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05-04-2015, 09:35 PM
A S H A M I N
on his own
on his own
Einarr's answers were clear, but Ashamin's thoughts grew muddled. How was he to take the advice? It was true that he was not built for the battlefield as his father had been, and perhaps his strength truly did lie elsewhere, but what was the young stallion to turn to?
Before him stood a warrior of great strength. Einarr knew how to fight, it was apparent in the very appearance of the stallion and confirmed when he offered to teach Ashamin. And Einarr was, to Ashamin's grieving heart, some sort of extension of the lost father. What would impress the memory of his father more than learning to fight--than picking up the task of training once more, and this time not giving in?
Ashamin knew he was not likely to succeed right away. Surely the task would be grueling, surely he would fail. But he had always failed and succumbed. Now he had to prove himself. He turned his gaze away from Einarr and shook his head softly, the rough pockmarked material of his horn perhaps brushing against the chest of the stallion before him. "If I have my own strength," Ashamin answered slowly, "then I have yet to discover it. And I know no other place to start other than where my father left behind."
When Ashamin looked back up at Einarr, into those impenetrable brown eyes, he met the warrior stallion's gaze with determination. He blinked, fluttering lids across two pools of inky black, before speaking once more. "I don't know what lies in my heart. But I have to try and see." That same heart pounded as he spoke with ferocity fueled by a desire to please. He would show his father, Einarr, someone, anyone, that he could be useful. Maybe, even, that he could be a warrior.
While Ashamin's heart drummed a new beat, one of confidence and passion apart from guilt, the gulls stirred their feathers, fought over food, and forayed into the familiarity of familial relationships.
_______________
Decisions
of his strength;
decisions
he could not
make, but feel.
[[@[Einarr] Short poem. o.o]]
Before him stood a warrior of great strength. Einarr knew how to fight, it was apparent in the very appearance of the stallion and confirmed when he offered to teach Ashamin. And Einarr was, to Ashamin's grieving heart, some sort of extension of the lost father. What would impress the memory of his father more than learning to fight--than picking up the task of training once more, and this time not giving in?
Ashamin knew he was not likely to succeed right away. Surely the task would be grueling, surely he would fail. But he had always failed and succumbed. Now he had to prove himself. He turned his gaze away from Einarr and shook his head softly, the rough pockmarked material of his horn perhaps brushing against the chest of the stallion before him. "If I have my own strength," Ashamin answered slowly, "then I have yet to discover it. And I know no other place to start other than where my father left behind."
When Ashamin looked back up at Einarr, into those impenetrable brown eyes, he met the warrior stallion's gaze with determination. He blinked, fluttering lids across two pools of inky black, before speaking once more. "I don't know what lies in my heart. But I have to try and see." That same heart pounded as he spoke with ferocity fueled by a desire to please. He would show his father, Einarr, someone, anyone, that he could be useful. Maybe, even, that he could be a warrior.
While Ashamin's heart drummed a new beat, one of confidence and passion apart from guilt, the gulls stirred their feathers, fought over food, and forayed into the familiarity of familial relationships.
Decisions
of his strength;
decisions
he could not
make, but feel.
[[@[Einarr] Short poem. o.o]]
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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