Seanan approached fast and seemingly without mercy. Given the pain of a sped heart, however, which appeared to have struck, Ashamin couldn’t really blame the stallion. He didn’t have time to, either; Seanan was aided enough by speed that he could strike Ashamin before he had a second to move backwards. It was all he could do to throw his head up and tuck his injured leg further beneath his stomach before he needed to brace for impact.

The white stallion’s shoulder struck the tender flesh of Ashamin’s throat roughly, putting pressure on his windpipe and sending a shock through the ligaments in his neck. His beard, thinning out due to the season and still fairly new, did little to soften the blow. The painted buck choked out in response, mouth forced to open wide with a hacking cough that only worsened the bruise that was taking hold of his throat. He wanted to swallow, no, needed to in order to force down the pain, but found he was unable to with Seanan’s body still so close. He hopped back on his hind hooves and lifted the left leg that was still on the ground, only letting it fall again once he was satisfied that he had put enough (though what he perceived to be still very little) space between himself and Seanan’s unpredicted up close tactics.

Though the movement put him out of harm’s way, saving his left cannon bone from being cut as his right forearm had been, it also jostled his injured leg. The humming sparks emitted from it flared once more, producing a bright flash from under his barrel. Combined with the glowing marking on his chest, it seemed for a moment as if the Clovenheart was a being made purely of light.

This was not true, however, for light was blessed with in-corporeality. Ashamin was there, and real, and physical. He had mass and muscle, the sort that could be cut and bruised with blows. The Clovenheart had to say he was surprised that Seanan had made so many moves from up close, for he had suspected that the stallion would use speed and dart in and out. Then again, the trees served as a limitation that even Ashamin had encountered.

Perhaps, too, they could be used strategically. Lochan retreated into the shadows between the trees, watching carefully so that he could be better prepared to warn Ashamin of Seanan’s next attack. Meanwhile, Ashamin called on Rakt to summon his magic. Though the blood-colored cerndyr’s power was new, it had already proven to be quite useful. Ashamin stood carefully, still balanced on three legs, and tried to push the pain from his mind so he could focus on his next move. He had neither the time nor the energy to turn and look to see if Rakt had indeed succeeded, so he had to take a leap of faith.

Luckily for the Clovenheart, Rakt was just fueled enough with anger at this opponent, this cold white ghost of a stallion, to focus and produce two spirits formed of gold stardust. They ran forth, each one colliding with one of Ashamin’s hind legs before dissipating into the air around them and mixing with the puddles and rain.

The painted buck leaped forward, his movements quickened by Rakt’s boost to his speed. He kept his forelegs curled beneath him and moved to try and force himself against Seanan, hoping that he could make one of a few outcomes true.

The pain in his neck spread up to his jaw, so he did not snap his teeth as he might have otherwise. Rather he angled his left shoulder forward, mirroring Seanan’s move but aiming instead for the white stallion’s chest. To aim higher would be foolish, for even with Rakt’s boosted speed (which Ashamin did not know for sure was there) he wasn’t able to spring off from the muddy earth with much traction, and Seanan had a height advantage. If Ashamin struck, he hoped to knock the wind out of Seanan’s lungs (which were likely already struggling after feeling the effects of Ashamin’s magic.) Making contact could also allow Ashamin to brace himself against Seanan for a moment rather than having to risk bringing down his injured leg and putting weight on it. Even if he missed, Ashamin hoped that his quick move forward might startle Seanan and force him backwards into the same tree that Ashamin had been forced to avoid earlier—the same tree that had resulted in the electrified cuts on his right fore.

For a moment as air rushed about him and rain slammed against his face, Ashamin wasn’t sure who he was more irritated with: Seanan or the woods around them.

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