Stallion Mage: A Horse Shifter Mpreg Romance (COMPLETE)

A Mage's Situation (1/2)

Sorry - had some formatting problems last night.  All fixed now, and I'm already well into the second half of this chapter.

After Elder Pastor had given him strict orders to keep himself healthy, Alvarr left the cave. While he'd been inside, a layer of clouds had formed, turning the sky a bright, soft gray. He was glad he was on four legs; it was now too cold to remain in man-shape outside of dwellings or the healing tent.

Right now, a foal is growing inside me. A foal. Alvarr could still not bring himself to believe it. He looked the same... but, he admitted, he did not feel the same. He hadn't, not since just after he had left on his journey. All my magic is going toward growing the foal. It made sense; as a stallion, he would not be able to bear life if he weren't a mage.

Dazed, he walked slowly toward the camp, in no hurry to experience the sickness that was sure to come upon him as he got closer. He turned to look at the cave, but it had vanished into the side of the mountain. The first few flakes of snow drifted from the sky. Winter had arrived, and the tribe was already thin.

Foal or not, I must find a way to help. Alvarr would not see anyone suffer if it was in his power to stop. But perhaps it wasn't in his power.

He continued walking toward the camp. Already, the snow had covered the ground in a thin layer of white that covered the brown, close-bitten grass. If he could not grow food for himself, at least, would he and his foal survive?

As if in response, a few weak blades of grass started emerging through the frost around his hooves. They were sluggish and pale, more yellow than green. Alvarr couldn't make himself eat them. Instead, he was alarmed at the weakness of his power. If that was the best he could do, he and his foal would surely starve and eventually die.

A few more tips appeared, pushing their way up through the frosted earth. I should eat. If not for himself, for his growing child.

He bit off the few mouthfuls. The grass tasted bitter, and the frost had already gotten to it, but at least it was fresh.

Elder Pastor had also told him something else. In the quiet, Alvarr could think about it without distraction. Young mage, the old man had said, his fathomless eyes worried, though it is not our people's way, the sire... of your foal. Do you know who it is?

When Alvarr had nodded, the Elder had encouraged him to let "the sire" know. But the mage knew all too well that Laren did not want a mate. He probably did not want a foal, either.

The mage was trying to be practical, but the truth of his thoughts made him sad. Alvarr could hardly get the cold grass past his tight throat.

He took a few steps to shake off the emotion. It only makes sense, he told himself fiercely. Laren was desperately worried about the survival of the tribe. And, anyway, what could the leader do about a foal? It wasn't as though Laren was a mare who knew about the birthing of foals. Even if he did have experience, Alvarr's foaling would not be like a normal mare's.

Alvarr raised his head and tossed his reddish-brown mane. The mage would just have to trust in Nature; there was nothing else he could do. But his faith had not steered him wrong; it had already taken him well beyond a normal stallion's life. Somehow, he was still alive and strong.

That's right, Alvarr thought. I have crossed the border of the night-fear. I have seen true visions of our ancestors. I've gone beyond any other stallion's experience.

His horn started to glow. Startled, Alvarr realized he had forgotten about it, but it was a reminder of yet another way he was different. He remembered the trees crashing into each other after he'd been changed, and the hot blood of the beast running down his face, dripping from his horn. And, I have... killed. Not even the leader, or even massive Nassor, could say that.