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Serving the Herd - Further Changes

Written by Solstice for ModMyths

This story is, obviously, a continuation of Serving the Herd. ModMyths wanted another chapter to the tale, and I was quite happy to do so. I'm not going to go into much exposition about what happened in Serving the Herd, since the first part of the story is readily available on both Sofurry.com and FurAffinity.net.

As with any other tale I write, this one can be freely distributed, but is not to be sold in any way (except by myself or ModMyths).

1.

Tas'nah greeted the dawn over the great plains as she always did; eyes wide open, marveling at the great world before her, ripe for the taking. As the first rays of the morning sun cast her shadow after the vast open fields of grass and wild rice, she gave a sweet little smile. Everything she saw was hers, and in moments she would find herself, as she had almost every morning for a year, galloping with not a care in all the worlds, at speeds that sometimes made her feel as if she was flying. She would always find her way back to her herd, though.

She stamped her hooves impatiently, wanting to dash forward, but this day, she would have company, and it wouldn't do to leave her behind. "I wonder if she remembered," Tas'nah murmured to herself. It had been eight months, to the day, since she had been captured and bonded to her mate Brak'las. Though the change she'd been forced to endure had been against her will, she didn't bear any grudges. As had once been explained to her, it was the only way the centaur could propagate their species as a whole.

"Elijah Fiennes," Tas'nah murmured to herself, "Where would you be now? Still observing? Still wondering?" She shook her mane, disturbed that for a few moments she'd had to actually think to remember the name she'd once known as her. The life she'd been forced to leave behind.

She felt rather than heard the presence of her dearest friend, Mir'han, as she stepped up behind her. "Haven't heard that name for a very long time, Tass. You haven't spoken it aloud outside of our little project for a quite a while." The smaller, black haired mare stepped up beside Tas'nah and laid a hand on her flank. "Don't tell me you miss it. Do I really have to remind you about the endless days of fighting for research grants to study a race that nobody but you and I gave more than half a shit about? Hell, you have even less to be sad about. You didn't have a husband."

Tas'nah laughed ruefully, "No. Just... thinking. Why are we even bothering, Hana? I mean, really. Brak'las supports it, even though he finds our project an amusing diversion at best, and an unwanted distraction from the foals at the worst. What have we learned, really? The basics of our old language at best. And for what? The listening posts have shut down completely. There's no evidence that anyone has been there."

Mir'han grunted almost angrily, "I'm a bit offended that they didn't send any search parties for us. I wonder what the story about that was." She sighed and looked down at her forelegs, stamping her feet impatiently. "I miss Daved. That's all I miss. Seriously, look at this? Do you remember anything so beautiful on Prime? We were packed together like sardines. Here, it's so wide open and beautiful. And I have Tereva. She's adorable."

"Hah. How is the little thing? I wonder if mine will be a natural-born female. Brak'las and I haven't picked a name just in case," Tas'nah said, chuckling. "If it's a stallion, I'm sure he'll make a lucky mare very happy someday, you know. Maybe even Tereva, eh?. Would make sense, wouldn't it?" She looked back at Mir'han, "I never asked you, why didn't you fight it? Why did you just give yourself up to the Herd? You had more to lose by being made into part of the Herd than I did. But you just sat there. You didn't fight the change."

Shrugging, Mir'han heaved another little sigh, "What was the point? I think I was in shock. My only concern was my child. My dear little boy... now a girl, I guess. When the change finished, I... I felt her inside me. I could feel her life in me. You know how it feels. You can feel the life inside you. Truth be told, I'd always studied the centaur, wishing I could run with them... be with them. Be one of them. When they told me there was nothing I could do, that my dear child was safe and would be honoured as no other, a natural-born mare... I just gave in. Maybe I held out a little hope that Daved would come and find me, but... he never did. Nobody did. Anyway, where are we going today, Tass?" Mir'han figured a quick subject change was certainly in order.

A wide grin was Tas'nah's only response, and she set out at a trot, beckoning her friend to follow. With no other choice but to follow or be left behind, Mir'han grumbled and followed along. There was something very strange going on... Tas'nah had some sort of surprise in store by the look on her face, and Mir'han didn't want to miss it.

Neither of them noticed two dark specks far out in the distance that followed their departure from the Herd.

-----/----------

Mir'han had only a few moments to react when Tas'nah broke out into an open gallop as soon as the Herd's camp was out of sight. She gave out a joyful, whooping yell as she did so, calling out to Mir'han, "Come on! We have a lot of ground to cover. Brak'las isn't expecting us back with the Herd for a couple days, but that's no excuse to dawdle."

Shaking her head, Mir'han complied, even though she knew that Tas'nah wouldn't leave her alone on the plain. Not for the last time, she couldn't help but feel jealous of her friend, who had adapted to the life of a breeding mare with relative ease. Despite her earlier words, her heart ached for her husband, and she'd had to restrain herself from running away from the Herd many times in the couple weeks leading up to the birth of her foal. Tas'nah's presence had anchored her there... that and the unwelcome attentions of the Storran Herd, whose chieftain had grown bitter that two breeding mares had been taken away from him.

Mir'han let herself fall into the galloping run almost mechanically, following Tas'nah's lead for hours. When Tas'nah abruptly stopped, Mir'han almost ran right into her. "Tass, what the hell? Are we there?" she asked, perplexed. It was then that she realized where they were. One of the border totems of the Great Herd stood maybe twenty meters ahead of them, the grim inscriptions on them meant to warn trespassers away facing away from them. "Wait... we're near the border? Which one?"

"Ours, Hana. This is our border. The one that Brak'las and his lieutenants crossed to come and capture us," Tas'nah said, subdued. "I had to beg Brak'las to let me go alone with you to our old listening post. I'm coming to say goodbye. I'm giving up the project. Nobody's been by, nobody's wanted to talk. We have two days before my bond with Brak'las starts to hurt. I figure we can dismantle the listening post and destroy the data we collected. I'm going to stop our language project. We're no closer to speaking the language than we started... we can just read. Doesn't really help that we can't sound out the words. We've both forgotten what they sound like. So I'm destroying the post. Serving the herd by making sure if anyone ever comes back... they wont' find anything usable. If you want to do that."

Of all the things Tas'nah could have said that Mir'han had thought she'd never hear coming from her best friend's lips, the declaration that she wanted to abandon their attempts to relearn Prime English would have been at the top of the list. "Why?" Mir'han breathed, confused by her friend's change of heart. Mir'han herself hadn't ever had much enthusiasm for it, especially after it had become quite obvious that there wouldn't be anyone to rescue them, but Tas'nah had shown the fervour of the old researcher she'd used to be.

"I just... I'm going to foal soon. I'm going to be a mother. I feel Brak'las love for me day after day through our bond... and I guess I don't want to stop feeling that. I mean, if we manage to convince a researcher who we are, are they going to just sit back and let us stay like this? No, they won't. The Infinity Project takes a dim view of people that 'go native'." Tas'nah made a sound that was somewhere between a whinny and a sigh. "I'd lose all this beauty, this joy. It feels wonderful to go on my runs. It's come time to choose between this life and some dim hope that I can go back to a life I don't want anymore."

Mir'han smiled and then trotted up to her friend, then leaned in to kiss her. Cupping one of her heavy breasts and toying with the thick nipple, she let out a soft whinny of happiness. Over the last eight months, she and Tas'nah had learned that the view of sex and play among both mares and stallions was certainly not the puritanical, almost methodical view that many people on Prime had held. It had been almost natural for the two old friends to experience some sort of connection. "Alright, Tass. Let's go."

Tossing her fiery red mane, Tas'nah set off at a trot. Their old listening post was only a fifteen minute jog away... and there was a lot of work to do.

2.

"Tas'nah... something's wrong here..." Mir'han said nervously as they approached the listening post. The old stand of trees looked different, somehow. Maybe it was her memory playing tricks with her, but the place looked like it had been too well-preserved in the last eight months. In fact, it looked to be in better condition than the last time they'd been there. "Someone's been here. We should go."

Tas'nah stamped her hooves on the short grass near the listening post and shook her head, ears twitching. "You're just seeing things. There's nobody here, Hana. If you really want, you can keep watch or something. Then when I come out, you can go in and take what you want." Tas'nah gestured expansively at the open plain around them. The tall grass and wild wheat that started about a hundred yards away was the only thing moving, and the only feature in the distance was the rocky, weathered castle ruins that had once served as their main research station. "Do you see anything?"

Sighing, Mir'han shook her head. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she couldn't shake the feeling that nagged at her. There was something menacing, something just... wrong about the place. "Be careful, okay? I'll watch out." Forcing a smile for her friend, she patted the saddlebag at her side, "And be quick, or I'll eat lunch without you."

"Alright, alright," Tas'nah said, amused. She set off toward the stand of trees and began to search for the catch to the secret entrance that they'd crafted a year and a half ago. Just as she was about to reach out for the latch that would open the secret entrance into the listening post concealed within the stand of trees, Mir'han screamed at her, voice panicked.

"Tass, get away from there! There's a-" Mir'han cried. The instant that Tas'nah had reached out for the latch, that feeling of menace had coalesced into a terrified certainty that they were in danger. It was too late, though; even though Tas'nah had managed to jerk her head and hand away, the crack of a rifle went off, and the mare shrieked in pain, clutching the side of her head, blood pouring out between her fingers.

Virtually leaping to her friend's side, Mir'han pulled that hand away, expecting the worst. Fighting the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm her reason, the younger mare inspected Tas'nah's wound. Though her hands were soon slick with blood, it became obvious that her friend had been incredibly lucky. The top half of her right ear was in tatters, and her temple had been very lightly grazed by the bullet, which was where most of the blood was coming from. She fumbled in her packs for some bandage to bind the wound, but stopped short when she heard the sound of someone stepping out of the listening post.

Mir'han turned to face their attacker, who had an old 'antique' hunting rifle raised and pointed at the two mares. Her face twisted into a rictus of shock and fear when she saw his face. "Oh my god... Daved..." she breathed. How many times had Mir'han imagined meeting her husband again? How many times had she expected to see him come to rescue her, how many times had she wished that she could see him again. But not like this... not holding a hunting rifle, pointed directly at her.

Mir'han moaned. The look of confused hatred on Daved's face was sickening; he looked so different from the last time she'd seen him. He'd aged what seemed ten years, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was unshaven, his beard a scraggly mess, and once golden-brown hair had turned partially gray. But the look on his face was the most startling and terrifying thing... Daved didn't hate anyone. He was a forgiving, loving soul, and never held a grudge. To see such wrath, such contempt on a face that she'd always remembered as happy and guileless nearly tore her heart in two.

David brandished the rifle and snarled at Mir'han, spitting out a string of words that she didn't understand. He looked as confused as he was angry, and Mir'han couldn't blame him. Here were two fully-geared centaur mares, one of which looked something like his old wife.

For all her and Tas'nah's study of the words on the datapads and papers they'd taken from their old camp, neither of them had ever been able to remember how the words had sounded. Feeling tears welling up in her eyes, Mir'han held out her hands in supplication, begging Daved to recognize her. She couldn't have changed so much in a year that she would be completely unfamiliar. How could she make him know that he'd just shot his old friend and hat he was pointing his gun at the wife he must have thought dead?

Mir'han let out a pathetic whimper when Daved took a few more steps forward, pressing the barrel of the rifle right between her breasts. Her mind reeling, she cast about frantically for something, anything that would make Daved realize his error. Then it finally came to her... she looked right at Daved and said, "Thomas Reid." She silently prayed that the name that she and Daved had chosen for their unborn son would jolt him out of his rage.

The name had the desired effect. Daved's eyes widened in shock and horror, and he dropped the rifle to the ground, his eyes wide with disbelief and horror. He shook his head, taking a few steps back, and just repeated a single word over and over. Mir'han didn't need to know English in order to know that Daved was saying 'no' repeatedly. She took a few steps forward and then leaned down and embraced him. "Daved Van Neyes."

Tas'nah stepped forward, holding one of her hands to her tattered ear, blood seeping between her fingers. She waited for a while, letting Mir'han and Daved have their reunion before she cleared her throat. "Hana... datapad. He can't understand us. But written words are written words. We can start with that. Hurry up, I'm in pain."

Mir'han gasped, looking up at Tas'nah. She let Daved go and bent down to retrieve one of the forgotten datapads. She typed out a few words clumsily, hoping that she and her friend had learned enough to communicate with the dumbstruck man.

-Daved. Essa equals self. Daved damage Eli ear. Heal pack now. - When Daved took the pad it from Mir'han's outstretched hand and looked at what she'd written, he frowned in consternation. He shook his head dumbly, then typed out a message of his own, handing it back. He reached into his backpack and withdrew a tube of ointment that Mir'han recognized as 'quick-heal', then handed it over to Tas'nah.

-What happened? How? Tell me.- was Daved's response.

Mir'han quickly typed an answer for Daved. -Long how. Long happen. Listen. Teach. Learn, Daved.-

After Tas'nah used the quick-heal ointment to stop the bleeding on the tattered remnants of her right ear, it took many hours and long into the night before she and Mir'han could tell their tale. But what Daved had to tell them had been almost as shocking as their own story.

After Eli and Essa had disappeared from their research site, there had been a cursory investigation. It had been quickly discovered that the centaur had kidnapped them. But rather than mount a rescue operation, the Infinity Project board of directors had elected to abandon all operations on the world of Horsehome. There were much more profitable places they could go, places where the indigenous population wasn't quite so hostile.

When Daved had tried to raise hell and get them to at least try to rescue their wayward researchers, he'd been firmly rebuffed. "Your wife and Doctor Fiennes were both warned of the danger. We have a strict non-interference policy with existing civilizations. Horsehome is off-limits. Period." He'd even tried to use his contacts in Prime government to force the issue, but he'd been completely unable to get the Infinity Project to budge.

Daved had taken matters into his own hands about three months before, and sold all his possessions. He'd bribed a few government officials to get into the Project's main gate complex, then bribed a few more people to get one of the Infinity staff to gate him to Horsehome, knowing he would have no way to get home afterward, since the Project had done everything it could to ensure they'd left nothing behind there. It had been a one-way trip, a mad bid for unthinking revenge on the creatures he'd thought had taken his wife's life.

There would never be anyone coming for Daved, or the two centaur that had once been Elijah Fiennes and Essa Van Neyes. The three were now permanently on the world of Horsehome, with no way to get back.

The old listening post cast a shadow over the grass in front of Tas'nah as dawn came the next day. The reunion between her dear friend and Daved brought up some difficult questions. The rules had always been clear... humans had to be changed, so they could be bred. In the year that Tas'nah and Mir'han had been with their herd, there had been five more captures in the foothills of what, on Prime, had been the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Each of the other five Herds had gotten one of those new mares.

If Daved was found, he'd be given over to Brak'las and Elder Rui for the Rites of Transfiguration at the next gathering of the Great Herd. But separating Mir'han from her husband after their joyous reunion, however awkward, would be cruel. She looked back to the peacefully sleeping forms of Mir'han and Daved, who laid with hands intertwined.

Daved had certainly taken it well, the revelation of his wife's change. When he'd found out their child was still alive as well, if also made female by Mir'han's change, he'd been overjoyed. Tas'nah supposed that finding out that the woman and child Daved had thought dead were very much alive was enough to make him ignore that they had been drastically changed. Tas'nah snorted loudly, enough to make Daved start awake and blink at her in confusion. He tapped out a few words on his datapad and held it out to her.- Something wrong, Eli?-

Tas'nah shook her head and half-whinnied, half-laughed, then typed out a response, -No. Daved amusing. Had more difficult coping with self = Tas'nah rather than Essa = Mir'han.-

David sighed, looking at his still-sleeping wife and then smiling. -Essa still female. Eli not still male. Eli = mare designation Tas'nah-

Tas'nah shrugged, then looked out over the plain, concentrating on her bond with Brak'las. Her eyes widened when she realized that she felt her mate much closer than the night before. She reached up to her tattered ear and then whinnied in understanding, trying to quell the panic that she felt rising within. He would have felt the pain of that injury, and the resulting terror. Knowing him, he would have set out as soon as he could after feeling that. The trip there had taken at most twelve hours... and they'd been there for almost ten. "Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid!" she cursed. "Hana, get up, we've got some trouble."

Snapping awake, Mir'han stumbled to a standing position within seconds, upending Daved onto the ground. Her eyes were wide and her ears a-twitch with worry. "What is it, Tass?" She asked, "It's not a drago, is it?" Drago were another oddity of Horsehome, skilled reptilian predators that seemed to specifically hunt out and kill centaur for nothing more than sport. Rumour and speculation had it that the last remnants of human civilization on Horsehome had created the things for that specific purpose in a last-ditch attempt to win their war. Considering that the few fortified human camps in the foothills kept Dragos for guards that were more docile than sheep in the presence of their masters, there was a lot of credibility to the rumour.

"No. Brak'las is coming for me. Best I figure, he's about two hours out, but I could be wrong. He would have known the instant I got shot."

Mir'han's reaction was immediate. She knelt on the ground, motioning for Daved to climb onto her back, "Then we run and we hide Daved, say that a hunter from Prime shot you, then flew away."

Even though he couldn't understand what Tas'nah and Mir'han were saying, Daved understood there was some sort of urgency to what was being said. He gathered what supplies he had, and shook his head, pointing at the stand of trees that housed the derelict listening post.

"No. It's... it's too late, Tass... look..." Mir'han was pointing out towards the horizon, where five shapes were approaching in the early morning light. "I think he's here already... I can't let them take Daved. I can't let them do that to him."

Tas'nah wilted; she'd apparently grossly misjudged the amount of time they would have before Brak'las arrived. There was no point in having Daved hide. Just as they could see the approaching centaur, so could they be seen as three distinct shapes. "I don't think there's a way we can avoid it, Hana. What would you do? Run away with Daved and leave Tereva behind? How long could you stay away from your foal? How long before a drago caught you?"

Mir'han whimpered, caught between a rock and a hard place. There was no way they could explain away the wound on Tas'nah's head and her tattered ear. Brak'las would do everything he could to hunt down the one who had hurt his mate and threatened the life of their unborn foal. She tapped a message out on her pad, handing it to Daved. -Herd chief comes. Seen us. What to do? Run? Fight for freedom? Get up on back, ride now.-

Daved took the pad, eyes widening. From the story that Tas'nah and Mir'han had told him, he knew just what being caught would mean; he'd join the two mares in being changed and used for breeding. ~Run. Hide me. Figure out later?~ He held his hands up, and Mir'han knelt to help Daved up onto her back. She'd go with him no matter what, and if it meant temporarily leaving her foal, she'd have to do that.

"Oh god no..." Tas'nah said, her voice a low whisper. The terror in her voice was such that even Daved, who didn't know what she'd said, could understand there was something very wrong. Mir'han stepped up, and looked out over the plain toward the approaching five centaur. In moments, she understood just what Tas'nah had realized. One of the centaur was adorned with elaborate barding, and he had two long, hooked and barbed spears strapped to his back. Only one centaur dressed like that, and used that kind of spear.

"Wro'din. That's Wro'din, Tass. That's the chieftain of the Storran herd... and his sons..." Mir'han said, equally horrified. Neither of them had forgotten that the relations between their herd and the Storran had been strained ever since they'd felt themselves 'robbed' of Tas'nah during the last gathering of the Great Herd. Brak'las had used a technicality to take Tas'nah as his mate, not wanting to see someone as obviously spirited as her crushed by the barbaric treatment that the Storran put their mares through. Ever since, the Storran had been seeking a way to get Brak'las herd back for their seeming transgression.

Tas'nah nodded grimly, "They can't mean to take us both, Hana. They want you. Me, they'll have to kill, because Brak'las will know where I am at all times. And if they kill me, they kill Brak'las. With my life connected to his, he'll die within the day."

"They can't be that stupid," Mir'han said, shaking her head. The five centaur were trotting lazily in their direction, as if they arrogantly assumed their quarry captured. Mares from their herd were broken in spirit; docile and servile... even the ones who somehow escaped were caught soon after. The Storran centaur probably expected the two mares to simply wait for them. "Whoever was the next chief of our herd would call them out."

"How? Daved proves the perfect foil. They use his gun to kill me, then kidnap you. They send the Vres'kin herd on a merry chase, looking for a human hunter, while they've taken you to the Storran harem." Tas'nah stated, then looked at the rifle on the ground, an idea forming. She pulled a pad out of her pack, and typed a message on it, handing it to Daved.

-Only two choices now. Storran centaur. Very bad. Will kill me. Take you and Mir'han. Treat like slave. Breed until fall dead from exhaustion or not able to breed. Or you use your gun to scatter, and we run in the direction of Vres'kin. Brak'las on his way. We get to Brak'las, we even out. No escaping being made mare now. Choose fate. Slave or servant of herd?-

Daved read the note, his lips forming into a thin-lipped, grim frown. He nodded, then typed a response, -Better free with you and Essa. And my child. We go to Brak'las- He showed the pad to Mir'han so she'd know the plan. -Will keep gun hidden behind Mir'han's back until close. Point-blank shot. Might hit one, but moving that fast, no guarantee.-

Mir'han bent down, retrieving their packs, and handed the gun back to Daved, who laid it on her back behind her torso, holding it tight. She prayed that he would be able to keep his grip on her while he aimed the rifle, but it seemed as if he'd already considered that. Using a strip of leather, he bound himself to Mir'han, running the leather just under her breasts and over her shoulders to keep him in position. He then tied the other end around his waist, then nodded at them.

At once, the two centaur mares set off at a full gallop directly at Wro'din and his sons. The five centaur stallions stopped short, and four of them lifted weighted nets between them, while the fifth stepped back. Tas'nah, who wasn't burdened by anything but the desperate gallop toward their new assailants, was surprised when she recognized him as Yes'tin, the youngest of the Storran males, and one of the few in that herd that had a shred of honour. If she knew him at all, he wouldn't be comfortable with this, but his loyalty to his chieftain was absolute.

Tas'nah called out, "Right in the middle. It's Yes'tin. Go for him! He'll step away rather than try to hurt us!" Mir'han nodded, and they veered toward the young male. The other four prepared to throw their nets when they realized that the mares weren't about to slow down. Just before they were in range, Daved pulled the rifle and aimed it in their direction, firing as fast as he could.

The reaction from the Storran was as quick as it was predictable. Even with their limited encounters with Prime Earth technology, they knew a gun when they saw it, and so they dropped their nets and scattered. The speed of the mares and Daved's point-blank shooting left them completely unscathed by the weapon, but they took precious moments to gather themselves and set off in a mad chase.

Even with their disorganized confusion, the Storran centaur would catch the mares before long. Tas'nah was heavy with foal, with a month or less left to her, and Mir'han had the added burden of Daved riding her. Unless they managed to get to Brak'las before being captured, their desperate attempt at flight would be all for nothing.

They gave a good chase, but after less than a half hour of flight, the mares were tiring, and when Daved raised the rifle again, he found that he'd spent every last bullet. The first two males ran right past them and stopped a few hundred yards ahead, stretching a line of rope at chest height between them. Tas'nah and Mir'han had no choice but to slow and stop, and try to turn around and try to run at the other three.

Tas'nah swore, and then stopped when she saw that Yes'tin was in the middle, holding middle of his own length of rope as he hung back, while Wro'din and the eldest of his sons were running up to the other two holding either end of the same rope, penning the mares in. The rope strung between them was too low to slip under, and too high for them to jump over. They were caught.

"Well, well," Wro'din's mocking voice sounded as he trotted forward. "Elijah, you little cunt, that was a nice trick. Almost got us. Either that whore-to-be is a bad shot, or we just got lucky." His voice was dripping with venom, and the sadistic centaur held one of his spears at the ready. He would have no trouble killing her. "I'm going to kill you, you know that? Kill you and tear the foal out of your belly."

"My name is Tas'nah, you drago loving piece of shit," Tas'nah spat. Her only hope was that she could keep him occupied until Brak'las arrived. "I'll kill Mir'han before I let you take her or Daved." She wracked her brain, looking for something that would give him pause, and then grinned, saying a little more loudly, "If I were a male, I'd challenge you for leadership and see you dead right now. "

She glanced back to Mir'han, who seemed to have gotten the same idea, and was already typing something on the pad quietly. As carefully as possible, Mir'han handed the pad back to Daved. For once the Storran expectation that females were stupid and docile would work to their advantage, Tas'nah thought. She turned her gaze back to Wro'din just in time to meet a balled-up fist aimed right at her face. There was no avoiding it or deflecting it, and that meaty fist met her jaw with enough force to make the entire world spin around her.

She heard a crack in her jaw as much as she felt the stabbing pain, and Wro'din snarled at her, "What is that mare doing? Tell me!" He demanded. His eldest had closed the distance and was about to yank the pad free of Daved's hands when he handed the pad back of his own volition, a grim smile on his face. Tas'nah hoped that he had gotten the message.

Tas'nah noted that Yes'tin was looking distinctly uncomfortable, but he was saying nothing. When she tried to meet his gaze, the young stallion looked away, trying to hide his shame at participating. As soon as Tas'nah recovered from the stunning blow that Wro'din had dealt her, she looked at Wro'din with open disdain, "Oh, she's just telling your so-called mare that you like to fuck your sons to sleep every night. And then you get them to do the same and tell them to treat you like a human-turned-mare."

Wro'din's face twisted with fury and disbelief. Most Storran males viewed mares as nothing more than breeding stock and property, and human-turned mares as even less than that. The implication that Wro'din, a proud, virile stallion, would let his own sons treat him like a mare, was too much. "I'll make you suffer you fucking cunt," he snarled, and then raised his hooked spear.

"WRO'DIN!" came a trumpeting yell, and Tas'nah became aware of the thundering of hooves. She felt a swell of indignation and protective wrath in her chest, and she knew before even looking that Brak'las had arrived. He held two throwing spears high and ready. "Get away from my mate!"

Tas'nah looked to see who had accompanied him, and felt her heart sink. The only other centaur who had come was Elder Rui. Of course, Tas'nah thought, he'd only expect a human, not five Storran hunters. Rui would be more than enough to stop a human.

Wro'din held his spear clutched in two hands, trembling with rage. He could certainly strike Tas'nah down with no effort at all, but he'd find his life forfeit within seconds. Everyone had heard of Brak'las skill with throwing spears... he could throat-shot a charging drago at thirty yards. Reluctantly, he lowered his spear and stepped back, "Did you come to die, Brak'las? Just let me take the other two. The mare and the mare-to-be. Take your fucking whore."

Tas'nah glanced at Yes'tin, who was looking more and more uncomfortable. She knew that Brak'las had tried on many occasions to invite the young centaur to join the herd. The two had some level of rapport, but Yes'tin had made it plainly clear that his allegiance lay with the Storran, no matter how much he didn't like their practices. She sneered at Wro'din, "What's the matter, Wro'din? Are you too afraid that you might get a little scratch?" The stallion tightened his grip on his spear again, but maintained his composure.

Brak'las stepped up so he was face-to-face with the Storran chief. "Mir'han is a mare of my herd. And it's my part of the cycle to claim another mare. They're mine by right and law, aren't they, Rui Leave now, Wro'din. And I won't ask who it was who was about to kill my mate. And who struck her." He looked back at the wizened elder, who nodded her agreement.

"Yes. Need I remind you that our laws have kept us from warring for over a century? Do you really want to throw that out?" She said in a querulous voice. She was the oldest mare in all of the Great Herd, let alone her own birth herd, and was one of the few that had been present at the signing of the treaties that had stopped the inner warring of the five herds. Everything from rituals, to rules on possession of captured humans, to code of conduct and herd leadership had been worked out in those treaties. If anyone knew the letter of the laws, it was her.

Wro'din snarled again, but then nodded. At another time, he might have tried to ignore the law, but his youngest, Yes'tin was present. If he and his other sons attacked Brak'las and Rui, they would take losses, and Yes'tin, for all his loyalty to the Storran, wouldn't be able to ignore the murder of an Elder. He had no desire to strain that one's loyalty and be forced in the end to kill one of his own brood.

Still, many years of tension between his herd and Brak'las' was just enough incentive to seriously consider it anyway. He could strike down the whore that had been bonded to Brak'las down, dooming the rival chieftain in the process, and have his sons take down Rui. He had to ask himself, did he honestly really care enough about Yes'tin? The young stallion would constantly second-guess him, and would eventually be forced to choose his loyalty outright.

Just as Wro'din tightened his grip on his spear and reading himself to strike, Daved, who had stepped up close beside Tas'nah and Brak'las, drew his head back and heaved a gob of spittle at the Storran chief's face. Everything stopped; there wasn't a sound on the plain as Wro'din leveled a contemptuous gaze at Daved, scarcely able to believe what had just happened. The human grimly lifted a skinning knife he'd drawn from one of Mir'han's packs and slashed the back of his own forearm. Dipping his fingers in the blood that welled up, he reached out and smeared it on Wro'din's chest.

Wro'din's expression went from shock, to disbelief, to anger, then to amusement. He looked up at Brak'las, "Does he even have any idea what he just did, Brak'las? Even if he does, you can't honestly expect me to answer the challenge. This is foolishness. Elder, tell him?"

Elder Rui smiled, then shrugged, "It is up to you. The law states that any male, regardless of herd, may challenge another male to ritual combat to settle a dispute. If the challenged is a chieftain, then the victor shall take the leadership. I see a male who has challenged you. I don't think our treaties ever specified that it had to be a centaur. Of course... you don't have to meet the challenge. I suppose we will later revise it to be any stallion."

Wro'din laughed, and was about to refuse the challenge outright when Rui continued, "Of course. What will your sons think when you let a mere mare-to-be challenge you to ritual combat, and you left without meeting it?" The Storran chief stiffened; already his eldest looked amused and speculative. If he stepped away, one of them would challenge him quite soon. If anything, they were even more contemptuous of humans than Wro'din was himself. Besides, it was a human, and a soft-looking one at that, not like one of the ones from their mountain enclaves. It would be one less hangup to deal with...

"Fine, then," Wro'din said, still amused. He faced Daved and then spat on his face in return, doing the same with the end of one of his spears. "I accept this mare-to-be's challenge. And to even it out, he can use one of my spears."

Daved looked, dumbfounded, at the smear of blood on his own chest. He reached up and slipped a pad from Tas'nah's one of the saddlebags. Typing out a question, he held it up to her. ~What did I just do? You told me it would stall Storran. I think it worked.-

Tas'nah, stricken, responded, her face grim. -You just challenged Wro'din to a fight. To the death.-

"Fuck me,"David swore.

4.

Daved couldn't believe what he'd just done; he'd just challenged a centaur to ritual combat. Why in the hell would Essa actually do that to him? Why would she suggest it? She can't have expected Wro'din to actually accept the challenge. Their hours of talking back and forth the night previous had told him just how much contempt the Storran held for humans.

The other four Storran looked amused, their gaze filled with an equal amount of contempt as their father. Well, three of them did. The fourth, one who carried two wickedly curved knives, was actually looking on at him with some level of respect, and though Daved couldn't understand it, hope.

Wro'din tapped his shoulder with the butt of one of his spears and held it out to him. The expression on his face was plain; let's get on with this idiocy. Daved took the spear, grunting at just how heavy it was, and placed the butt on the ground so that he wouldn't have to carry the weight completely. He inspected the blade, which looked even more vicious close-up. It was a hooked blade, the outside of that edge serrated and jagged; it was quite obvious that the weapon was meant to do a great deal of damage.

The four other Storran stepped back, forming a rough semicircle, as did Brak'las own herd members. Daved looked to Essa, whose face was pale with worry. Daved forced himself to smile and touched his fingers to his lips, then to his heart. It was a gesture he'd always used in crowded rooms and gatherings that meant one thing. I love you, Essa. He wondered just how long he'd last in combat with Wro'din. There was no way he expected to survive very long, but at least he could try to show Essa he wasn't afraid, no matter how he really felt.

Daved was shaken from his reverie by the stomping of hooves on the grassy ground. He whirled to face Wro'din, swiveling the spear toward him. Without any more warning, the Storran chief surged forward, weapon ready. Daved hefted the spear, setting his jaw, his lips pulled back in a grim, humourless smile.

Wro'din's spear came down on the length of Daved's in a jarring blow that almost knocked him over. Twisting his hands, the Storran chief pulled the spear back, using the hook at the end of the spear to catch Daved's. With another twist, he jerked his arms back, and the spear was wrenched away, flying across the circle and coming to rest in front of Brak'las. Daved prepared himself for the chieftain's killing blow, but the cruel centaur just laughed, flicked his spear, and drew a line of heat across Daved's ribs, right to the bone. Sneering again, Wro'din just stood there, waiting for Daved to retrieve his weapon.

Daved shook his head, understanding that Wro'din was toying with him. Still, without any weapon at all, he didn't have any hope at all. Ignoring the pain in his side where the serrated edge of Wro'din's spear had cut him, he trudged over to the dropped weapon and lifted it over his head.

As soon as Daved had his spear in hand, Wro'din charged, not even giving him much time to react. As he passed by Daved, the spear flashed out again, and laid open Daved's thigh, once again to the bone. Daved hollered in pain, stumbling and holding himself up only by leaning on the spear. He looked back at the Storran chief, trying to find some way, some desperate gambit that would win the fight.

Daved wasn't used to hand-to-hand or weapon combat. His forte had always been with hunting game and sharpshooting, just like Wro'din's own talents lay in some sort of ritualized combat. It was then that it dawned on Daved. Wro'din had likely never fought a human before. The way he'd charged both times had been directly at him, only veering to the side when within feet of him. Of course, the centaur would ether have to face each other in direct armed combat with blades... or in something like a joust. This... was obviously a joust.

Wro'din surged forward a second time, but instead of meeting the centaur's charge, Daved let go of his spear and leapt to the side, trying not to scream at the flare of pain in his thigh, now slippery with blood. Predictably, Wro'din's spear missed him. A desperate plan formed in Daved's mind. Wro'din was treating this like a fight with another centaur, there was no doubt about it.

On the next charge, Wro'din did the same thing, and Daved mirrored his actions, watching the way the centaur moved. Just before he moved, the chieftain would tense. That telling movement would be the only chance that Daved would have. Swaying convincingly (and quite honestly, Daved could barely move with the pain in his leg), Daved picked up the spear and held it at an odd angle, the hooked blade curved upward.

Wro'din sneered and charged at Daved one last time, spear at the ready, Everything happened in slow motion as a rush of adrenaline washed through Daved as he prepared to strike. When Wro'din tensed himself to strike, Daved heaved himself in the same direction that he'd expected Wro'din to move in. Daved lifted the hooked blade above him, crouching as he ran right at the Storran chieftain, and dove forward.

Daved's gambit worked even better than he'd expected. Wro'din, having seen how Daved was dodging, had reared to a full stop and turned to the side, lifting his spear to make a vicious stabbing motion. The way he stood, however, was directly perpendicular to Daved, and as the human dove forward, he went right under Wro'din's belly. The hooked end of the spear caught on the soft flesh there, and tore open the chieftain's soft under belly, biting deep enough that all at once, in a spray of gore, his bowels spilled out from the gaping, ragged hole the spear had left.

Daved fell to the ground in a roll, leg blazing with such intense pain that he didn't even register what had happened. When he could finally make sense of his surroundings, he looked up to see the disbelieving, horrified expression on Wro'din's face. Blood was spurting from the ragged wound that was the centaur's belly and sheath in amounts that told Daved that he'd severed arteries.

Without a word, Wro'din stumbled, and his eyes rolled up in his head, then fell to the ground in a heap, his life's blood pouring from him in a torrent so great that he would bleed out in minutes. The entire circle watched as Wro'din's chest heaved and twitched, and then went still.

Daved's chest heaved with exertion, his whole body aching, the two spots where Wro'din's spear had struck him now flowing freely, his blood falling in crimson droplets to the ground beneath his feet. He brandished his own spear at the other four centaur of the Storran herd, ready for any sort of treachery, still uncertain if he could trust them not to attack after seeing their father killed.

Three of them looked angry enough to spit, their disbelief at Daved's defeat of their chieftain and father quickly transitioning to pure hate. Each of the three was gripping his own spear tightly, body tense and ready for action. The fourth - the same one that had held back from the start - had an expression of mingled relief and worry on his face as he looked back and forth between them. He held two long, wickedly curved knives just as tightly as his brothers, though, and looked no less ready for action.

The eldest of the remaining Storran snarled an epithet at Daved and nodded at his brothers. As one, they raised their spears and readied to charge, even the youngest of them. With only Brak'las armed with his own weapon, there was no way that Daved would be able to escape being trampled and stabbed by those vicious, barbed weapons.

The entire world went still for a few moments, and the entire scene was seared into Daved's consciousness. Essa and Eli (even with the change they'd undergone, he still thought of them by their original names) readying themselves to fight, even though they didn't have any weapons of their own; Brak'las brandishing both his spears and trying to step in front of his mate; Rui standing helplessly as she watched, her body too weak to fight. With a cold certainty, Daved knew he was about to die. It seemed such a shame after winning so thoroughly in the battle against Wro'din.

As Daved quietly swore to himself that he would do his best to take at least one of the Storran with him, the scene exploded into utter chaos, a cacophony of war cries, thudding hooves, and screams of dismayed horror. He braced himself to meet the rush head-on; it was the stance of a man who knew that he wasn't going to survive, but wanted to take out whatever he could before he fell.

Before those trampling hooves reached Daved, though, it was over. The only thudding hooves were only those of Brak'las and the eldest remaining Storran, now engaged in furious combat. The cries of the other Storran had been cut short abruptly, becoming bubbling gurgles. Daved stared, transfixed by the sight before him.

The youngest of the other three hostile centaur was standing still, his lips pulled back in a grimace of sorrow and regret. His wickedly curved knives were held at his sides, their lengths now crimson. His two brothers had dropped their spears, forgotten, to the grassy field beneath them, and their hands were clutched to their throats as they tried to stem the inexorable tide of their life's blood from spilling to the ground. The young centaur reversed the grip on his blades and hefted them again, then with all his strength buried them in his brothers' chests. Their expressions on their faces were almost comically identical as they fell to the ground in unison.

A cry of pain drew Daved's attention to Brak'las, whose spear now transfixed his opponent's chest from sternum to shoulder. It hadn't been any contest; Brak'las had years of experience on the younger centaur, and the outcome of that particular fight had been decided before it had even begun. When he drew a long knife from the barding at his side and turned to face the rest of his opponents and there were none to be found, he heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed.

Daved swayed uneasily as the adrenaline wore off. The throbbing pain of his two most serious wounds grew deeper, and a wave of pure exhaustion flowed through him. The last thing he knew before he fainted from the loss of blood, was that the youngest of the Storran had laid his knives at Daved's feet. Gentle, firm hands guided him to the ground, and he knew no more.

5.

Cutting through the haze of confusion and the darkness of sleep, Daved heard voices. The first that he recognized was his wife's, though it sounded somehow odd to him, the inflection and tone was warped in some way he couldn't place. He didn't even think to question when he began to make sense of the words. A deeper voice, this one somehow familiar, but still entirely foreign to him, rumbled, "-Had to do it, there was no other way..."

Daved opened his eyes, but saw only darkness. Nostrils flared, and he felt his ears twitch. Something had been fitted over his head, though he couldn't tell what. He became aware of other sensations in his body, unfamiliar ones that felt both entirely natural and wholly alien.

"You had no right! He earned the right to choose his fate!" Essa's voice was plaintive, accusatory. Daved smiled; that same tone was one that he was familiar with. A lot of people he and his wife knew had always found it annoying, but Daved found it endearing, even when directed his way.

"There is no compromise, Mir'han, not in this," Came that rumbling, deep voice. Who the hell is Mir'han? Daved asked himself, trying to remember where he'd heard that deep voice before.

"What will he do when he wakes up, Las? How are you going to tell him?" That was Eli's voice, but it sounded higher-pitched, feminine... but it was still definitely Eli.

"We are creatures of tradition and lore. Our hearts are bound by laws so that we don't kill each other in wars that would lead to our extinction." That rumbling voice tickled at Daved's memory, telling him it was important that he remember, but it was all Daved could to to keep track of the conversation.

"And what about the challenge? You let him do that."

A soft, heavy sigh that was almost equine, and the deep "Because the laws said he could, like I said yesterday, and the day before. Rui, you talk some sense into her."

A new voice, this one the querulous voice of someone of advanced age, tinged with amusement. This voice was also familiar to Daved, but less so. "I already made myself clear, chieftain. And I'm not involving myself anymore."

"What the hell do you think Yes'tin's herd will do when he goes back to them in the company of someone they've never seen, claiming he's their chieftain now? Did you think about that?" Essa seemed to be grasping at straws, looking for something that would vindicate her, the same way Daved had always remembered her doing when she knew she'd lost an argument but didn't want to admit it.

Another voice, this one completely new to Daved, joined the others, "If he'd come alone, he'd likely end up dead. But Rui's coming along, and Wro'din was my father. My word can't be challenged without more violence. The ones that hated Wro'din will support us, and my father's remaining lackeys won't want to take them all on. His position will be safe... we've lost four warriors in one day because my father was reckless and foolish enough to let his resentment about Tas'nah and Mir'han rule his actions."

Finally, Daved managed to speak, and when he did, everyone went silent. "What... the hell... is going on..." He croaked. Memory was beginning to return to him, and he had a sinking feeling in his belly that he already knew the answer.

Soft hands stroked his belly and chest, and Essa's soft voice whispered into his ear. "Don't be afraid... I'm sorry. They did it. I really tried, honey... oh god, I tried..." The instant the hood was pulled off of his head, Daved craned his neck and looked to his side, stomach churning when his suspicions were confirmed. "They changed you. To one of the centaur. Like Tas'nah and me."

Without thinking, without even stumbling, Daved stood on all four legs. Not even concerned with his surroundings at this point, he inspected his body from head to... hind. "Essa..." he breathed, "I... I... not exactly like you." Wiry hair like burnished gold covered his lower half, presumably going down his spine as well, and he felt no small measure of relief on realizing that other parts were quite intact. Remembering what had been done to Eli, and the heavy belly she had, Daved knew immediately things could have been much, much worse. Essa's mere presence was enough to calm him; as long as she was alive and well, and with him, he'd put up with anything.

He finally took stock of his surroundings, and the other five centaur that crowded around him. Walls of animal hides surrounded them, strung between long thin posts driven into the ground. It was obviously some sort of dwelling, with clay pots and a large fire across the 'room', and various food stores hanging from pegs on those posts. He'd been laying in a pile of animal furs in another corner. Curiously, the dwelling was open to the starry night sky... it had to be what passed for a tent among the centaur, Daved reasoned.

Essa was standing next to him, and Eli stood next to Brak'las. The wizened face of the one that was called 'Rui', and he could only assume that the fifth was this 'Yes'tin'. That fifth was the same member of the Storran that had killed his own brothers. "I want to be alone with Essa. With Mir'han. Now. Just go away."

Much to Daved's surprise, the other five centaur nodded in agreement, even Yes'tin. That one's reaction was perhaps the most mystifying. He bowed deeply to, even bending his forelegs, then quietly left the dwelling. "Of course. She can explain. There's a few things you need to know, and I guess Mir'han is the best to tell you them," Eli said as he trotted out, accompanied by Rui and Brak'las. The canvas 'tent-flap', for lack of a better term, fell closed behind, leaving Daved and Essa mercifully alone.

Essa laughed softly and gave Daved a hug, "Do you really mean it? As long as you're with me, you'll be okay?" There was something about her that was making Daved want to dance and stomp his feet. A ghost of a scent in the air that he simply couldn't identify.

Daved shuddered, then sighed, going quiet when he realized that his sigh sounded very much like a whinny. He reached up and stroked Essa's ears, running a hand down to her shoulders and then to her breasts. "I mean it. It was a one way trip when I left Prime behind. They could come looking for me, but... I don't think that will happen. Is Thomas... alright?" Once again that strange, sharp scent wafted to Daved as he watched Essa prance happily about the dwelling. Memories of his first night with his wife, back on Prime Earth, and the way her silky depths had enveloped his shaft, filled his mind. Despite his concern for their son, he felt his shaft swelling in its sheath.

Essa stamped her foot, "Stop calling me that, Daved. I'm not Essa anymore. Mir'han is who and what I am now. Same way it's hurting Eli every time you call him that, it's hurting me to remember who I was." She trotted up to him, "Thomas isn't a boy anymore. He changed inside me. Her name is Tereva. You can meet her soon... looks a lot like her father, actually."

The new stallion grunted as if sucker-punched. Of course, it made sense, though he didn't know why. Of course the magic would turn everything male to female. Still, he'd been looking forward to a son, and it would take some adjusting to realizing that his offspring wasn't a male. He mused on that for a while before that scent distracted him a third time, and thoughts of women... of mares... filled his thoughts. "What is that..." he muttered, looking around, nostrils flaring, "Why can't I stop thinking of you... Mir'han?" The name felt odd on his lips, but curiously, it felt right. "I mean, thinking of... our nights together?"

Mir'han trotted up to Daved, grinning a little, and kissed him. Her tongue pushed against his lips and into his mouth, her arms hanging over his shoulders in the same way he remembered from the last time. Her naked breasts pressed up against his bare chest. "It's my time, dear heart. I... every six months or so. Twice a year. I was still nursing Tereva before..."

"Wha?" Daved blurted out when Essa - Mir'han he had to remember - turned around and swished that long, braided tail of hers. When she did that, the scent hit him full force, driving every thought from his mind but one; he wanted to fuck. His sheath swelled more, and the tip of his shaft, blunt and thick, pushed into the warm evening air. "That's you?" he breathed, letting out a soft groan.

Swishing that tail another time, Mir'han turned to look back at him, "Yes. I... I've been fighting off the need. For about three days now, I've had every stallion in Brak'las' herd going quite mad, vying for the right to breed me. But I don't want them, Daved. I want you. I want to be with my husband again."

Daved moved up, prancing around his wife and coming face-to-face with her. "But I... you always only wanted the one, love." He shook his head, pushing away the need he was feeling in his heart and his loins both. Being with his wife like that again, after believing her dead... no matter the form, he wanted her again, there was no doubt in his mind. From the start, when they'd been married years ago, she'd always said she only wanted one child.

"I know I did..." Mir'han said, and then tugged on Daved's beard, pulling his head down to her chest. "But that was on Prime. That was another life. We were packed like sardines. Two children wouldn't be right, back there. But we're here now. And there's more to it... you saw that Tass... Tas'nah, yeah, Eli, whatever you call her... has a single black lock of hair, and her mate has a red one? They're bonded, love. It's something that can only happen when the mare's in season..."

Daved felt his heart hammering a tattoo against his chest. "W-what's involved in this 'bonding'?" He asked. More magic; more of that same thing that had taken his wife away from him for so long. But this sounded different... sounded like it would bring him closer to her than he'd ever been, even closer than their wedding night. It was poetic almost, the same thing that had torn Essa away from him, would make him closer to the mare she'd become.

"I'll be able to feel you, love. Feel your heart beating with mine. Perfect time. I'll know when you're in pain, I'll know when you're happy, and you'll feel the same. It takes a willing mind and heart. Tass told me how it feels; sometimes Brak'las can talk to her without saying a word out loud. I want that with you, Daved." Mir'han murmured, lifting Daved's chin to look deep into his eyes.

For what seemed like hours, Daved stared into Mir'han's eyes. The soul behind that gaze was the same Essa he'd always known, the woman he'd fallen in love with. Not a shred of his love for her had diminished, even when he'd thought her dead. His love for that memory of her had driven him to extremes that he'd never imagined he could take. "How?" Was the only word he said, the only word he could trust himself to say.

Mir'han smiled, and then turned back around. This time, when she swished her tail, there was a tiny little trickle of fluid that dribbled from her equine sex and spattered onto the floor. "Make love to me, Daved. Throw your heart and soul into it, and you'll know what to do."

Daved needed no more urging; Mir'han's scent was heavy in the air, made even more potent by the tiny puddle on the floor. He groaned again, shaking his head, his golden mane spilling down to his shoulders. Trotting up behind his once and future mate, he ran a finger up the expansive, moist petals of her sex, eliciting a loud whimper from the desperately aroused mare. He licked at the moistness on his fingers, shuddering at the taste. It was Essa, but not Essa... it was everything familiar to him, and everything new. His heavy shaft twitched, and he felt its' hardness slap against his belly. Twisting his torso, he bent down to look at that stiffness. "Ye gods, I'm huge!" he exclaimed, seeing twenty-four inches of equine shaft proudly jutting from his sheath.

There was no mistaking the amused giggle that came from Mir'han. "Oh, oh, that's rich..." she giggled, dancing a little, "You have a horny mare in front of you, and all you can do is talk about how big your dick is... typical Daved." Her tone was playfully mocking, and so similar to what he remembered, that it made Daved's heart ache.

"Hmmph, fine, I guess I'll do something with it," Daved mused. For a moment, he wondered what he should do, how he should do it, but when he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath of that maddening mare-scent, he felt his body moving of its' own accord. He reared up behind Mir'han, his arms reaching out to wrap around under her breasts as he settled his weight upon her broad back.

"Oh god, Daved," Mir'han moaned, guiding his hands to her breasts, tossing her head back and letting out a delighted whinny. She shifted her position, trying to help Daved hit home as he began to thrust that blunt-ended shaft at her rear. "Whoooah! Notthere!" Her voice was frantic, a high-pitched squeaking whinny, "Not there! Down a bit!"

Daved felt himself blushing despite there being nobody to see him nearly bury himself in the wrong hole. If he'd had any other thought in his mind beyond mating with Mir'han, he would have realized that with an open-roofed dwelling, anyone in earshot would be able to hear him with her. He stomped his hind legs and then felt something moist and tight against the crown of his shaft. "There?" He asked, though he knew he was finally in the right position.

Mir'han whinnied again, a shudder rocking her body from ear to rump. "YES!" she almost hollered, "do it!"

With a single, hard thrust forward, Daved buried himself in Mir'han's heat, hilting himself all in one motion. He let out a triumphant yell, squeezing and kneading at his mate's breasts, rolling her nipples between forefinger and thumb. It was all he could do to keep himself from coming in seconds. Every single nerve ending on his shaft was enveloped in smooth, moist, rippling heat... and with twenty-four inches of flesh, it was ten times more intense than anything he could remember.

"That's it, love," Mir'han groaned, her arms reaching up to stroke at Daved's ears and cheeks. "Oh god, you are big... and I, nnngh... can feel all of it...' Moments later, her words faded off into an incoherent babble as Daved began to thrust in earnest, his powerful hips pistoning heedlessly.

Daved could feel that deep, wet sex gripping every inch of his girth, clenching and rippling around every inch. The animal force of the lovemaking was equaled only by the love he felt for this mare with him. It was like their first time together as husband and wife all over again, the newness and alien-ness of the situation mingling with the familiarity of the delicious way that his wife babbled and moaned in the throes of passion.

"W-wait, is that you?" he gasped, missing a beat and almost stumbling when he felt something truly alien. There was a presence touching his mind, his soul. He could feel love and need, but it wasn't his own, it was... someone else. It was reaching, seeking, as desperate to connect with his soul as intimately as his body was connected to Mir'han's.

A desperate, needful groan was his only response at first, but seconds later, Mir'han tossed her head in an obvious nod. That presence in his mind was seeming to prod and reach frantically. Even as Daved's pleasure began to rise, he knew that if he didn't reach out with his own mind, he wouldn't ever be able to bond with Mir'han, not now, not ever. With every shred of his will, he embraced that love, that probing touch of another mind on his.

The instant their hearts and minds met, pleasure exploded in Daved's loins, and he felt the head of his shaft swell and flare even as Mir'han cried out her own bliss. Daved heard two heartbeats in his ears, felt two pounding in his chest, felt his cock as it twitched and pulsed in time with his own. And then, for a brief moment that stretched into eternity, he felt himself in two bodies at once... he could feel every inch of his cock enveloped in spasming, rippling heat, even as he felt that shaft within him. For those endless moment, there was only one mind and soul shared between Daved and Mir'han. Two heartbeats soon ran in perfect unison.

When Daved finally pulled himself off his mate, he felt the ghost of that pleasure, that fullness in his own body. She turned back to him, and he could see that one of her eyes had changed colour, and one of her forelocks shone like burnished gold. "Mate," she breathed, and Daved realized he could feel her love. At the same time, he was aware that she'd not spoken the word anywhere but in his mind.

The two mates, newly bonded, held each other's hands for hours, basking in each other's company, until hours later, Tas'nah lifted the flap of the dwelling and politely, but firmly, told them it was time to go, and time for Daved to meet his daughter.

EPILOGUE

Tas'nah watched as the five centaur trotted across the plain, sighing softly as her dearest friend departed. There was a very real chance she wouldn't see Mir'han again for a long time, or Daved. Still, the relations between her mate's and the Storran couldn't be better, and she knew full well that things would soon change. With Vis'tan and Rui at their side, the reunited and re-mated husband and wife would become a new hope for the brutal Storran.

"When do you think Vis'tan and Rui will tell the two?" Tas'nah asked quietly of her mate, who had stepped up beside her and begun to brush out her hair and the mane that ran down her spine. There was no doubt, Brak'las had told her, that Dave would have to fight to keep his position. There was no way he could be made into a mare, but there was still a chance that they would cast him out. Still, she had sworn she wouldn't worry about her friend. With Vis'tan to teach her and Daved to fight, and Rui to smooth things along, it would be all right. It had to be.

Brak'las shrugged, his hands reaching around her and cupping Tas'nah's heavy breasts, teasing her nipples playfully. "They'll be fine, Tas'nah." He whinnied and then said, "Do you want to be called Eli? I will if you want. Daved chose to keep his name, you should be allowed to as well."

Tas'nah shook her head, "Eli is dead. He always will be, my love. Let Prime believe that we're dead, all three of us. I'm Tas'nah, and I won't deny that ever again." She felt the foal in her belly stir again, and shuddered as she felt a little pang of pain. "I wonder if my foal will take Tereva as a mate. That would be interesting, don't you think?"

"That it would be," Brak'las said, reaching up to touch the ragged remnant of his mate's ear. She didn't flinch once, much to his surprise. "It doesn't hurt anymore?" He trotted around behind Tas'nah and then looked at her gravid belly. "So, it's almost time, isn't it? To bring that life into the world."

"No, it isn't, Brak'las," Tas'nah said firmly, as another jolt of pain filled her belly. Her mate gave her an odd, questioning look. "It's not almost time. It is time."

END