.  Maybe the other stallions would follow suit once they saw their leader's example.

No.  Alvarr tore off a mouthful of nutritious forage, and in the quiet of the forest, admitted the truth.  He'd never been one of them, but when he returned with these bundles, the story of his journey that none of them could have made, and descriptions of the dwellings somehow made of wood and crafted stone, Alvarr was sure to be set apart forever.

He could see Cantril's nervous, skeptical look, and Elder Sevan's dismissal.  They won't change at all.  Despite the land's descent into wasteland, they won't believe me. 

They wouldn't understand the code of squiggles and drawings on the flat leaves.  They would discount it as 'Elder ramblings' and go on.  Go on dying slowly.

And that was another thing.  When Alvarr returned, glowing with health from the good food and good land, they might get jealous, or blame his magic and become resentful.

He needed to bring back more proof, something they would all believe.  He had to keep searching, but he didn't know if he had the strength.  Though the dwellings were wondrous, he never forgot that they had once been inhabited by people.  People killed by their magical leader.

He spent some time exploring the crescent of forest, finding many more ruins of wood dwellings.  Running his fingers over the half-rotted end of a log, he felt the notches where another piece must have fit.  Were his tribe capable of this?  Capable, perhaps, but they must have spent a lot more time in man-shape than we do. 

How had they made those flat, straight-edged leaves?  And the white material that protected them, that rain slid off?  Alvarr shifted to man-shape when he discovered some ancient, weathered logs piled on top of each other, meeting at the corners.  That was how the dwellings were made. 

But how had the logs gotten there?  Surely they couldn't lift them in man-shape; not even Laren and Nassor were that strong.

An equine had two long vines wrapped around her chest.  The vines hung over a low tree branch, and the other edges wrapped around the two ends of a great log.  Two people in their man- and woman-shapes stood by each end.

Pull, Equi, the man shouted.

Grunting, the equine dug her feet into the ground and took small steps forward, elevating the heavy log.

Alvarr blinked.  Had that been real?  He doubted he would have invented that; he simply wasn't that smart.  He touched the stacked logs, then shoved them.  Even after all these years, the joint held strong, like the friendships he had glimpsed in his vision.

How he wanted that to be real.  We could be like that again.  Real companionship and understanding between them, not just living side by side and cooperating for the sake of survival.

Everyone would be valued.  Everyone would have a place.  He got a strange tightness in his chest, equal parts of longing and possibility.