†
He senses Shiloh looking at him as she formulates her response. As often as the uneven trail allows, Temblor meets her green gaze, marveling at the ease he continues to feel while in her company. There is no anxiety strung between them, and her openness invites vulnerability in return. A trap, a wounded part of his heart warns, but Temblor turns his inner ear away from such thoughts. Instead, he considers her observation about how a big herd could be intimidating. To whom? he wonders, and as swiftly, Sonorae. There is a mare who struggles to entertain the company of even one other horse: how would she fare, should he stuff Paradise full?
Of greater concern are the responsibilities a larger herd stacks upon the band leader's proverbial shoulders. He would have to oversee them all, and in a jungle like this where it is uncommon to be able to travel shoulder to shoulder or in a wide group, they would be lined single-file like elephants tramping over the root-humped paths. Easy pickings for predators and competitors. What of the foals, when they come? Easier by far to manage everyone when you can see everyone, and the territory that is Paradise does not encourage a large band.
Even if the territory conditions were ideal, more does not mean better. Power and influence is not gained by the number of mares in a herd, even if outwardly it appears impressive. A large net has many holes. Shiloh's touch at his shoulder pulls his attention back to the present, and he curls his head to brush his lips against her neck in return. There is another good point: a larger herd means a greater division of his attention. And how well did that work out for you, last time? he demands of himself acidly.
"I suppose the size of the herd is irrelevant. A large herd, organically grown, would suit me just as well as a small one, provided we were all close. Not just me, but all of you. I don't think anyone desires to live with strangers." He certainly doesn't, and before coming here that had absolutely been the case. Easy enough to flirt with someone and engage in the shallowest of relationships —it takes no effort, none at all, to be so impersonal and casual and fleeting— but he can't recall anyone's name, much less their desires in life or if their ambitions had even slightly resembled his own. The ranks of his herd had swelled as swiftly as his ego, and all for naught.
His ears cant backward as he remembers all of this, and with a firm shake of his pale head he dismisses what cannot be undone. He chose exile. Better a stranger in a strange land than a cuckold in his own home; better a nomad with no past than the reviled stallion with an innocent's blood on his hooves.
Temblor becomes aware of his tense expression and strives to smooth it away. He looks at Shiloh, and some of the muscles in his face relax. It's done, he reminds himself, and steadies himself with a breath. His pace slows, then he stops in the middle of the trail. His eyes travel her copper-capped face. "You spoke of a mare taken from your father's herd, and the effect it had. Did she ever return? Or did she find happiness in her new home, and choose to stay?"
What he wants lies yet unspoken behind his dark lips. Almost, he is afraid to put the words to the air. Not because he doesn't believe he can achieve it— but because he does not know if Shiloh's attitude will cool toward him once she hears it. He is not ready to lose what they have so newly begun. So he stalls, seeking more information from her before he divulges the fact that he is willing to challenge these islands and their oddly sensitive customs, to take risks when he feels it will benefit him and his own, and to upset the balance of families across this sea in order to satisfy his own ambitions.
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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