Ashamin

It was possible that the Haruspex was becoming a bit of a recluse.

As the moon rose, so did the dark and patched pair in the shadow of the cave they called home. Beside them, the fire of Ashamin's long tending flickered. It was close to death; with haste, the Haruspex grabbed hold of some of the tinder he'd gathered the evening before and held it to the sparking coils on his tail, tossing them toward the ashen pile as soon as they caught flame. That, he hoped, would be enough for now.

Lochan yawned and stretched, circling his bonded with an eager swiftness that conveyed his energy. He had been pent up, and longed to see the outside, but the snowbanks were too high. Icicles dripped, fat and low, and covered the entrance to the cave like bars. They could have been broken with Ashamin or another unicorn's strength, Lochan could have wiggled under or between them, but their visual barrier was clear.

The paint blinked, still only rising from the day's sleep. Your fault, he thought with a smile and a gentle nudge of his companion's side. Lochan stumbled and bleated, butting his head against Ashamin's knee. Already, the 'panion was growing stronger, taller, and leaner. Ashamin noted the rising buds between Lochan's ears with interest. It was a curious thing, watching a little one grow. The Haruspex felt a little like a father.

At this, he nudged the cerndyr towards the meager gathering of dry grasses. He had not had a chance to store much before the frost had fallen, and he worried now for his companion's health. It was hard enough for him to find something to eat under all that snow, and he had begun to let his own hunger pale in importance. It was Lochan who he watched out for, now.

The cerndyr was eager and unhesitant, and moved with shocking grace towards his meal. The dry, tan stalks poke out from betwixt his lips--one particularly long one threatened to catch a-flame when Lochan laid down beside the fire, wiggling underneath the silken sarong that Ashamin had set on the floor of the cave the night prior.

"Eat your fill, little one," the young stallion encouraged. His voice was steady but he was unfocused, wandering closer towards the entrance to his cave and looking out between the columns of ice that had begun to form there. He turned his roman face back for a moment, catching his companion's three white eyes, and smiled. "The winter will be longer, still."



These bars are my
reminder, my barrier between
begin your company with this,
these articles of four:

1. The rising, waking night
2. The flame, engulfing
3. A meal, intended for a king
4. And care, for you, from me


[[For Mortuus Nox, any--set in the Haruspex's Cave]]