Something shifted in me as Rutger defended Wechuge after I'd gone through the effort of putting his roany rump into the Boss position, but I said nothing in response. It didn't matter if it had happened twenty years ago or yesterday: he should have asked. Granted, the fact that neither our General nor Boss had filled the challenge spots had offered the reckless fool an opening, but still.

After a moment, he tried then to defend against what I'd laid at his feet and I snorted out a bitter laugh, my ears tipping back. On paper, his little reason might sound good, but there was one tiny, little, itty-bitty sticking point.

"See, here's the problem Rutger. You are the Lagoon now. You can say you will use them for the Lagoon as a whole, but you make those calls." One could argue that the vote of no faith and next year's elections might hold him somewhat accountable, but that still left him plenty of room to fuck up in, especially if the next best option remained Wechuge.

"Regardless, it's still the same problem whether you apply it 'fairly' or not - the numbers will not back your decree." There were simply not enough eligible stallions to be stolen and force claimed to make up for the normal amount of foals born in a single season to the Lagoon. In essence, unless the rest of the men realized that it was for their better judgment to not bring their mares here, Rutger was setting himself up to have a wealth of fillies at his beck and call to place anywhere he wanted for his own personal gain - nevermind the fact that they had fathers. Fathers whose support he would need to stay in his position. Fathers who needed to like the Lagoon enough to consider it a brotherhood.

"You do realize that this just means you will be increasing the number of stallions that let their mares live in the Peak or elsewhere instead of here, right? That it will ultimately reduce the number of colts that grow up to pad our numbers." I didn't even particularly care what happened to my spawn, but the idea of being told what I could or couldn't do with my own blood was galling.

Especially by someone who called himself my brother.

Even if we managed to elbow our way through our brothers to fight - and then win - a stallion for the Lagoon (someone brought here against their will and likely not to stay), we would then need to possibly fight and win again to get the mare we wanted. Then we would have to fight again (and again) for the right to 'own' our own children, each time, each season, elbowing a likely equally hopeful brother to the side to make it happen.

I shook my head, shifting my weight with a frown. Perhaps this whole farce had been foolish. I had known that I would not like either outcome, and trying to talk sense into the roan was proving cyclical. He had surprised me with his ruthless decree, but I still remembered the fear on his face when I'd found him a mere two seasons ago.

Stallion - Adult - 15.2 - Brown Overo