Stallion Mage: A Horse Shifter Mpreg Romance (COMPLETE)

A Mage's Determination (1/2)

The new stream seemed to give everyone hope. In just a few days, thick spears of grass had shot up along its long bank, and Alvarr often saw stallions looking at it. Alvarr paced along the bank. The strange thing is, no one as taken a single bite. At least, as far as the mage could tell.

Alvarr did not need to eat it. With the trickle of power he had been able to manage,e he had been growing his own grass in secluded areas, leaving the food for others. But why hadn't anyone touched the grass along the water. He knew they were hungry.

It couldn't be because the grass was grown by magic. Surely, hunger would overcome superstition... wouldn't it? But the mage had a sinking feeling that it was true.

Despite himself, Alvarr felt a stab of impatience at the stallions' ignorance. The grass still came from the earth. It wasn't made of magic. Would they let their fears lead them to starvation?

Last winter had been Alvarr's first cold season with the stallions. it had been mild enough that green grass still grew in some parts. And before that, there had been enough rains during the autumn to fill the fields before the cold came, and winter forage had been plenty.

Surely, there have been harsh winters before. How did the stallions survive then?

The grass was as high as the mage's knee. He bent and twisted a handful of it, and found a sharp rock on the sandy bank. With it, he severed the grass stems near the bottom. Alvarr cut another handful, and another, until he had a pile of fragrant green on the ground near his feet.

"What are you doing?" Barron stood by him in his four-legged form.

"I don't know, exactly," Alvarr admitted, sawing through more stems. "But no one is eating the stream's grass. Maybe, if I broke it off and moved it somewhere else..."

Barron's slender face dipped up and down in a slow nod.

"Why haven't you eaten any?" Alvarr asked.

His friend swished his tail. "I am small. I do not need it, though I am hungry. I can find enough to sustain me."

"You, too, were saving it for the others," the mage said, letting his hair slide over his face to hide it. He felt a little ashamed of himself. He'd been so quick to assume it was the tribe's fear of magic, but what if they were all just saving it for those who needed it more?

Barron changed to his two-legged form and shivered. "It's been a long time since I took man-shape in the snow. It's cold! How can you stand it for so long?"

The mage shrugged. He didn't want to tell Barron about being with foal, and how it was getting harder to shift to four legs. It was no one else's business. Everyone will find out one way or another, but until then, I want to keep it as my secret. "Magic," was all he said.

"Like the Elders," Barron agreed. He twisted stalks together and severed them as he'd seen Alvarr do. "It's not fresh, but what if we delivered it to people's dwellings?"

"Everyone?" Alvarr looked doubtfully down the length of the small stream's bank. Though green grass grew all along it, he didn't think there would be more than a mouthful for everyone if they divided it equally.

"We'll only cut enough for the Elders, then," Barron said. "They are old and it's probably harder for them to forage. I've never seen the Elders on four legs."

"It doesn't seem to happen often," Alvarr murmured. But both he and Barron had not been with the tribe for long.

"And Laren. We should leave some for him," Barron said.