†
Temblor cocks his head as she describes the Lagoon. Then he asks, gently, "And how is this bachelor herd any different from the bickering typical between band stallions? Where I am from, they steal and raid mares away from one another all the time. It is a competition." One which many mares delighted in— to catch the eye of another, and have them fight to gain her had always been a sign of status not only for the mare, but for the stallion defending her, as well. It meant others coveted what they had, or who they were, and gave them standing among their peers. While being removed from one's herd could be difficult, all were resilient. And if their new home ended up being a poor fit— they found their way back to their old family, or struck out for a new herd entirely. Mares were more than capable of making a choice even in a situation where it appeared they had none.
Perhaps things are different, here. The Commons are a new concept to him, though why any land dedicated to claiming would allow such claims to be overturned seems nonsensical. Perhaps he does not fully understand its function, yet. The Peak, too, is a new idea— a band comprised only of mares (and foals) is quite foreign to him. Were he driven solely by instinct, the temptation to sweep through these heights and claim them all for himself might be too great to resist. He wonders if such a thing has happened before; have they had to rebuff men here, in their own home, as they try to heal?
His eyes flicker to the foals as she describes the Lagoon as a work in progress. "I have known cruel band stallions," he says, focusing again on Oswin. "It is worse behavior to see in a band, I think, than among a brotherhood. There are less children to be led astray, or caught in the crossfire, of such a brute."
imsorryimsorryimsorry
Temblor could be wrong. He speaks only from his own known experiences, and what he has witnessed in his travels. These Islands have continued to turn his expectations on their head. Maybe evil does run rampant among the herd of bachelors, here, and allows immorality to fester. But he does not think such a truth can be considered exclusive to a band of men. If that were the case, how can the same not be said for a band of women, like those at the Peak? The very idea speaks to a skewed concept wherein men are inherently despicable and women above reproach. Individuals are much too complex for that ever to be true.
He looks away as she addresses her children. He tries to close his ears to her words, refuses to look and see whether or not they obey their mother; he doesn't want to witness this moment among their family, because it is an intimacy from which he is excluded. As he should be— but it is a sharp reminder of all he does not have.
When the children depart, the last of his tension finally fades. It is better to be alone with Oswin. Easier to remain focused on the present, easier to breathe as the weight in his lungs lifts a little. The tale she tells is full of sorrow. He infers what he can from her words, and comes to the conclusion that rape is the atrocity upon which she is focused on abolishing. That alone tells him this land is very different from where he has come from— and yet, he wonders. Would the stallion of whom she speaks consider himself the antagonist in her mother's life story?
Temblor's gut feels full of rocks. He wonders if, somewhere, someone's child delivers a similar narrative about him.
"Please," he accepts her invitation to wander. The day is fair, with no hint of the same sort of storm which swept the earth out from under his feet in the Ridge. "Though, I will have to visit another day to see all your heights have to offer. I hurt my hip recently. It is healing well, but such a climb will undoubtedly overextend it. Another day," he says again, hopeful for a second visit. He is learning much from this one, and enjoying his time with the Prime Minister, as well. She is well-spoken and, despite his natural skepticism, seems fair.
"You are ambitious, Oswin," he says as they walk. He favors his right hind only a little; the throb has diminished as he rested it during their conversation, but he does not care to tax it overmuch if he can help it. "I admire your drive to abolish cruelty. It is no wonder you oversee the affairs of this mountain; how long have you been Prime Minister, here?" It is difficult to gauge her exact age, but he can tell she is a mare in her prime, certainly no budding youth nor sway-backed grandmother. And, because the name seems to follow him wherever he goes these days, Temblor seeks to get ahead of it this time: "And, what can you tell me about the stallion Rougaru?"
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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