It’s rare that someone holds Fell back from trying to leave. Or, at least, it feels rare enough that he is pleasantly surprised when Mrgy tugs on his mane before he can part from her. It does make him think, as he turns back toward her, ears flicking forward curiously and a questioning, patient whicker silently rattling his nostrils. Why does he always feel that way? It’s actually been a long time since someone has shoved him away, or rejected him for superficial reasons (as opposed to quite understandable reasons that Fell himself invoked). Why does it take so long for him to become accustomed to being wanted, let alone to simple affection?

Maybe when the moments of affection outnumber those of hostility and chaos, he thinks, but that day will likely never come. Alternatively, maybe when, one day, he actually accepts some of those moments as being deserved. That’s even less likely, but it at least occurs to him. ‘Deserving’ would have been unthinkable in the not-so-distant past.

I need to speak, she says, and he listens, alert.

What she tells him is not so much of a shock. Fell isn’t a player, analyzing a chess board and strategically moving pieces where he thinks they will be most effective. He doesn’t really meddle with the members of his herd that way, deciding, somehow, who might lead them the best and placing her in that position. Mrgasira had stepped into the role, and had held it for a long time. No one had challenged her. Fell had not missed the way the red-peaked mare’s responsibilities weighed on her, though, and he had often wondered if another might rise to assume the burden. It isn’t a position he feels cannot go empty, but the right leader brings obvious benefits to a herd. If the role is no longer right for Mrgasira, then Mrgasira is no longer right for the role. It is only natural that she should step down.

Fell nods. He doesn’t want to see less of her, but he doesn’t think that has to be a consequence of restructuring. He knows that Maha’s path is unlikely to change at this point, so that doesn’t concern him. The Marwari stallion had spent equal time with Mahakanha as with his other children, but he had spent it intentionally, with certain goals in mind for the white-slashed colt. Maha is not waiting to be surprised by his birthright; he has been working toward it since he taught his father how to leap over the fallen log. Fell is confident in him.

The black stallion rests his bearded chin on the top of Mrgasira’s head, between her splayed and flattened ears, and lets a quiet sigh rattle from his barrel. He can’t tell her that he’s fine with this, but he can show her that he’s relaxed and unworried, and hope that she releases some of her anxieties along with her title.

stallion | marwari mutt | black | torn left ear | bay