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06-14-2015, 10:16 PM
A S H A M I N
Back on His Feet
Back on His Feet
The blue mare was a mysterious comfort to Ashamin, and he took her presence to be a good omen of sorts. She wasted no time in baring her kindness, and perhaps that genuine, good-hearted honest she seemed to wear upon her sleeve was all that Ashamin needed to relax.
When she touched him, though, he was surprised. Surprised at her swiftness, her lack of hesitation, and the softness of her bright cheek. It was not as cold as he had expected--was the winter or the watery color of her coat making her fear he'd have been rushed by a chill? No matter. The mare met his greeting and he let himself linger, not pulling away until the moment was right.
And when he did step back, it was not far. He had felt his whole body go slack at her mimicry of his motions, and he struggled now to tense his body again. After all, the weakness in his hindquarter was not served now by a looseness in the joints. The buck straightened his posture as if he held any position of power.
She spoke her name and his ears, broad and awkwardly curved, dipped forward to take in every beat of the song of her speech. Tiamat. It was a perfectly fitting name, Ashamin thought, for a mare as striking as this. Slowly he bent his neck low, pressing his patchwork lips to the thin shell of the egg, and whispered the mare's name: "Tiamat,". Someday, perhaps you will meet her, he thought to the egg.
But there was no stir or reply: the egg remained completely whole, asleep. So Ashamin lifted his arched features, catching a glimpse of a moment before the mare's expression turned, and spoke. "It is good to meet you too, Tiamat."
And he was about to speak once more, seemingly overflowing with confidence with this unborn beast against his breast, when the mare's tone turned for the worse. He saw the change in her as soon as he heard it. Ashamin had forgotten, for a moment, about the scars on his hind, but she made him remember them then.
He wasn't one to dwell or consider how long the limp they'd left him with might last. Not right now, when he was simply headed home. Ashamin smiled softly and kindly to the mare, speaking in cool tones that shook ever so slightly. His long tail arced forward, wrapping around the weak leg to grip it in a vise. "Just old wounds," he said, as if dismissive. "These golden streaks are scars I bear--evidence of past mistakes."
Curious, how much he was willing to share. He looked down, scraping the earth with his hooves, and let out a soft sigh. The journey home was long, but he would make it. And maybe, maybe with her at his side. He tried to brighten, and turned up his countenance with a smile. Yes, they were the same height, he knew it now for sure. His lips parted, the words tumbling out in a faint whinny. "But I won't let them stop me from being Northern bound for home."
And in the statement, veiled as he always was, there lay a question: will you follow me there?
[[Tagged: @[Tiamat]. Sorry for the delay and kinda crappiness and no poem, migraine and had to rewrite this entirely.]]
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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