The haruspex's heart hurt.

From the moment that Hotaru had pressed her painted nose to his breast he had felt something, a strange and mixed up feeling that burned like jealousy and regret, like want and guilt all at once. He followed her like a creature that survived on instinct, with his nostrils flared and his black eyes wide. Out here in the cold, descending day he wanted nothing more but to speak to her.

Or maybe something else, maybe something warmer. Whatever it was, Ashamin needed to be near her. The sight of her running off into the distance sent him doing the same; he could not let her escape him again.

Given his training, she was not difficult to keep up with. Ashamin found himself slowing to give her space and letting his sturdy legs shorten their stride. The painted buck would find the lady when she wanted to be found, and let her choose when they should meet again. He would run until she needed him, run until she wanted to turn, to look, to maybe say the words that he wanted to hear. That was the truth of it, painful but inescapable: Ashamin would never stop chasing her love.

His companions reach her before he does, the both of them circling the scene in wide and curious arcs. Rakt makes small, murmur like lows to issue forth a call of discontent; the smaller cerndyr cares little for the drama of the lord and the seer, and would rather return to his painting. But Lochan understands, perhaps because of his age or perhaps because of the deep well of his empathy. Lochan has seen the relationship between these two turn from formality to confession. He, even he, understands the signs of desire.

The moment of silence that hangs between them is thorny and tangible. The words from her lips, when finally spoken, are another insistence he must ignore. "They've moved on, they don't need me there anymore. I brought them together, that was all I needed to do to make them realize how much they could learn from each other," Ashamin answered, his ears flicking back as it occurred to him how simply his "job" was. Was he anything more than a glorified host?

But it was true, they didn't need him--not like he hoped Hotaru did. Cautiously, the painted buck stepped forward on long and thickened legs. "But I needed to talk to you, or to at least have you listen. There are things..." his voice trailed and he looked down, his eyes trained on her delicate hocks. Softly, the marking she had painted upon him began to glow. For now, the change was barely perceptible, perhaps passed off as a trick of the light. In time, it would grow. "...there are things I need you to understand, Hotaru." About me, he thought. About us, he knew but could not yet understand.

""