Ashamin the Clovenheart remembered that sigh. He had not lived in Helovia his entire life, and more and more he found himself contemplating how he had come to be as he was. He had entered this land entirely alone and knowing little. No companions had matched his step as they did now, and no scars had painted his hide. Muscle that now rippled and created thick curves in his limbs had once been nothing but lean strings shivering beneath a thinned coat. Now he was strong, sporting a marvelous beard that had grown on him with age and leading his two companions forward with every powerful step.

The day was warm but the wind and distant sight of the Basin's mountains, the walls of the valley he'd once called home, seemed to chill the air. He moved carefully but purposefully, wearing only his fang necklace and the coils on his tail. As of late Ashamin had been searching these woods for others who might be interested in his idea of a new sort of collective—a gathering of loyal but independent beings who valued what they could learn and how they could apply it in the fighting arts, just as he had. In the Basin his talents had been wasted, but in the wild they could always be put to good use. Why not spread that understanding?

So when he saw another enter Helovia, crossing that strange border that he'd been told stripped all of their magic, he sympathized immediately. That sigh, that look—was it trepidation? Helovia was, after all, a massive and intimidating land with its own unique magics and creatures. There was much to learn, and perhaps the Clovenheart could help.

Before he and his companions could make their entrance, however, another mare (smelling of a herd) approached. Ashamin broke through the trees only moments after, but not wanting to repeat her he instead tried to cast a sympathetic glance towards the other stag. "If you're anything like I was when I first came to these lands, I imagine you have more than a few things you might need help with," the painted buck offered kindly.

He took a few steps forward on deeply cloven hooves and his companions followed suit. He nodded to the mare but focused his attentions on the older stag that stood before him. "I am Ashamin the Clovenheart, and my companions are Lochan and Rakt," he said by way of introduction, nodding to the black and red cerndyr respectively. Cautiously he took a few steps closer and proferred his cheek to touch in a gentle greeting before stepping away to give the stranger space. "Welcome to Helovia."
 
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ASHAMIN