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A S H A M I N
on his own
on his own
In despair, Ashamin had shut his eyes and turned his face away from the cold reality of the sea. There was something about its massive, open pool that, faced with his own emotions, he could not bear to look upon. He felt empty and utterly alone, with his father gone and his heart a lead burden in his black, deep chest. His horn rattled as he exhaled, the white stone encapsulated in it a constant reminder of sorrow.
When he inhaled again, he breathed in new air. Suddenly, the world around him buzzed with activity. There was a blustering sound, something like the whip of winds and the rustle of feathers. The gulls, he thought to himself with a bitter lurch. Come to torment me further in their brilliant coterie. Very well.
Ashamin stamped, harsh, leaning his body back into a faint rear before landing with his head swinging low and rough towards the earth. When he landed his eyes split open, and with shock he realized how foolish his assumption had been. Before him, planted firmly in the snowy shore with dust about them, were four obsidian cloven hooves.
His heart pounded, and his ears filled with the sound of feeling. A unicorn, maybe another basiner, maybe, but maybe, too, the sturdy cannons of his father--Veril, back from the dead. He could picture himself now, lifting his cheek to press against his father's firm and steady neck, lifting his gaze to take in the beauty of the horn that he had longed for as a colt. Affection, once more, rose within him. The reality that he believed was too good to be true, he almost couldn't bear to turn his eyes upward for fear that his joy would overcome him.
But no, it was not to be, and when Ashamin at last braved a look, he could not have been more despaired. Ashamin could not have been more mistaken. As he lifted his gaze from the sturdy hooves before him, he followed the line of hocks, cannons, and a barrel, and then saw what his father never had been, what Ashamin had never seen before: a Pegasus. Wings, big black monstrosities that spread with majesty and terrifying, awesome power, sent a stirring of air towards the young stallion.
He could not shake the fear from his expression. And then, just as he has made up his mind to turn and run, the giant winged beast yelled, demanded of Ashamin. He could barely process the words; he stood frozen, his body leaning away from the stranger, his eyes transfixed on the wings that sprung neatly from the other stallion's back.
"What troubles you!?" The words rang in the stallion's head, and he longed to shake them out. But there was nothing that could move him now, as he stood silent and shaking, unable to react, unable to run, unable to, as he so wished, stop crying.
The shock, the misperception, and the grief was too much. Sudden, hot, embarrassed and horrible drops of wet streaked down his cheeks. He quivered, knowing nothing, feeling everything, wanting desperately to do something, to act, but he could only think of the strange stallion's words, thrown out like an accusation.
"I'm dying!" he cried out suddenly, unsure what he meant, barely able to grasp the words even as he blubberingly spoke them. "I'm dying and you're going to kill me before I even can, and I don't know what is happening to my heart!" His heart pounded and his black eyes stared, wet and fluttering. He felt every terror and fear and lack of love he'd ever known and his heart, his heart, oh how it struck in him such a terrible, unforgiving beat.
And up above the stirred gulls began to fight for fish, wheedling out their war-whistles and jests, beating wings against bird-breasts and cawing the calls of courage.
_______________
When he felt,
saw four hearts,
he was home
for a thought.
When he saw,
felt new fear,
he was lost
one more time.
[[For Einarr]]
When he inhaled again, he breathed in new air. Suddenly, the world around him buzzed with activity. There was a blustering sound, something like the whip of winds and the rustle of feathers. The gulls, he thought to himself with a bitter lurch. Come to torment me further in their brilliant coterie. Very well.
Ashamin stamped, harsh, leaning his body back into a faint rear before landing with his head swinging low and rough towards the earth. When he landed his eyes split open, and with shock he realized how foolish his assumption had been. Before him, planted firmly in the snowy shore with dust about them, were four obsidian cloven hooves.
His heart pounded, and his ears filled with the sound of feeling. A unicorn, maybe another basiner, maybe, but maybe, too, the sturdy cannons of his father--Veril, back from the dead. He could picture himself now, lifting his cheek to press against his father's firm and steady neck, lifting his gaze to take in the beauty of the horn that he had longed for as a colt. Affection, once more, rose within him. The reality that he believed was too good to be true, he almost couldn't bear to turn his eyes upward for fear that his joy would overcome him.
But no, it was not to be, and when Ashamin at last braved a look, he could not have been more despaired. Ashamin could not have been more mistaken. As he lifted his gaze from the sturdy hooves before him, he followed the line of hocks, cannons, and a barrel, and then saw what his father never had been, what Ashamin had never seen before: a Pegasus. Wings, big black monstrosities that spread with majesty and terrifying, awesome power, sent a stirring of air towards the young stallion.
He could not shake the fear from his expression. And then, just as he has made up his mind to turn and run, the giant winged beast yelled, demanded of Ashamin. He could barely process the words; he stood frozen, his body leaning away from the stranger, his eyes transfixed on the wings that sprung neatly from the other stallion's back.
"What troubles you!?" The words rang in the stallion's head, and he longed to shake them out. But there was nothing that could move him now, as he stood silent and shaking, unable to react, unable to run, unable to, as he so wished, stop crying.
The shock, the misperception, and the grief was too much. Sudden, hot, embarrassed and horrible drops of wet streaked down his cheeks. He quivered, knowing nothing, feeling everything, wanting desperately to do something, to act, but he could only think of the strange stallion's words, thrown out like an accusation.
"I'm dying!" he cried out suddenly, unsure what he meant, barely able to grasp the words even as he blubberingly spoke them. "I'm dying and you're going to kill me before I even can, and I don't know what is happening to my heart!" His heart pounded and his black eyes stared, wet and fluttering. He felt every terror and fear and lack of love he'd ever known and his heart, his heart, oh how it struck in him such a terrible, unforgiving beat.
And up above the stirred gulls began to fight for fish, wheedling out their war-whistles and jests, beating wings against bird-breasts and cawing the calls of courage.
When he felt,
saw four hearts,
he was home
for a thought.
When he saw,
felt new fear,
he was lost
one more time.
[[For Einarr]]
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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