Stallion Mage: A Horse Shifter Mpreg Romance (COMPLETE)

A Mage's Situation (2/2)

The mage could feel himself shaking, or was that still the earth? His energy extended far outside himself, as though Alvarr had become a tree root growing through the ground, forcing his way through hard earth and stone.

More hooves sounded on the ground, but Alvarr could pay them no mind. He tasted old roots and smelled the hidden depths of spring far below the snow and ice. With a flare of power, he stirred the life within; now, perhaps, it would bloom when the time came.

"Stop!"

The commanding voice took hold of Alvarr's conscious mind, and with a wrench, he pulled himself free of Nature's power.

When he did, he stumbled. The mage would have collapsed into the water had Barron not pulled his head forward.

His hooves found solid ground, and he folded at the knees and blinked his eyes open. White light no longer streamed from his horn. All around him, stallions of the tribe had gathered in a circle, keeping their distance.

What happened? Alvarr shuddered, suddenly very cold.

Barron gave a high, thin shout. "He needs shelter." Then, to Alvarr, "Can you shift? It would be easy to... to carry you."

'I'll do that," Laren said, stepping forward.

But Alvarr shook them both off. "I'm all right," he said, getting to his feet. He was just exhausted, but it was not the terrible drain he had felt after healing.

He examined the stream that now ran from the river and extended toward the camp. It looked natural, a ribbon of water through the earth, as though it had always been there. The stream was wide enough that they would have to leap over it if they didn't want to get wet, and there were even small banks that looked as though they had been worn away by time.

This is what I am meant to do. I am not a healer, but moving the earth is my ability. Inside him, Alvarr still felt the soft, small touch of his foal like a tiny warm light.

"How far does it go?" the mage wondered out loud.

A quick stallion turned cantered away down its length, his hooves thudding on the wet ground.

Alvarr finally looked up at the crowd. At least half the tribe had gathered there. "Can anyone tell me what happened? What did it look like?"

Cantril finally stepped forward and bowed his head in a little dip. "Like a vine growing over the ground, only it was water."

Laren's great gray body stood next to his. "It is well that the stallion tribe has a mage," he said quietly. Then, he raised his voice. "Brothers, we fear magic. It is our instinct. But without our mage, we would have died."

There were murmurs of agreement. Though none of them came closer to Alvarr, he couldn't blame them. He was not comfortable with his own power; how could he expect anyone else to be?

A cantering stallion made them all turn. It was the one who had left. "The stream reaches almost all the way to the camp," he said in amazement.

Slowly, Alvarr made his way home along the new stream, with Barron on one side and the leaden on the other. Though around them, there was only bare trees and snow-covered ground, the earth by the stream bed smelled wet and fertile.

Please, let there be food as well as water, Alvarr prayed. If there was not, he did not know if he would work another miracle.

Both Elder Mastok and Elder Sevan were waiting for him when they returned. Clearly, they had heard about Alvarr's feat, and ran to him, putting their aged hands on his coat to check for anything wrong.

"Alvarr," Elder Sevan said, "you must come inside and rest, if you can shift."

He knows about the foal as well. Alvarr could see it in the strong Elder's worried expression. With a small effort, he shifted to man-shape and shivered. It is colder, but at least I can conserve energy like this.

Laren stood a little distance away. "I will talk to you soon," he said with a shake of his mane. "I must lead the others out to forage now." He tossed his proud head and started calling the others to go out for the day's food.

Alvarr watched him trot away. At least the leader had recovered his spirit. I suppose he has the hardest time of all. How could Laren not be in despair, having to lead the tribe farther and farther out to forage every day, and seeing them become thinner and thinner?

He must feel like there is nothing left he can do. And the mage couldn't ignore the fact that the leader, too, was growing leaner. Could they hold out until spring? Alvarr doubted it. And when spring came, what would it bring?

Escorted by Elder Sevan, the mage went back inside the healing tent. He shuddered at the scent of smoke and the change in temperature. Inside, it was almost too hot, and the air tasted thick.

Only a faint light came from the skylight, but Alvarr could see the remains of a burnt-out fire laid on the ground. "That is no torch," he said.

"We have heat in plenty," Elder Sevan said, gesturing at a small stack of branches in the center of the large tent. "Fire frightens us, too, but it is a way to stay in man-shape for all who can."

Alvarr went to his partitioned-off pallet and drew his knees close to his chest. His belly was still flat, and he wondered how long it would stay that way. He winced as he heard the strike of two rocks, for it was how the Elders created fires. He trusted the Elders, but Alvarr's instincts still rebelled against the dangerous flame.

Did the ancients feel the same way? With all their ways, did they find a way of mastering it, and their fear? Or perhaps, like the night-fear, it developed after The Rift.

The stallion mage sighed and closed his eyes. Though his childhood memories had naturally faded, especially after his journey, he remembered his last winter with the mares. It had not been this long, desolate stretch to be endured. He had played in the snow with a sand-colored filly, and there was ample dried grass all over the field. And when that grass was gone, they would just travel on.

No. They were driven to keep traveling. Now Alvarr knew that it was ancient punishment for what Alvi did, bred into them just as the need for shelter and safety had been bred into the stallions.

He listened to the Elders talking quietly. No doubt, they spoke about him, and Alvarr could feel their concern pressing in on him. The mage wanted to be in his own dwelling, to not have someone watch over him all the time. He got off the pallet and walked out the door in man-shape, his bare feet padding through the snow. There was no one to stop him.

His dwelling's living structure had died in his long absence. Now, it looked like any other, woven with dead vines and branches, and the cold air smelled like dust and dried leaves. Alvarr touched his pallet's bare surface and wondered if there was any cloth left with which to cover it. It's no use. Already, it felt half-abandoned, as though it, too, was going to crumble like the old dwellings by the river. This is no place to raise a foal.

He left to examine the stream that his power had created. Now, there was a pond a little way from the camp, and into it flowed a small portion of the river. Alvarr drunk the cold water and nodded at its sweetness. It tastes like spring, and no one has to journey far to get it.

As he walked a farther along the water, he noticed that there were, indeed, tiny points of grass springing up from the wet ground around it.

Alvarr cautiously allowed himself to hope. At least there is that.