It was strange to be back in the Frostbreath steppe. Ashamin wasn’t sure he liked it, and found himself actually shocked by the cold for once, but he went deeper into its territory nonetheless. He operated on the faint hope that he might find a member of his family there—that Hotaru, Ru’in, or Romina might appear and return the love he gave them. His last encounter with Ru’in had felt stilted and awkward, and even Rein was becoming a boy that the Clovenheart no longer recognized.

He thought, for a moment, of the way his first son had so unhesitatingly cut himself open and laid his blood to bare, all to produce a sword. And for what, to combat just one raised voice? Ashamin wanted to wonder who had taught Rein that temper, who had taught him to fight, but in his deepest heart he knew. No father was innocent; Ashamin was complicit in the violence living inside his son, playing him like a puppet that parroted the war songs of rage and masculinity. Just as his father before him, he could surely be blamed.

Not wishing to dwell on it any longer, he found himself changing his mind and being almost thankful when he did not see anyone he knew. Ashamin had not served as a stellar example as of late, anyway.

Lochan and Rakt were happy to be back in the steppe, but even though the day was overcast they would have rather been sleeping through it. Life as an outcast and leading the Unbound had meant the trio’s nocturnal schedule had been somewhat overturned, much to the chagrin of the two companions. They moved sluggishly behind Ashamin, occasionally reaching over the dragged line of his tail to nibble each other’s ears and murmur their mild complaints. The Clovenheart might have turned to hush them, but the familiar sight of a mare up ahead caused his focus to change and his heart to freeze.

It occurred to him then that he did not even know her name; he knew only the callous way she had treated him in a time of grief, and the way that he had shut down in the face of confrontation. He wasn’t sure he felt the same now. The wound of his father’s passing was not so fresh, and he’d caused death, of gods and an unborn child. Though on stubborn principle Ashamin might not have listened to this mare before (and still might not now) he fought the urges to turn from her entirely or approach with hostility.

Luckily for all involved, Ashamin did not see her until after the seal’s attack, and as a result made no connection between the mare and the rotund creature on the shore. Her hostile companion was not forgotten, but was for now out of his mind, and Lochan and Rakt had no fear of the beast, for though it was clearly a predator they were significantly faster on land than any seal. As if to confront whatever strange feelings (animosity, regret?) Ashamin felt for the mare they’d never met and prove their quickness, the two cerndyr suddenly burst forth with renewed energy, barreling towards the mare before splitting off and circling her, their wide eyes curious.

Given the attention his two bonded had brought to him, Ashamin had no choice to follow. But he did so more slowly, more hesitantly. Considering the strange way he had treated this mare before when to all others he offered kindness. Could it all be boiled down to being caught on a bad day, or had she really been right back then?

Hadn’t he been forcing himself into isolation, seeing misery where there was none? Ashamin was a scholar, and though he suffered from the failings impressed upon all stallions he did not have so much pride that he would deny the mere existence of an alternate argument, not anymore. All this in mind, he approached the unicorn mare with a completely different attitude and the intent to, well… clear the slate.

"It’s been a long time, stranger," Ashamin called out to her as he drew closer. It occurred to him then that she might not even recognize him, for now he was grown out of adolescence, and he was strong, and he was scarred, and was marked, and he was adorned, and he was bloodied and filled with magic and love he had not ever possessed before, and from his heart was a glow so brilliant that it burst through his chest in a mixture of blue and gold. But for all this, he was still in so many ways a failure of the things he championed. And for the black pits of his eyes, the gnarled pumice of his horn, and the limp snake of his tail, she would perhaps know who he was.

"I never should have left the way I did all that time ago," he said, his voice earnest, his tone warm as he could make it. And he knew that he was right to humble himself now, but half of him hoped she might do the same. "I am Ashamin the Clovenheart."

And though the title was pregnant with meaning, perhaps even something she had heard before, it still felt strange to say.

""