High night, and the moon was bright. The haruspex, occupied by his mind, had ventured into the herdland with his companions to breathe fresher air. Out there, though, was nothing but cold. The winds were blistering, the air an unforgivable and barbed halo around everything that moved through it. It wasn't long before the trio turned back, newly coated in snow and with frost hanging off of their eyelids. There was nothing for the brothers out there but cold.

Besides, it occurred to the painted buck that this night, so inhospitable and unaccommodating to any other form of productivity, might be a perfect time to summon the God of the Spark. It was true that Ashamin had seen the being not long ago, but he felt that their communication had been stifled and overridden. After questing with the Goddess of the Moon, the haruspex somehow had even more questions to ask the God. He knew better than to interrogate the ancient being, but perhaps even a conversation in which he was the silent party could yield some valuable knowledge.

With the turn of this season, Ashamin was now a year older. A year wiser and stronger, too; much had happened to him since he had arrived in Helovia, and he was a great deal more confident of a stag than he had been at first. So when he finally re-entered his cave and found that it was not entirely empty, he did not shiver and shy as he might have not long ago.

His tail, long and serpentine, ran forward along Lochan's spine as he sent the cerndyr forth. See, he commanded with eyes narrowed. Of the three, Lochan had the best night vision. Rakt trailed after his dark brother as he walked, and their bonded tie waited behind for a moment. A charred remnant of an old fire upon the earth became just another thing to light the way as the haruspex wrapped his coil-adorned tail around it, his face hardening when the wood began to glow from the sparks.

Down the hall they went, passing the haruspex's possessions along the walls and moving closer to the mirror of the God. Ashamin's ears pinned as a voice and rhythmic slapping became audible. Given that Ashamin had recently experienced something not too unlike this himself, the sounds were familiar but strange, given the context. Not to mention Ashamin had had a partner in his crime.

Disturbed that someone would not only trespass (and on a night as ripe for summoning as this) in his home and the God's territory to have a pleasurable evening, the haruspex found himself growing more irritated with every step. His two companions had been ahead but stopped just short of the sight; though they were all boys, here, it wasn't something the cerndyrs felt privy to witnessing.

Not, of course, that Ashamin wanted to see it either. Still, when he did he could not find himself surprised.

"Ode!" came his shout, something neighed and snarled as he burst into the chamber at the end of the tunnel. The low flame tipped hunk of wood dropped, scattering its glow on the floor of the cave, and Ashamin kicked it at the heels of the dark one, hoping embers might catch Ode and scold well enough. His first instinct was to ask what the young stud thought he was doing, but a mere second of that hideous slapping sound made that particularly and painfully clear. The haruspex's teeth bared and his forehoof stomped impatiently. "Get the hell off that mirror and out of my home, boy! What part of your position do you think entitles you to ride the hindquarters of time?"

Ashamin strode forward with rage in his eyes, his tail lashing firmly. He was sick of this male and his incessant masturbation. His every step was reprimand, his every breath a quaking flame. His companions peered from around the bend, five eyes wide and admiring. "Out, Ode, out!" he warned again, his patience already wearing dangerously thin.

""

Ashamin