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04-22-2015, 07:00 AM
A S H A M I N
on his own
on his own
As the shadows darkened, a familiar feeling came over the young buck. It was as if he could feel the darkness growing, and with it, the danger. But when he opened his eyes, though he could see deeper blacks cast by trees rippling over his coat, covering the scattered white patches on his flank and around his knees, the sun was brighter still. It blinded him when he turned to see its source, and he winced, stumbling away from the tree that had been his safety like a fool.
Was this how the sun set here, on the tops of hills covered in trees? He found himself wondering how long this endless stretch continued, wondering if it would last forever, hoping it would not. He traced lines on the ground with his right fore-hoof absently, attempting to distract himself from the thought that he could never find a place like home again. Were there even lands where the sun set over mountains all around, and the earth glittered with white each frozen evening?
Maybe it was better that he would never find such a place again, he thought with a nervous huff. His father would never be there waiting as he wished.
A set of sounds, troublingly unfamiliar, sharpened his mind and forced him to focus. The mark of hoof-beats was undeniable, but by default unrecognized. He heard fine chirps that scattered the birds above him, causing him faint alarm, and as he reflexively lifted his lion's tail, resting the end around one ear and over a brow, the sound that startled him most of all came through the back-lit trees. It was long and low, then at other times a series of staccato sounds that he'd never before heard. A manipulation of whinnies, perhaps, but something he was ultimately unsure of. He searched his thoughts for some reference point but found nothing. What was like this sound, this chilling, heavenly call, that he had ever hear before. Surely nothing. He remembered his father telling of the sound of his mother's voice, when the two were alone in the low-lit evenings. Was this just like that, another voice of someone else, someone he hadn't ever met?
Was this, he thought with a shudder, how they communicated in this land? As the sounds grew louder, he pulled himself away from the trunk of the tree and edged backwards with high, soft, delicate hoof-steps. As the trees and the darkness better obscured him, he thought about the sounds coming closer. If this was the language of this land, he was sure he would have to leave. Not for fear, he assured himself falsely, but simple misunderstanding. He had never heard these sounds, didn't know if he could categorize them as joyful or if they were something else. Perhaps it was the sound of sorrow, he realized with a start. His ears perked and he sought out its tones. Perhaps it was the sadness he struggled so hard to express, the outpouring from the empty still-beating heart that signaled hope, or something that could change.
Despite the opening of his mind, when the strange caller at last appeared he was struck with fear just as brilliantly paralyzing. It was another unicorn, perhaps equal to his height but more impressive in her stature. He wondered for a moment if this was how all mares appeared in this land before dismissing the thought. Of course not, that would be ridiculous. Well, it seemed like it should have been. But then again, he had no evidence otherwise.
He struggled to recognize her expression, and his own fumbled confusedly. She seemed excited, perhaps? It was hard for him to make it out. For his entire life he'd known only the faces his father had made, and his subdued personality had forced Ashamin to remember only a few. Her questions were bright and jarring; he squinted at the thought of them and took a nervous step backwards before recovering himself. At least he understood them though, he realized. The ability to communicate was a relief.
Slowly, he bent his head and plodded forward to meet her where she stood. His legs shook and his ears flickered anxiously, but he had no intention of being rude. He greeted her as he knew to greet others, as he had greeted his father: with an extension of the neck, an attempt at a soft touch of the side of his face with hers. It was strange, he she been his father he would have only been brushing the base of her neck. But she was different, a bay that seemed dappled in the fading sun, with a tail like he'd been told his mother had borne, and that strange, unknowable call.
"I'm Ashamin," he answered quietly, close to her ear to begin with. When he looked down he noticed a strange, fox-like creature, and stiffened visibly, pulling his face away from hers and balking at the sight of the unfamiliar creature. His ears twitched again, rapidly, and his tail slid from between his ears to land with a thump on the darkening earth. A few strands of hair, white and long, remained caught in his horn.
He stared at the small creature for some time, trying to make sense of it, hoping it was kind, before looking up at the mare with a look akin to desperation. He lacked the confidence to ask her, just a stranger, to make sense of the little white being at her hooves, despite knowing that she could have possibly afforded him a wonderful answer. He struggled too, to inquire about helovia, about her strange call, or about any of the many things around him that confused him. He could only hope she was one to talk, for he was one to listen.
[[OOC: Thanks again for greeting my boy. :)]]
Was this how the sun set here, on the tops of hills covered in trees? He found himself wondering how long this endless stretch continued, wondering if it would last forever, hoping it would not. He traced lines on the ground with his right fore-hoof absently, attempting to distract himself from the thought that he could never find a place like home again. Were there even lands where the sun set over mountains all around, and the earth glittered with white each frozen evening?
Maybe it was better that he would never find such a place again, he thought with a nervous huff. His father would never be there waiting as he wished.
A set of sounds, troublingly unfamiliar, sharpened his mind and forced him to focus. The mark of hoof-beats was undeniable, but by default unrecognized. He heard fine chirps that scattered the birds above him, causing him faint alarm, and as he reflexively lifted his lion's tail, resting the end around one ear and over a brow, the sound that startled him most of all came through the back-lit trees. It was long and low, then at other times a series of staccato sounds that he'd never before heard. A manipulation of whinnies, perhaps, but something he was ultimately unsure of. He searched his thoughts for some reference point but found nothing. What was like this sound, this chilling, heavenly call, that he had ever hear before. Surely nothing. He remembered his father telling of the sound of his mother's voice, when the two were alone in the low-lit evenings. Was this just like that, another voice of someone else, someone he hadn't ever met?
Was this, he thought with a shudder, how they communicated in this land? As the sounds grew louder, he pulled himself away from the trunk of the tree and edged backwards with high, soft, delicate hoof-steps. As the trees and the darkness better obscured him, he thought about the sounds coming closer. If this was the language of this land, he was sure he would have to leave. Not for fear, he assured himself falsely, but simple misunderstanding. He had never heard these sounds, didn't know if he could categorize them as joyful or if they were something else. Perhaps it was the sound of sorrow, he realized with a start. His ears perked and he sought out its tones. Perhaps it was the sadness he struggled so hard to express, the outpouring from the empty still-beating heart that signaled hope, or something that could change.
Despite the opening of his mind, when the strange caller at last appeared he was struck with fear just as brilliantly paralyzing. It was another unicorn, perhaps equal to his height but more impressive in her stature. He wondered for a moment if this was how all mares appeared in this land before dismissing the thought. Of course not, that would be ridiculous. Well, it seemed like it should have been. But then again, he had no evidence otherwise.
He struggled to recognize her expression, and his own fumbled confusedly. She seemed excited, perhaps? It was hard for him to make it out. For his entire life he'd known only the faces his father had made, and his subdued personality had forced Ashamin to remember only a few. Her questions were bright and jarring; he squinted at the thought of them and took a nervous step backwards before recovering himself. At least he understood them though, he realized. The ability to communicate was a relief.
Slowly, he bent his head and plodded forward to meet her where she stood. His legs shook and his ears flickered anxiously, but he had no intention of being rude. He greeted her as he knew to greet others, as he had greeted his father: with an extension of the neck, an attempt at a soft touch of the side of his face with hers. It was strange, he she been his father he would have only been brushing the base of her neck. But she was different, a bay that seemed dappled in the fading sun, with a tail like he'd been told his mother had borne, and that strange, unknowable call.
"I'm Ashamin," he answered quietly, close to her ear to begin with. When he looked down he noticed a strange, fox-like creature, and stiffened visibly, pulling his face away from hers and balking at the sight of the unfamiliar creature. His ears twitched again, rapidly, and his tail slid from between his ears to land with a thump on the darkening earth. A few strands of hair, white and long, remained caught in his horn.
He stared at the small creature for some time, trying to make sense of it, hoping it was kind, before looking up at the mare with a look akin to desperation. He lacked the confidence to ask her, just a stranger, to make sense of the little white being at her hooves, despite knowing that she could have possibly afforded him a wonderful answer. He struggled too, to inquire about helovia, about her strange call, or about any of the many things around him that confused him. He could only hope she was one to talk, for he was one to listen.
[[OOC: Thanks again for greeting my boy. :)]]
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
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