As horse, Grant Thunderhead galloped over the magnificent harsh terrain of the Four Corners. His territory, as he thought of it, having lived on his small ranch spread for nine years now.
This land of majestic rock sculptures, or hoodoos, held ancient secrets. Grant sensed them beneath his flying hooves. Over the years, he’d gradually explored, looking for those secrets, and found an unbelievable, fantastical cache of steam-powered machines.
Grant raced faster, surging with joy, with strength. All while the distinctive smell of creosote bush, and the other sparse vegetation teased his flaring nostrils.
The Earth sang to him. His every drumming hoof beat honored her, the planet-being, Gaia. Or Sophia, as some called her.
To run without boundaries, to feel the hot desert air blast over his stallion hide, Grant savored his freedom. He was also on a mission for his Native American friends as a rainmaker.
Comanche blood ran through his veins, through his paternal grandmother. Feeling a kinship with the Four Corner tribes, Grant had focused on developing a good relationship with his immediate neighbors—whatever their tribal blood connections. Eventually, one circle of elders approached him to say they knew he was a direct descendent of the Skyhorse People, or those who could shapeshift to a horse.
With his secret out, and the elder’s promise of silence, Grant often used his ability to shift, and other supernatural powers he possessed, to help the elders when needed. Yesterday, he’d participated in a drum ceremony to bring much-needed rains.
Like the sacred drumming, the sound frequency of his hooves pounding on the sun-washed land, if done with the correct rhythm for a long enough time, would encourage clouds to form, then become swollen with rain.
Reaching a long flat stretch of ground, Grant mentally chanted along with the steady beat of his hooves, Let the thirsty land drink, Benevolent One. Once he’d galloped the full distance, Grant slowed his pace. The vibrational message had been sent to the Sky Father, or what he thought of as the sacred matrix.
To give his sweat-stained body a chance to cool down, Grant leaped onto a narrow arroyo, and loped slowly, following the dry riverbed toward an area he wanted to explore further.
With the Earth singing to him, and the great towers of stone ringing, creating a high spiritual field, Grant had ignored the undercurrent of malevolence he’d sensed of late. No more.
Something strange, even dark, twisted the land’s vibrations. In his stallion form, Grant was even more sensitive to supernatural forces.
Could this be a foreshadowing?
A wicked chill slid the length of his horse spine causing his tail to move back and forth in quick jerks. To confront this disturbance in the force now, or not?
To run in the face of the wind, or run from the evil source of the winds? For now.
Grant listened to the thunderous sound of his heart, as he did often to tune into the wisdom within for answers. When the answer eluded him, he silently asked questions.
Was this a sacred forewarning for him on a personal level, or perhaps for the tribal peoples he’d befriended, who were constantly under assault by the corrupt powers that be?
Or, was there some catastrophic world event about to not only alter his life, but drastically change the life of everyone?
Grant tossed his head, hardly breaking stride. No damn doubt, the dark age was upon them. Instead of the paradise world he’d envisioned since his youth, the evil side of the supernatural had gained a serpent’s stranglehold on society.
From his highly experienced viewpoint.
Fury welled up inside Grant. He’d spiritually disciplined himself and spent his lifetime working to bring about a better life for All who lived upon Gaia. Now enraged, he bucked several times, high twists in the air.
Once his hooves solidly struck the ground, Grant dug in, catapulting himself over the barren cracked riverbed. Baring his teeth, he charged toward an unseen enemy. A startled rattlesnake uncoiled, striking in his direction.
Grant nimbly swerved, then sent calming vibes to the out-of-sorts reptile. Moments later, awareness sparked inside him, and he skidded to a halt, psi-sensing the breach of his storage cave. Had someone discovered his steam-powered ships and devices?
Before his mind’s eye, Grant witnessed the effects of the cavern’s advanced-tech force field, but not who it was that had been thrown into the cactus-gnarly arms of the desert. In seconds, he intuitively knew the intrusion had not been by an enemy.
Still, he spun around on his back hooves, jumping into a fast gallop. Near the area, Grant soon halted at the edge, where the high desert began. Boulders littered the ground surrounding the titan hoodoo that shielded his cavern’s entrance.
Blowing his nostrils to gather in scents, Grant picked his way over the rough terrain, and wove between the larger rocks. The sound of his heart suddenly matched another’s, astonishing him. A rare occurrence, it meant this meeting had been orchestrated by the Higher Ups, as he thought of his divine guides.
Grant easily followed the heart connection, concerned because the beat was too slow, with an unhealthy flutter. As he approached, quickening his pace, the smell of death clung to the small-framed man who lay sprawled on his back near one of the huge rocks.
The vision of the tented blanket refused to leave his mind’s eye. In a battle with his emotions, Grant filled the pitcher. He added colloidal silver for good measure since the natural substance would help Ghost Walker’s immune system.
Intent on controlling himself, and making his recuperating guest as comfortable as possible, he padded back to the spare room. Grant didn’t deny it. Something about Ghost Walker called to him, a pull that was almost painful, as if his middle had been lassoed, the loop tightening.
Grant shook his head, and felt his inner horse mane shake. Life liked throwing curve balls at him, ones that often aimed for his head, and dammit, right between the eyes at times. Although, he reminded himself, he couldn’t rightly complain overall.
Yeah, miracles showed up on his doorstep. He believed due to his consistent spiritual practice, his natural love for humankind—for all life on the Great Mother planet, Earth.
Pausing before he entered, Grant grabbed a large breath to relieve the tension inside his gut, and his bunched muscles. So much about his guest was miraculous, including the fact that he’d found the hidden, steam engine cave.
Hell, he’d lived long enough to know a higher plan was at work. As he walked toward Ghost Walker, Grant curved his mouth into a friendly smile.
Again, he couldn’t miss the pole-tall thrust of the man’s cock beneath the blanket. Concerned, Grant set the pitcher down, and scrutinized Ghost Walker’s face for signs of a problem, beyond the man’s attraction to him.
Coffee eyes, misted by drowsiness, met his gaze—soft wise eyes Grant decided he could sink into forever. Ghost Walker blinked slowly, and Grant witnessed his extreme fatigue.
For the life of him he couldn’t look away—leave Ghost Walker to his rest. Words formed on Grant’s lips but he couldn’t speak, caught in what suddenly felt like a time warp.
Yep, he’d experienced strange shifts in time when he’d participated in medicine ceremonies. The elders had told him the practice originated close to ten thousand years ago.
Ghost Walker started to speak, hesitated, then closed his mouth. Grant watched the flicker of emotions—desire, shame, hope, confusion—all while their gazes stayed glued on each other.
Not locked, Grant thought, but connected as if strands formed between them—invisible delicate threads that were stronger than steel.
Grant knew before he acted. Even so, his hand moved without volition. He uncovered Ghost Walker, wrapping his hand around the man’s arrow-like, brown cock.
Heat, a beautiful heat seeped inside his palm. The shape of Ghost Walker’s erection burned a brand in a part of Grant he hadn’t known existed.
All he knew, the sensation was like holding erotic art in his hand. Grant slowly, gently pumped his hand up and down.
The silky skin of Ghost’s shaft felt like the most wonderful caress, and he gripped a bit tighter. Rhythmically, Grant swiveled his hand along the length of Ghost’s dick, using the droplets from his slit as lubricant.
As silence embraced them both, Grant fastened his gaze on Ghost Walker’s eyes—wide, disbelieving at first. A surrender to pleasure quickly glittered the man’s dark eyes.
Grant couldn’t help but notice how he reveled being in command, how he enjoyed relieving Ghost Walker’s need. He watched Ghost’s eyes brighten with more and more ecstasy.
When his eyes closed, Grant paused, softly stroking his thumbpad over Ghost’s swollen cockhead—so damn satiny, and now wet with his leaking pre-cum.
His extreme pleasure obvious, Ghost’s hips jerked involuntarily. Grant rubbed his palm over his crown in a tender swirling motion, and Ghost opened his eyes as if he couldn’t quite believe the ecstatic sensations.
Feeling like a dominant stud, Grant watched as Ghost’s eyes glazed over, darkened, then glinted with the start of his orgasm. He gripped the man’s throbbing hot cock, and slid his hand up and down more rapidly than before.
With each stroke upward, Grant slightly squeezed the base of Ghost’s shaft.