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A S H A M I N
on his own
on his own
Something about those wings... Ashamin felt safe in them. And though he normally would have longed to learn of them, learn how they even could be, there was a gentle, strong kindness in their embrace and the moment that they created that banished all curious thoughts from his mind. What was there to do in that moment but relax? He felt Einarr do this, and something about knowing Ashamin was trusted by this stranger bolstered the young unicorn's strength. His shoulders, usually sloped with diffidence, now straightened.
It was strange that in being relaxed Ashamin became more strong. Was this how he had always been? No, it wasn't. With his father his relaxation had been a reliant, dependent one. But Einarr was right; As the bold, black stallion moved his features across Ashamin's and spoke sage, deep-chested advice, Ashamin came to the understanding that this boldness he felt was fresh.
Being alone, perhaps it really could be good. Perhaps it could make Ashamin strong, rather than make him weaker. His father, his father had been strong. That was why his relaxation with Veril had been different. He had known Veril would fight for him to the end. And though his father had wanted him to be a warrior, he had failed; proven himself useless in battle, and quickly the pair had given up.
But, as Ashamin stood in the other stallion's embrace--feeling the feathers wrap around him and remembering his father despite the boundless dissimilarities between Veril and Einarr--he wondered who he would be now if he hadn't given up. Would he have been through with this seemingly endless grief, and proving himself in other ways?
So maybe that was the solution. To be strong. To be a fighter. To be someone who could make his father proud.
Though some part of Ashamin longed to stay forever in the soft warmth of those feathers, a sudden rush of inspiration pulled him back. He shuffled back on cleft hooves. Sharp, dagger-like things that could have been useful if he'd bothered to learn what to do with them. His nose, long and awkward, lifted up as he pulled his neck back to better look at Einarr.
"I've never been strong," Ashamin said slowly, feeling more confident than he could remember feeling in quite some time.
"My father... he was the strong one. He was a fighter. But I suppose that's my job, now," he said with a strange and unfamiliar sort of certainty. Behind him, his tail twitched before finally stretching forward and draping over the bone of Einarr's wing boldly, almost affectionately.
Ashamin knew that Einarr was powerful and strong, just as Veril had been. There was an undeniable air of prowess about the pegasus before him. And Einarr had proven, too, that he was capable of kindness, just as his father had been. Einarr had given him the love that Ashamin's father had so many times before, and completely without precedence; that took a special kind of generosity. And so Asha did not feel scared when he asked the stallion one strange question, one he never thought he'd feel the need to ask again: "Einarr, I've never known how to be strong the way my father was. He was a flawless fighter and I... I've never been anything but this. But you... could you teach me to be strong?"
And as the colt's question settled in the air in a puff of gentle white, the gulls crashed in a clamor along the shore, puffing their chests with pride and pecking upon the pink salmon they'd plucked from the waters.
_______________
Those black wings--
brilliant shields
of blood skies--
his comfort
containment
and kindness
inside a
new, brave once.
[[@[Einarr]. Dangit, Time, you put thoughts of being a warrior into the mind of a total weakling. Now he's gonna go and try and be brave and have to get his ass kicked.]]
It was strange that in being relaxed Ashamin became more strong. Was this how he had always been? No, it wasn't. With his father his relaxation had been a reliant, dependent one. But Einarr was right; As the bold, black stallion moved his features across Ashamin's and spoke sage, deep-chested advice, Ashamin came to the understanding that this boldness he felt was fresh.
Being alone, perhaps it really could be good. Perhaps it could make Ashamin strong, rather than make him weaker. His father, his father had been strong. That was why his relaxation with Veril had been different. He had known Veril would fight for him to the end. And though his father had wanted him to be a warrior, he had failed; proven himself useless in battle, and quickly the pair had given up.
But, as Ashamin stood in the other stallion's embrace--feeling the feathers wrap around him and remembering his father despite the boundless dissimilarities between Veril and Einarr--he wondered who he would be now if he hadn't given up. Would he have been through with this seemingly endless grief, and proving himself in other ways?
So maybe that was the solution. To be strong. To be a fighter. To be someone who could make his father proud.
Though some part of Ashamin longed to stay forever in the soft warmth of those feathers, a sudden rush of inspiration pulled him back. He shuffled back on cleft hooves. Sharp, dagger-like things that could have been useful if he'd bothered to learn what to do with them. His nose, long and awkward, lifted up as he pulled his neck back to better look at Einarr.
"I've never been strong," Ashamin said slowly, feeling more confident than he could remember feeling in quite some time.
"My father... he was the strong one. He was a fighter. But I suppose that's my job, now," he said with a strange and unfamiliar sort of certainty. Behind him, his tail twitched before finally stretching forward and draping over the bone of Einarr's wing boldly, almost affectionately.
Ashamin knew that Einarr was powerful and strong, just as Veril had been. There was an undeniable air of prowess about the pegasus before him. And Einarr had proven, too, that he was capable of kindness, just as his father had been. Einarr had given him the love that Ashamin's father had so many times before, and completely without precedence; that took a special kind of generosity. And so Asha did not feel scared when he asked the stallion one strange question, one he never thought he'd feel the need to ask again: "Einarr, I've never known how to be strong the way my father was. He was a flawless fighter and I... I've never been anything but this. But you... could you teach me to be strong?"
And as the colt's question settled in the air in a puff of gentle white, the gulls crashed in a clamor along the shore, puffing their chests with pride and pecking upon the pink salmon they'd plucked from the waters.
Those black wings--
brilliant shields
of blood skies--
his comfort
containment
and kindness
inside a
new, brave once.
[[@[Einarr]. Dangit, Time, you put thoughts of being a warrior into the mind of a total weakling. Now he's gonna go and try and be brave and have to get his ass kicked.]]
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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