Is it better to rule through fear or through respect.
The words of his former master echoed through is mind this morning. The voice that he was sure wasn't a true ghost but was instead a warning from the depths of his own mind was not usually unwelcomed. Normally a comfort and reminder of his teachings to be ruler. Today it had an odd echo, a change in tone that was more nagging. More urgent.
Although awake he decided movement wasn't a good idea yet. The wine and strong beer from the previous night had flown freely and was getting its revenge today. Waking up from a night of worship in the forest has slowly become more and more burdensome. The sun and the trees now conspired against his poor eyes to make sure that the light in his glen were more intense. A breeze though light made it a point to make him aware that every hair on his body ached.
He did not rule the sun, the wind or the trees. They did not respect him or fear him and he could not have them killed to soften his hangover.
Many thoughts were waking up and starting their daily clamor for attention. The Caluts want permission to take wood from the forest for their devotional fire at the end of Spring. They don't believe in strong drink so it seems like a waste of a party. The boy tribe claims to have seen Pirates north of the sand lagoon. They are also behind in their devotions payment. The boy tribe was organized now and had a real leader that would also need to be dealt with. All of these burdens of his duties would be put aside for now. The burdens of his body were louder and more insistent.
Standing up to go take a piss made him wonder if he'd taken a hit to the head last night. It wasn't unsual to brawl while drunk but even in a drunken condition it was rare someone would land a blow that would still have him spinning the next day. There was no blood around. The bodies he could see were all breathing so it was perhaps just the mixing of the spirits. Alcohol could be as territorial as his subjects and would go to war to claim what they thought was theirs. Like his brain.
There was no reason to be quiet here in his glen. Or anywhere on the island he ruled for that matter. His hooves noisily crushed twigs and rustled leaves causing the sleeping forms around him to start to stir. All were naked and this time at least all were female.
A shadow crossed the corner of his vision and he spun around. It was a mistake. Though his body stopped in an aggressively defensive posture his eyesite and inside of his head kept spinning. It was all he could do to keep himself from vomitting. He tried to focus on what he had seen but there was nothing. Slowly he turned his head to search the trees both with his eyes and his massive ears. There was nothing. Maybe an insect closer than he realized. Maybe a trick of the sun and shadow.
A racing heart does not help a pounding head or a full bladder. His nerves were shaky due to drink and he still had to piss. He turned slowly dropping his defensive posture and to finish his trip across the glen. How did he get to this point he wonders. Moving like an invalid and jumping at shadows.
He looked around at the sleeping females again. His penis stirred and jumped at the site. Ah maybe not so old after all. A short nap and maybe another drink and he would mount one of them before leaving the glen. He was their ruler but he never had to force anyone to receive him. Perhaps that was as important as fear and respect for keeping his rule.
He reached the oak he had watered since it was tall enough to give him cover. It was huge now. towering nearly a hundred feet into the air. The tallest in this part of the forest. Perhaps a warriors urine was good for trees. Perhaps he had made this tree king of the plants of the forest.
He pointed his member toward the the trunk and let flow and ran his other hand through his hair. His finger snagged on a little red bow hanging from a few strands. He pulled it out and looked at it. Here was his ghost attacker. A ribbon decoration placed there by one of his mates. He laughed a deep and open throated laugh.
Abruptly his laugh stopped. His very breath stopped. Pain like white lightening shot through his chest through his head making his ears scream. He looked down and there under his right nipple shining through the heavy mat of reddish brown hair was a triangle of bronze no bigger than two thumbs put together. How could something so small hurt so much?
Time was slowing now. Everthing he could see was brighter and more defined but the edges were dark and closing in. The triangle on his chest reflected once then disappeared into his body. He understood now. The tip of a sword. His lungs would be punctured. This was not a wound he would survive. Blood and air was already escaping through the gap. The new sense showed the tiny splatters spraying out. A tiny scarlet rivulet starting it's trail down his stomach.
He also understood that this was the end of his reign. He would die here hungover, dick in his hand and pissing on his own hooves.