The Clovenheart, The Little Eye, & The Blood

Ashamin began, as often and before, with a quiet breath. Paradox’s request to learn how to spar from him could not be denied—as a member of the Unbound, who was he to limit knowledge?—but the Clovenheart knew this time he would need to be much more careful. Were the sands not so changing, he thought he would still be able to see Ovidius’ blood on the ground. Just because the tides had washed it away didn’t mean he would let himself forget.

The only problem was, despite his best efforts, Ashamin hadn’t quite figured out how to be a good teacher and keep his competitive fire subdued. At this point the literal flames had subsided; for now his antlers’ fire had waned. As they were, however, positioned along his spine, they were still dangerous. Were it not so cumbersome to take them off, perhaps Ashamin would have done so. Instead, he trusted that Paradox would simply know better than to try and attack his back while he was so well protected.

A quick conversation with the mare had provided Ashamin with the knowledge that she was no fool, and she would have to be one to attempt striking him from above. The mare was smaller than Ashamin in more ways than one, for her Arabian blood was not tainted with that of stockier breeds like the Clovenheart’s was. No, she was lithe and nimble, surely quick on her hooves despite the sand, which pulled on Ashamin’s own weight and clogged the clefts in his hooves. His two companions leaped nimbly about behind him, seemingly unaffected by the environment as they warmed themselves up, but Ashamin felt heavy.

Then again, experience was no light burden. So it was that with his most recent spar in the Endless Blue in mind, Ashamin did what he could to put his competitive nature off to the side. While it was true that he could easily spot their differences—see that she might be weaker, how he would have to conserve his energy to keep up with her—Ashamin had no intention of exploiting them as he might in another setting. For the Gods’ sake, just once, he didn’t want things to go wrong. In his electric heart, Ashamin truly wished to give Paradox knowledge rather than pain. It didn’t occur to him that the two were so intertwined that they could never be pulled apart.

“I’m going to make the first move,” he told her as he stepped forward, one white hoof sinking into the sand that he hoped was closer to where the mare stood. Ashamin angled his body away from her, and moved to try and approach her left side from the front. He did not, however, rush forth in a burst of speed. At the slow rate that he moved, there was not even a rustling of the necklace around his neck. He swallowed, and felt the straps keeping his spinal piece in place tightening around his throat. “In a real fight, that advantage goes to whoever is quick enough. Lucky for you, I bet you could run circles around most,” Ashamin said with a smile, though the expression felt forced. Fear nagged him, and he thought he felt his leg shaking where Seanan had cut it. The wound was healed but the memory was still there. Trapped in the woods, Ashamin had not been quick enough to get out of the way. Here on this shore, Ovidius had looked up at him with blood running down her lips and revealed his cowardice, struck down his weaknesses without making a move. What would Paradox do? How could she hurt him?

Ashamin shook the thought from his mind, just as he cast away Lochan and Rakt. The red cerndyr splashed disappointed red across their bond, but the Clovenheart shot the two a firm glance and that was that. For now, at least, they would be on the sidelines of this spar. With their eagerness set aside, the Clovenheart focused on his attempted approach and set his coal eyes on the chestnut mare’s left hindquarter. Tentatively he reached out with his magic, hoping to just barely influence her emotions through her heart. If it worked, the subtle change of the rhythm might embolden the mare. He knew how frightening it could be to have a seasoned warrior approach: he had the scars from Torleik’s horns to prove it.

Luckily for her, he moved even slower with the awkward weight of the antlers on his back. They were gear he was not used to, so when he jumped forward, attempting to put himself in range and bite her left hip, his student might have more time to respond. Well, and his words of encouragement couldn’t hurt: “You can do this. Counter, now!”

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ashamin, lochan, & rakt