by Spade, AO
Do not worry. He had survived a predator attack. He still had at least a day to go, if not two, before dehydration would seriously weaken him. I will continue until the sun rises too high, and then rest where I am.
He put his head down and began his dozing stride again. Thoughts of the tribe came to him, and he wondered what they were doing. He imagined the Elders worrying, but Elder Mastok knowing that he'd left for a reason. He could see them staying up nights in the tent to talk. Or to heal those who had gotten sick from the spread of romeya. That was Alvarr's one regret; without him there, romeya might take over. But can any single mage truly control it?
And Laren, pacing the outskirts of the camp from morning until night, gazing off into different directions, perhaps in the hope that the tribe's mage would return. He should be making everyone change to man-shape and gather grass for winter storage.
Alvarr sighed. These were just scenes from his imagination. What was everyone actually doing? Did anyone but the Elders notice he was gone? Did Barron?
His hoof landing on something that jabbed into the soft part of his foot. "Ah," he gasped, lifting it and setting it back down. It was sore, but so was the rest of him. The ground had changed to a rocky soil with many small pebbles and stones. Then, he looked up.
The base of a hill stood before him, its gentle slope rising many feet into the air. He shuffled backwards until he saw that more hills were behind it, green-purple with vegetation.
But it is still day. He did not understand. He couldn't possibly have come all this way. Alvarr twisted his neck to look behind him at the vast, dry land he'd covered.
The hill was more like a small, rounded mountain. He would not be able to climb it safely, not with his injuries. He would have to go around it and find shelter in between the hills.
And if there's another beast, I'll run it through. With a slow shake of his mane, he started circling the base of the rock.
CHAPTER THREE
Safety and Solitude
ALVARR HAD FOUND a sheltered place, almost a cave, between two of the hills on the outside of the range. There, he had slept, but it had been a shallow, uncomfortable rest. His good side stayed pressed to the cold rock, and deep shivers kept waking him. When he gave up his attempt at sleep at sunrise, he could tell that his shivering had drawn deeply on his energy. He could not go another day without food and water.
Head down, he started a careful walk up the smallest hill where he could see green, and almost collapsed in relief when he reached the edge of a large patch of growing plants.
He tore mouthful after mouthful of juicy plants. They were not grass; they had small leaves that held water inside them. When he bit them, they burst with a rush of moisture and left a tingling feeling in his mouth. A similar scent arose from the plants as he trampled them. He went between this cool grass and some long sweet grass that tasted more like summer than fall.
The land here had a very different energy. When Alvarr reached to touch Nature's power, it responded with something like enthusiasm, as though it was greeting him. The mage relaxed in a way he had only been able to achieve alone in his birthplace in the forest.
His nose led him to a small stream, and he drank until he gasped for air. Then, the mage bit one plant after another until his stomach was finally full.
I should clean the wound. The creature had pierced Alvarr with a tusk, and that was always a danger. He supposed he could shift to man-shape, but he feared how the wound would change on his softer human skin.
I will do that after I rest more. He was full of grass, and it was making him sleepy. The mage stood at the top of a smaller hill now, but all around him were taller peaks, their size approaching small mountains. In front of him was another rounded, grassy hill. I can manage that today. His wound and leg already felt better than they had the day before, which meant that no wound sickness had set in.
The climb went easily; Alvarr paced himself, and food was plentiful along the way. At the top of the hill, the mage looked down into the valley between this and the rest of the peaks, and his spirits lifted. In the valley, a wider stream ran, possibly as deep as his knee, and a line of dark, tall evergreen trees grew with a thick bed of dried needles underneath.
There, I can rest safely in man-shape. How his body ached to just be still. Just a little more, he told himself. The mage stumbled down the hill toward the promise of a soft bed under a tree. Even his side hurt less at the thought of the deep sleep he could only achieve in his two-legged form.
At the bottom of the valley, he approached the wide stream, intending to cross. Cold water splashed his underside as he waded into the middle. He turned his head, finally daring to look at his gash with his wide vision. Dried, dark blood streaked his coat. He needed to wash his wound.
This was going to be unpleasant. Gritting his teeth, Alvarr shifted to man shape.
The cold shocked his feet and lower legs. His teeth chattered and he ran out of the water, shivering. The he looked at his wound, which ran over the side of his stomach in this form.
A sick dizziness washed over him. Alvarr put his hand over the gash, then slid it over his stomach. That had been far too close, he thought, pressing the heel of his hand over his navel.
But too close to what? The beast's tusks had not missed, after all.
Clean it. Get it done. Alvarr held his breath and forced his legs to march him back into the icy water. He couldn't touch the wound; in man-shape, he could tell that not only was the skin and muscle torn, he was also bruised to the bone. He had to crouch until the water covered the wound and wait for the current to carry away all the blood and dirt.
He was gasping by the time the gash was clean. As soon as he could, he shifted back to four-legs, wincing as his shake flung water everywhere and pulled at his injury.
Our man-shapes are so soft and weak, he thought. No matter how big a man was, he was bigger and stronger on four legs, and could withstand the elements much better.
"But in man-shape," he said, walking under a tree, "we can just sleep on the ground." It was odd to hear his own voice, out of place against the quiet sounds of trees and water. He didn't think he'd spoken since the time he left.
He had scented no predators, nor did he get any feelings of danger. Alvarr lowered himself to the ground and lay down in a bed of dried evergreen needles. It was harder than his pallet in his dwelling, but not so hard that he would not be able to find sleep easily. He put his head down on his arm and relaxed into the ground, smiling at the scent of evergreens.
Closing his eyes, he could almost make himself believe he was at home.
White flowers covered the ground in the clearing. Alvarr walked through them, releasing their clean fragrance, as he made his way to the pond. He shook petals and leaves out of his long hair. I hope the water is warm.
"You didn't wait for me," a male voice said behind him.
Alvarr turned and smiled. Laren came toward him, emerging from the trees, and the mage admired the way he moved so easily though he was a big man. His eyes went to Laren's strong thighs, and warmth danced in his stomach. Laren's thick member was plump, half-extended and swinging as he walked.
The big man came right up to the mage and put his hands on Alvarr's slim waist. It was a familiar gesture, and Alvarr took a step forward so that they were almost touching from chest to thigh. Warmth started to build between the small space in between their bodies.
Laren worked his hands under the mage's hair and stroked his back. "Why didn't you wait?"
"I knew you would find me," Alvarr said, and tilted his head up to look at Laren's face. His lips parted.
Laren's mouth curved up in a smile, then he brought his face close and touched Alvarr's lips with his own.
Alvarr leaned against the larger leader's chest. Laren caught him and wrapped his strong arms around the mage, pulling him in.
"Your beauty is like none other," Laren said roughly. "Every time I see you, I am helpless to look anywhere else." He mouthed wet marks alon
g the mage's neck, sucking at the sensitive skin there.
Alvarr's heart pounded. No matter how many times they had come together, it always felt new. His slender hands scratched and gripped Laren's back. The muscles moved under his touch. So strong.
The mage moved one of his leg outside the leader's, and a pulsing bliss from his organ resounded through his body. His member, in man-shape, was exquisitely sensitive. It extended against Laren's thigh, and he rocked his hips. Alvarr moaned at the sensation and did it again.
"Want something?" Laren murmured, moving his own member against Alvarr's stomach. Between them, it was a hot, hard line, proportional to his man-shape and trailing liquid all over Alvarr's skin.
The leader's words teased, but his body told the mage something different. Laren was as eager to come together as Alvarr. The mage smiled and reached up to bury his hands in Laren's thick hair.
To his own surprise, he pulled, and forced the leader's head down so he could whisper in Laren's ear. "What do you think?"
Laren's low laugh rippled from his throat, and he skimmed his large hand down Alvarr's side and slipped it in between their bodies. With one finger, he stroked the length of the mage's thickening member.
Alvarr inhaled. His skin could feel every detail.
"But you're not as far along as I am," Laren murmured. "Let me help you." His hand closed around Alvarr's manhood, encasing most of it in a sensitive grip.
The mage's heart beat faster. Laren held a very fragile piece of his body, but Alvarr trusted him. In fact, he wanted more from the leader. His hips pushed his erect member into the bigger man's hand.
Laren made a loose fist and stroked the mage from base to tip.
"Laren!" Alvarr cried. He surged to aching hardness. He squeezed the leader's leg between his thighs and clutched his strong shoulders.
A loud whistle sounded in his ear. "What?" Then, the mage heard it again.
He blinked his eyes open to see a bird with a red crest perched on his shoulder. Alvarr sat up and discovered he'd been lying in a bed of fir needles. That's right, I'm in man-shape. I dreamed of mating with Laren. Out of season. And on two legs.
The details had already started to fade. He closed his eyes and tried to remember. They'd been at a pond, but not one that he recognized. Laren had come, smiled at him, and... It was all so natural. So unlike their other encounters, which had been intense, but didn't have the ease that they'd shared in the dream. And now that he was awake, the idea of mating in two-legged form was very unusual.
Though he had seen it for himself. Rulea and her stallion shifted in the woods during the Time of Mating, but Alvarr didn't think that it happened often. Not when mating on four legs could be done.
Something was touching Alvarr's stomach. The mage looked down and saw his own member at full hardness. Though he'd spent a fair amount of time on two-legs, he'd never seen it this way before. The way it was in the dream, and Laren's as well.
Alvarr remembered the sensation from his dream and ran a curious finger over it. He sucked in his breath at the skin's sensitivity. Laren had gripped his member when they mated in the woods that time, and it had been a vague, pleasurable pressure.
But this was far from the same. He gripped himself and bit his lip to stifle his moan. Maybe there are reasons to mate in this form.
He reclined back on the ground, propping himself up with one elbow. The mage wanted to hide; this didn't seem like something he should be doing. But he was alone here.
He slowly closed his hand around himself again where the shaft met his body and moved his fist up toward the tip. His stomach clenched and he took his hand away. Lowering himself fully onto his back, he stared at the treetops as he took a breath. Then, he stroked himself again.
The feeling was almost too much, and yet he chased it by moving his hips up, sending his shaft into his own hand. His palm caught the tip, and his whole body tensed. Far too much! His thin, soft skin was unused to being touched, especially here. Alvarr formed a looser grip and avoided the very end of his human member. That had been uncomfortable.
His eyes half-closed, he found a slow rhythm of up-and-down, moving into his own hand. The mage's long reddish hair was spread under him, and the cool air touched his heated form.
This is very different from mating with Laren. Still, it pleased him in much the same way. With his other hand, he stroked the skin of his chest and his legs, imagining Laren doing the same. He explored his own slender thighs, and the muscles jumped under his fingertips.
Underneath his member was his hanging sac. Spreading his legs, he touched the shape of the delicate orbs with his fingers. Here, too, was so sensitive, he could hardly bear it, but it intensified the feeling in his engorged member.
Streaks of heat gathered in his low stomach, which had contracted so much that the muscles were hard. His hips moved faster, all on their own, and a drop of liquid trickled from the tip of his shaft. He couldn't resist gathering it on his finger and spreading it around, just below the end.
"Oh!" He arched his back right off the ground. Was that good? He didn't know. He firmed his grip, riding the edge of discomfort, and his eyes rolled back. Is this what Laren experienced when he put himself inside me?
Alvarr wondered what else Laren had intended to do in his dream. Did he even know, himself? It's not like he had mated in man-shape. Would Laren just keep stroking me like this? Or perhaps rub his own hot length against Alvarr's own... I'd like to feel what that's like outside my dreams.
Maybe, the leader would want to mount him in man-shape. Was that even possible? Alvarr was so sensitive like this, perhaps it would be as good as being mounted on four legs.
Alvarr moved his head from side to side, tangling his long hair. He started panting, and his thighs burned. His soft sac drew up close to his body, and his organ was so hard, so full, like it was going to burst in his hand. The stretched skin ached as he moved his fist up and down his own length, but it was a good kind of hurt.
But then, he accidentally touched the tip again, and it was like lightning had struck that very spot. It encased his member and sac in lines of light pulled tighter and tighter.
Alvarr squeezed his eyes shut. Sparks formed behind them, and a glow of energy surrounded him. On instinct, the mage rolled to the side in a tight curl, unable to keep his hand from moving. Something's going to happen. Something... now!
A hot wave swept through him, and liquid spurted out the end of his member. Sweat trickled from his temple to the pine needles on the ground. Another wave hit him, and another jet of liquid erupted and hit him in his own chest.
This happens in man-shape, too! The mage was unable to do anything more than coax it all out of him with his closed hand. Out! Get it all out!
Alvarr moaned, eyes still closed, not daring to look. His hips jerked, and two more heated spurts came, splashing back over his hand. Uncaring of his sensitivity, he squeezed his fist to milk the rest out of him. To his relief, there was only one more bout of his own seed.
And then, relief. A coolness descended on him, the kind that came after great exertion. He lay in the pine needles for a few breaths. That had not been the same as mating, at the end.
He kept his eyes closed as he came back to himself. Mating with Laren hadn't had that sense of abandon. He'd been helpless to stop the surge, and his body had just acted. It was interesting, but I don't think I'll do that again.
Behind his closed lids, Alvarr noticed something: the light had changed. He had not been in this spot for long enough for the sun to move. He opened his eyes to slits and saw nothing but green around him. He sat up, making his own fluids run down toward his stomach. His peace was replaced by a dull, hollow shock.
Around him, the land had not just grown, but re-formed. What used to be one tall hill was now a series of smaller hills covered in green grass, summer-thick. The young evergreen tree he'd been lying under looked as though it had been growing for countless generations.
At least the air was still cool, n
ot like summer, but that was a small consolation. His hand went to his stomach, where a ball of dread had started to form, as though he had swallowed rocks. And his wound was nothing more than a scar. Like the tree, it was as though much more time had passed.
He hadn't meant to alter anything, but he had.
The stallions are right to fear magic, after all. I, too, have the kind of power that could destroy tribes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Magic Is Here
HE WANTED TO leave this place. Anyone else would have thought it beautiful, but to the mage, it was more evidence that he was abnormal. He stood at the top of the hill and forced himself to face his reworking of the land. He'd been so sure that his earth magic could never harm, that it would never be destructive, but anything of this scale could kill. Like the mare-mage that had killed so many, he could not control his power.
That could have been any of the stallions. I could have collapsed dwellings and swallowed people up with power such as this.
He forced himself into the cold stream once more. Gritting his teeth, he washed away traces of his own seed, careful not to press too hard where the wound from the beast used to be. He had no wish to repeat that experience.
Why had this not happened with Laren? Magic had been at work when they mated, but as far as he could remember, the land had stayed the same shape. Perhaps it was because he was in man-shape. He smoothed his hands down his chest and stomach. He didn't feel any different, or any more powerful. Elder Mastok would know. Laren... might know.
Standing in the stream, he closed his eyes, wishing to smell the familiar home scents, and to hear hoofbeats and voices. But even if he had been able to find the stallion camp again, he knew he had to keep on.
