Common

Conquistador felt trapped in an impossible place as he slowed his pace to accommodate Sylke’s weakness and exhaustion. The sensible part of the stallion - and the piece of his heart that belonged to the blue roan and white mare - chided him for bringing her along on such a grueling swim so near to the birth of their child. But the palomino had never forgotten that he would not even be alive if it were not for the efforts of his brother. It was a debt that could never truly be paid, because everything that Conquistador had - and everything that he was - he owed to Rade. And so he would risk everything that he had to bring the stallion safely back to his family, hating both himself and his brother for the suffering that his mate endured.

As they paused to rest, the tawny male silently steeled his resolve and turned his soft heart to stone. No matter what the outcome, this would be the last time that he played a piece in Rade’s games. If the roan stallion chose to remain here on the islands, then Conquistador would take his mate and leave. There could be no compromise - as a creature with a penchant for impulsive behavior, Rade would risk drawing his brother’s family into whatever trouble followed in his wake. And while the younger stallion was more than capable of protecting the older from himself, protecting him from the wrath of those he would inevitably provoke was beyond Conquistador’s limited physical abilities. Though they might appear alike in both the gold of their coats and the slender build of their bodies, by nature the two stallions were as different as day and night.

Perhaps it had been wrong to hope that they could ever exist in the same world.

The thought hit Conquistador like a physical blow, and as he struggled to regain his breath the palomino leaned into the familiar and comforting touch of the gentle mare beside him. Of all the gifts that life had given him, Sylke - and the promise of their child in the swollen curves of her belly - was the greatest. But even as the tumult in his mind eased, the tension of Conquistador’s body grew. Hairs rose involuntarily along the ridge of his spine as he sensed the weight of eyes upon the pair, and before he could urge his mate onward a roan mare was approaching. The mustang’s ears turned forward, his skull tipping curiously to one side. From her bearing Conquistador would have guessed the dark mare to be a Vulcan - one of their warriors - and wondered what business she might have with him. Then her teeth were scoring his honey-colored hide, and her strong voice proclaiming his fate.

The Shore.

No. Memories flooded Conquistador’s mind - of Xina, of Rade, of Sahin and Dia and Mera - but there was one that eclipsed all others. The resounding crack of hooves on bone, the way his sire’s body had fallen - limp and lifeless - onto the almost-white sands. And with a move as swift as the crack of a whip Conquistador surged forward one stride, two… ready to put the nightmare into which he’d been cast far behind him. But Sylke was there, and there was no way she could outrun the blue roan mare. Abruptly he whirled roundabout again, making no effort to check his speed as he charged toward the white-masked woman. Inexperienced though he might be in the art of battle, Conquistador was prepared to fight for the sake of his mate and unborn child.

In her condition, there was the strong possibility that Sylke might not survive another swim. And in his own - Conquistador could not bear to return to Atlantis. While it might have been the place that he grew up and the source of some happy memories, it was also the place that he had once lost everything he’d worked to build. His family, his home, himself.

Never again.