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Her eyes were clouded with hurt as her newly found and beloved teacher roared a response, lips plump and almost pouting and covered with blood. As the lanky figure of Ashamin moved away, moon reflecting off of the black pools of his eyes, Ovidius could have sworn that she saw something akin to sorrow there; something nearing regret. She would have called out to him if she could, would have pressed her shattered and painful muzzle against his hairy neck and apologized for making him worry, but there was no space for gentleness in the midst of battle.

So young, thought the gold limned girl, I am still so young and ignorant. Her legs shook, determined in the face of an imminent defeat. Yet, as she lifted a hoof and shifted her weight forward in preparation to move, Ashamin's voice made her pause, his silken voice reaching above the soft roar of the waves. Her heart quailed at the anger in his voice, the disappointment that surely filled his belly at the sight of such promise and potential wasted so quickly. Bloodied lips curved down, nerve to act, to sneak and slither and fight back, sinking below the surface.

The sorrow would have been crushing, would have consumed her until she walked into the surf and not come out until she was cleansed of her shortcomings, but instead, pain lanced through her chest, stabbing at and grappling with her heart. Ovidius cried out, though the pained call was cut short into a heaving, wheezing sob. Never before had she felt such agony, never before had she been held in the arms of such a savage and complete torment. It was all she could do to stay conscious, all she could do to remain standing as an electric fox was tugged from her heart, spiked and fizzing with energy.

The injured mare couldn't help it, she offered a smile toward the golden thing, though some distant part of her consciousness screamed that it was not like Rakt's swift spirits, it was not at all like the stardust children that had raced alongside her friend. No, there was something intimate and hurtful about the tiny fox, something innately invasive and wrong. It was as if she was looking at her own soul, forced out of her body and into the physical realm.

Ovi was flooded with a sense of betrayal, though she only had a moment to consider her emotional turmoil before a lightning jab struck through each and every nerve. She fell to her knees, grinding sand into the fresh scrapes there and furthering the razor-barbed torment that exploded through her thin frame. It was all she could do to breathe, to pray that she would not die here on blooded sands at the hands of her friend. She had so much left to see, so much left to experience and know and live; could it all be cut short so easily? The girl could not speak past the throes of electricity, past the screaming of her nerve endings, how could she be expected to cross the distance between her and Ashamin? How could she be expected to fight back?

Rage sparked within her, then, the only thing keeping her conscious as she watched the manifestation of her soul writhe upon the sands before her golden eyes. She screamed for it, the broken, gravelly sound of vocal chords pushed beyond their limit; she screamed not for herself, but for the tiny, spiked creature who had no voice of it's own. Ovidius turned her gaze upon Ashamin, his eyes shut tightly against the reality he had forced into being, like someone who couldn't bear to see the consequences of their actions.

Like a coward.

Through the pain, that rage sparked again, igniting forth into an inferno. Golden eyes darkened, screaming the words she could not, tossing at Ashamin's cloven hooves her disdain. See me! Bellowed the lass through whatever tenuous emotional connection they had developed, Witness me! Witness what you have done! Give me the respect I deserve and look at what you have done. He would see the words, she knew, he would understand the deafening silence through which her thoughts flooded. He was a warrior, yes, but if he could not face his actions, if he couldn't summon up the courage to see and to truly behold what he was doing, what good was his title? What good was battle prowess if one couldn't bring themselves to bear the pain they had caused?

Lifting her leonine tail took more effort than she thought she could muster, but at last, amidst the internal struggle, Ovidius was able to throw her tufted appendage forward, spraying sand in the direction of her knobby-kneed teacher.

Open your eyes, Ashamin.