THE HARUSPEX
on his own

Oh, how wrong she was. And oh, how impossibly too tired was he to make sense of all that error.

He understood that she was upset; if her voice had not conveyed that clearly enough, then the awkward rhythm of her heartbeat would have given her away. He held her electric pulses in his own chest for a time, as if too feel something more or perhaps related more closely to what she spoke of, but it was helplessly distant.

She was no older, just smaller, and there were so many things she knew about that he didn't. Love. Sensual love. Ashamin had never even felt sexual love, it was not exactly on his radar.

Well, maybe it was, but he didn't recognize it so much. Not as much as he should have, at his name. Not as much as it should have been preoccupying him. But maybe he was just a late bloomer, maybe he should not be so preoccupied with affection as he should have been with sex, with touch.

All he wanted was kindness. He wanted love, and he wanted it with everyone he knew. Why was that strange, how was that unachievable? And while he struggled so much, Rexanna... well, perhaps she was struggling too.

He didn't know, anymore.

The buck cast her heart from his chest and listened instead to her words, as little sense as they made. And she wanted his advice, on this? Perhaps he could have given her advice about the gods, or offered her a spar, but then again... no, he wasn't very well versed in those, either.

When she called him Ashamin he bristled--visibly. He had not heard that name in a long time, he had not heard that name since his father had spoken it. He had not heard the name since his father had died, since before helovia...

So he bristled, visibly. His tail struck out erect and his nostrils flared. Was it anger or fear? He couldn't even say. "Ashamin, Rexanna," he said in a whisper so quiet it felt like a hiss. "Ashamin," he said again, perhaps inaudibly.

He knew he was supposed to advice her, but it was difficult to think of anything other than his mother, then. He sighed, large ears drooping and black eyes catching hers only for a moment before he turned away to look outside.

"This first stallion, whoever he might be, his child is not yours. His life is not yours. We all lead our own lives and we must all attend to our own loves, face our own loneliness. Likely, this is his current path. If he cannot live without you he will find you with a deeper love before, and if he can then you will find each other again or you will not," he said, trying to hide his hopelessness. He couldn't turn her away, he couldn't but...

"If it's another that you love, and if this first has moved on, then perhaps that is all there is to it. You can tell this new champion against solitude, if that is truly what he is, only that without him you must always be lonely--that without the first, you still can survive. Time will pass and such loneliness will resolve itself," he returned. And then, more quietly as if to assure himself, "It must."

But Ashamin, Ashamin, the haruspex in four bold tones, was there anyone for whom he felt such love? Was there anyone of whom he could say with confidence: Without you, I'm sure I would die?

""