Ashamin felt three things, and he felt them all at once.

First, he felt the cool patter of rainfall at his back. Second came the shuddering impact of another body's bones crashing against his errant hoof and the hot spatter of blood. Last, the release of the stinging hold of steam on his gaze.

So with that, Ashamin saw two things:

First, the shattered amulet on the ground and the earth rising to eat it up in a display of unnatural greed. Second, out of the corner of his eye, the sopping figure of the mare from the God Battles; more specifically, the traitorous one that had fought against her own god and hurt many helovians with her magic in the process.

Thus, he felt one thing:

Rage.

"YOU!" pushed out from between his lips with a force so loud that he almost scared himself. But that was a milder part of him that showed fear--his warrior's side felt only anger, and it was a hot and energizing thing. Ashamin felt it fill him and his whole figure straightened with the realization of his opponent's identity. "Of course, of course it is you! Only one as faithless as you would have the indecency to strike me so," a sneer, so uncharacteristic of such a kind hearted beast, played across his features.

He turned to face her more fully, happy now that her blood soaked his hoof and her exposed bone shone even in the dim light. As he circled right to try and face her head on, he left her magic behind him so the earth shifted beneath no part of him and left him entirely unaffected. "First you fight my God like a coward," he crowed with ignorance, "and now you fight me!" A neigh like a roar erupted from his throat. He felt crazed--he felt like laughing.

Never before, not even against Rikyn, had he fought with such animosity. But this mare who had so blatantly betrayed the gods that had made, blessed, and guarded the very earth she walked upon, existed outside of his typical understanding of others. It took so little regard for the heavens to act in such a way, and so much cowardice! To any who would call defying a God brave, the painted buck would counter instead with heretical recklessness. Though Ashamin found religion to be healing more often than condemning, he felt himself blessed with the opportunity to strike down one so errantly proud of her disloyalty and sin.

For if there was anything he valued the most, it was loyalty. And he had seen this mare at other battles, too, seen her fight with more caution and religious care. So why had she fought against his God?

For a second, he held doubt and a fear for his God's moral code close to his breast. A second longer, and it was gone--replaced, as everything, with hate.

Ashamin knew it would be better to wait and see, perhaps, to think things through, but he was too fueled by that powerful hatred. It was so rare that he hated so completely, so foreign a feeling, but it felt good--undeniably, spectacularly good. He was standing up for something, wasn't he?

As the buck finished his circle and lunged (all the while teeth snapping with aimless fury for what he hoped was her face, her neck, her anything) he could not deny that fact. It felt so good. Even if he was foolishly throwing himself against one much larger and apparently stronger than he, it felt good. Surely, he didn't have to follow his own advice to be cautious always, did he?

He wanted her to feel, too, just how wonderful it was to face and wound the wicked witch that had warred with the God of the Spark. With something like a twisted glee Ashamin cast his heartbeat at her, hoping she'd feel the confidence he felt in her own chest and perhaps lose focus, or at least a clear sight of her own electric pulse.

That is, if she had one at all.


""