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Knowing
We all know things
We know differently
You tell me about
things I learn, tell me
I'm wrong in your own words
I tell you what I can
"There are only a few
things I know,
here they are:"
ASHAMIN
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION
BEAUTY IS PERCEPTION
What followed was an unprecedented and seemingly endless stream of responses, each one making less sense than the last. Ashamin listened at first, trying to answer on occasion, but found quickly that it was no use. This child, for she was indeed a child, was determined to get her own words out, whether or not they had anything to do with the query or not.
It was good, Ashamin knew, to have another at his side. And if he were to falter now and slip into a deeper darkness, at least it would not be alone. But her chatter, her babble, brought him nowhere. He furrowed his brow hidden beneath his horn, watching her with his blank, black eyes and waiting for a moment when he could reply.
a 'panion. A bird, a kits'ne, sisters. It was clear to him, as clear as anything was, that this filly (how had he ever thought to call her a mare) was bonded. But her bond was either of a different kind than Lena and Imogen's, or just something she understood differently.
As for Ashamin, with the unhatched egg that he was struggling to keep warm, he understood nothing of his own to come. But he knew enough to protect, and when he saw the kitsune approach the egg, tongue wrapped around its lips, he darted his neck forth and pressed his face to the orb in an instant. If the kitsune was to approach the egg now, it would not be without touching him. And when, seemingly at the mare's command, the kitsune did draw nearer to the egg, Ashamin was hesitant to allow it near. Still, he had found no harm in Imogen.
He nuzzled the egg and pushed his nose forward, reaching out to the kitsune in the same motion. Above him, the filly spoke again. She told him to get up, get away, leave before the spar came to get him.
Through all the pain in his body, he couldn't help but smile. This, this filly who asked what was wrong with his horn and why he wasn't up and running, was innocence. He had not seen it in a long time, perhaps, ever.
"I am sorry," he said, apologizing as always and as usual, without a need to. "I still have a lot to learn about this land, but I can tell you know very much." It was strange for the paint stallion to interact with a child for the first time. Was this sort of naivete customary?
He felt at ease, even as his leg twitched and the chain of the mysterious object slid cold against his skin. He kicked it up, letting the shine of it flip out of the water before crashing his teeth together and stifling a moan of pain. Yes, he was broken, and bad. "My horn has always been a little broken," he said with a pained smile, turning to look up at the mare but keeping his cheek fastened to the side of the egg and one eye warily trained on the kitsune. "Now, it is my leg. I am..." he hesitated. How to explain this pain, this red of blood, to a child who knew nothing of a fight? He was practically in the same situation: a child, knowing nothing of the fight. His wounds confirmed that. "I am a little broken, but not the same way. My horn, it is a good broken. I have always been that way. This happened because," and here he paused again, nervous, not wanting to lie but knowing the truth could be too much or misunderstood, "because I made a mistake. And I need to fix it."
He looked, then at the egg with the black deer inside. The thing with the heartbeat that burst against his own. "I need to be fixed, so I can take care of him."
And that was when Ashamin knew, somewhere and somehow deep in his heart: the deer in the egg was a boy.
[[Zahra]]
Table by Jen, with help from Avis
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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