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05-13-2015, 08:28 PM
A S H A M I N
on his own
on his own
Ashamin listened with attentiveness, his large ears pricked forward and swiveling with the sound of the older stallion's voice. The roughness of Einarr's voice, his fragmented language, all added to the appearance of strength. Einarr had power, and so too, could Ashamin. But Einarr was right: he would have to practice, condition, and train himself.
Ashamin nodded along with all the advice the older stallion offered, his long tail bobbing behind him as if recording a checklist in the cold sea air around him. He would make himself strong. Damn it, he could defy his ineptitude, for once in his short life--for once in his pattern of grief. Ashamin continued to nod and make note even when Einarr began to speak of things he did not know: of throats and a Mordecai. Were these more reflections of his broken tongue? No, Ashamin didn't think so. The other stallion simply seemed to be thinking aloud, or assuming Ashamin could fill in the blanks himself.
He couldn't, but Ashamin couldn't do many things. Still, he would focus. And if Einarr told him to train, then train and rehearse he would. Battle was an art he would learn, a performance he would master, and that was all there was to do.
When Einarr began to speak of a return, Ashamin stiffened. So The stallion was leaving. Very well, he would make it home on his own. He had known by scent alone that this stallion had not belonged to the Basin, it had been foolish to think their rendezvous could have gone on for any longer. Ashamin nodded softly, extending his features towards Einarr, meeting his black cheek with that of the other.
"I will prepare," Ashamin responded dutifully, his voice still characterized by softness, but revealing a certain strength this time. "And I will strengthen, until we meet again," Ashamin added with a final nudge of his nose against he stallion's cheek.
And then there was nothing to do but watch the bold, black winged-warrior depart. In a flurry of feathers, a rush of a bold, cold gust, Einarr was lost to the sky and Ashamin was once again alone.
And the gulls departed too, leaving on wet wings and diving into currents of air to take them far, far away.
_______________
The wind and
the wing-beats--
a takeoff
to remember.
[[For @[Einarr]. Thread complete.]]
Ashamin nodded along with all the advice the older stallion offered, his long tail bobbing behind him as if recording a checklist in the cold sea air around him. He would make himself strong. Damn it, he could defy his ineptitude, for once in his short life--for once in his pattern of grief. Ashamin continued to nod and make note even when Einarr began to speak of things he did not know: of throats and a Mordecai. Were these more reflections of his broken tongue? No, Ashamin didn't think so. The other stallion simply seemed to be thinking aloud, or assuming Ashamin could fill in the blanks himself.
He couldn't, but Ashamin couldn't do many things. Still, he would focus. And if Einarr told him to train, then train and rehearse he would. Battle was an art he would learn, a performance he would master, and that was all there was to do.
When Einarr began to speak of a return, Ashamin stiffened. So The stallion was leaving. Very well, he would make it home on his own. He had known by scent alone that this stallion had not belonged to the Basin, it had been foolish to think their rendezvous could have gone on for any longer. Ashamin nodded softly, extending his features towards Einarr, meeting his black cheek with that of the other.
"I will prepare," Ashamin responded dutifully, his voice still characterized by softness, but revealing a certain strength this time. "And I will strengthen, until we meet again," Ashamin added with a final nudge of his nose against he stallion's cheek.
And then there was nothing to do but watch the bold, black winged-warrior depart. In a flurry of feathers, a rush of a bold, cold gust, Einarr was lost to the sky and Ashamin was once again alone.
And the gulls departed too, leaving on wet wings and diving into currents of air to take them far, far away.
The wind and
the wing-beats--
a takeoff
to remember.
[[For @[Einarr]. Thread complete.]]
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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