The idea of mare-run territories is, indeed, foreign to Temblor. His ears twist sideways briefly in surprise, a little lift of the eyebrows as he processes that fact and compares it to all he has known, and all he personally desires.
Of course it is important to have a strong lead mare, someone to guide and manage the herd at home. And, if the herd is more or less a cohesive family unit, such as the Peak appears to be, such a herd wouldn't necessarily need a stallion. Especially on these islands, where horses are able to roam fairly freely between islands, and aren't limited to running only with their herd. Stallions are certainly not in short supply. In such an environment pregnancies are bound to happen away from the home herd, the primary stallion better from someone without than from the secondary within and in a case such as the Peak, there seems to be the freedom to choose a suitor without fear of repercussions of any kind, social or otherwise. Temblor has never heard of a mare killing a foal for having a sire different from its siblings.
He stores this knowledge away, certain it will be to his benefit this fall (and quite possibly to his chagrin, in years to come).
Temblor knows he is traditional. He desires to be the sole stallion running with a band of mares, siring children he knows without doubt are his. And, he wants more than that. These ambitions have driven him here today, for he cannot achieve them alone. Though as Temblor stands listening to the Prime Minister explain the purpose of this particular herd, he tempers his initial optimism about the outcome of this conversation against the information Oswin is delivering. The things she shares are sobering.
'Some have been hurt by stallions before and cannot be near them without being afraid of it happening again.'
Temblor knows he is that stallion to one mare, somewhere.
But he also knows he is not that stallion to all the rest. Nor does he desire to be such a man to anyone, ever again, but it is a fear within him, something locked down deep and still festering. How can he ever again trust that someone will not break their word to him? That they mean it when they make a promise? That their word means something, that their integrity is impregnable, that betrayal is not an option and certainly not something they would ever actually try to justify
He quashes these memories before they can rile him to regret, and looks to where Oswin points to the summit of the Peak. "Well. Thank you, Oswin," Temblor replies when she has finished. "You've given me much to reflect upon. I'm sure as Prime Minister much of your time is not your own, and I appreciate you taking time out of your day, and away from your children," he adds with a nod for each of her offspring before he brings his gaze back to her pale face, "to enlighten the uninformed. Does the bachelor herd to the south function in much the same way? A group of men dedicated to ensuring no one is held anywhere against their will?"
Though the Peak is not what Temblor expected, what he has heard so far has not discouraged him in his initial purpose in coming here. He simply needs to change tack. "Are mares within herds on these islands commonly treated as servants to the lead? Obviously it has occurred enough to warrant a refuge such as this," he adds with a nod at the mountain at her back. "I am simply surprised to hear of it. It sounds barbaric."
And dysfunctional. How can a herd hope to succeed, much less survive, when some or all of its members are bent beneath tyranny? Temblor can't see the benefit in leading that way. It seems the mark of a deeply insecure man to reign with terror, and a weak foundation for anything he might manage to build on it.
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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