Ashamin wasn't in his cavern that moment, it was true.

But someone was. Lochan was. And from behind the rock where he often slept among the silken folds of his bonded's tossed off sarong, beside fragments of his own eggshell, he stood shaking and shy. He had met Hotaru and her hellhound before, but Ashamin had always been at his side. And though Lochan was slightly bigger now, the stunt of his growth was becoming quickly apparent. Though antlers would grow, the rest of his body would stay small enough to rest at Ashamin's chest, a minor burden, a perceptive companion.

Lochan did not have the strength to be brave, but he had the will. And beside the fire the lady and Alice looked menacing to the infant cerndyr, like demons, like nightmares.

His warning cry that followed and failed to threaten was piercing. It echoed through the cavern and shut his white eyes with its force, crinkling the third one upon his brow. He wished he had the power to speak to his bonded but all he could do was search for Ashamin out in the night where he had ventured for food and try and flash an image of their unexpected company.

Though the bond was still underdeveloped and the distance too great, Ashamin heard Lochan's call faintly and came running. Snow flew in his wake, kicked up by four perfectly cleft hooves, each growing more dangerous with every passing spar. Soon muscle would build and remain, soon injury would fade into strength. But even now, if he wasn't ready, he would kill whoever threatened to hurt his companion. And he realized that in a moment struck and accented by fear of his own capabilities.

When he arrived at the cave, his sarong filled with a meager supply of grasses that had been revealed by melting snow as Birdsong threatened to arrive along the mountain slopes, he saw only a dark silhouette by his fire. Lochan came running, small hooves clicking against the stone, uttering a dwindling wail. Ashamin stood firm, prepared when Lochan came crashing into his right foreleg, his head pressing against Ashamin's knee and his chest shaking as breath forced itself in and out of his tiny, quivering lungs.

The haruspex considered calling out a threat. He figured that perhaps to a stranger his scars might make him look imposing enough. But at the right moment the breeze blew in and the flame flickered as if from the east--at the right moment he caught the faint reflection of his lady in the blank mirror at the cave's back.

He calmed--lashing tail settled against the rock. Lochan still shook, still insisted, and Ashamin obeyed by lifting him gently by the scruff to place him in the safety of his sarong. "Hotaru," he said blankly, too stunned still by the apparent urgency of the false alarm to supply the proper respect. She was a leader and he her religious advisor by rank, but he was a caretaker first and foremost. Lochan would always come first, he knew that now more than ever.

"I'm sorry, you caught us both off guard," the paint went on by way of excusing himself and his companion, though he wasn't sure it was necessary. He was beginning to question his persistent, frequent, and instinctive apologies and deference, especially when he noticed he hesitated to enter his own cave because of her presence.

Ashamin was beginning to take on a more graceful and measured walk. As he drew closer to the fire, Lochan wriggling at his breast, he seemed to almost glide. Though the flames were perhaps drying Hotaru, he still saw the streaks of wet across her features. Lochan would have too, were he not burying his head in the mess of white cloth and damp grasses.

"Hotaru, is something wrong?" Ashamin asked as he stopped, looking at her over the leaping flames, watching her carefully. The question was measured with respect; they were not quite equals. But when he looked at her now she seemed almost small, maybe even frail, maybe even weak. And he noticed too, for the first time, that her youth was shining through. He wasn't much older, maybe not even wiser, but he could hide it well enough. And though he didn't doubt she had grown far past innocence, could she hide that youth? Soaked to the bone and coming to him now with a telling look seeming like concern marring her companion's often strong features, could she really stand beside two older stallions and have others respect her the same?

Ashamin doubted it. He didn't want to, but he did. She could try, she could display all the might she surely had within her bicolored breast, but she wouldn't be taken so seriously as the two lords.

The question was, then, did Ashamin fall into that pattern? Or did he have the strength to look beyond all of that?