"Lena!"

The call was overjoyed, the energy in his heart bursting at the site of the time mender. How long had it been since he had seen her last? The meeting, or even earlier? He moved towards her with abandon, extending his traditional greeting and nickering softly. His mane was tangled over his eyes as he tossed his face towards hers, so happy he was to see her. "Lena, it's so good to see you again. Paint whatever you'd like, this gathering is for the whole herd to enjoy." He pulled away from her and turned to see others arriving and participating, excitement growing in him with every second.

Ashamin watched over the scene with growing pride as members of the basin gathered together and painted the canvas of the tent. Erebos burst in with more energy than Ashamin had ever seen, given that their last meeting had been riddled with injury and hurt. He cast a nervous glance between the boy and the reaper, hoping no word of that fight would be shared, but released it with a sigh of relief as the boy and fox set about to painting the tent.

The dark stallion with the dirty habit left after grabbing from the pile, and the haruspex found his brow knitted in confusion. Was he participating in any way other than leaving his refuse on the ground before them all? He snorted, at first dissatisfied, but when he saw the nose of the stallion poking through the other side of the tent, perhaps painting on the outside, a small smile crept onto Ashamin's features. Perhaps the stranger was simply too grumpy to admit he might like to paint with the herd. Very well, Ashamin would let him be.

When Tiamat burst in with her charm and cheerfulness, Ashamin felt the whole tent brighten. He watched in awe as she mixed paint from gathered materials, and playfully dipped his tail in some of the mixture so he could run it along her back as a surprise. "Tiamat!" he called out as he trotted around the weaver and back to the haladie he'd lain by the pile, "welcome to the painting lesson!"

Johnny's question, innocent, came to Ashamin and he realized with surprise that he hadn't thought ahead as to what the answer would be. He looked for Lochan and Rakt, knowing what the two of them would each say given their paintings both in his mind and now (in their favorite colors) of each other on the walls of the tent, but returned in the end to the simplicity of his sarong.

"Just white will do," Ashamin said with a smile to the weaver. "I'm sure someone will get paint on it before this meeting comes to an end, it can find its color on its own. My only request is it be made of something tough and comfortable, if I'm going to be wearing it by my chest." Ashamin watched as the weaver then moved back to Tiamat, painting her with apparent glee. With his companions and his herd all at rest or at play, there was truly nothing but pride and joy in his heart.


""

Ashamin