Ashamin was immediately thankful. Not only was this stallion apparently polite, but he seemed to have no qualms about resting somewhere warmer. Though Ashamin was no stranger to the cold, and in fact he enjoyed a snow-encrusted breeze just as much as the next arctic fox, he wasn't sure how well sleeping Lochan would fare in the chill. Then again, the little cerndyr was still sleeping, soundly, as if they were resting lazily on a summer beach, hooves in the tide.


Ashamin sighed down at the little one and let his gaze catch the hybrid stallion's. What an impressive beast he was, and a soldier, too. Did he have the heart of one, though? The stallion with the twisted horn allowed him to question his hastiness, but only for a moment. No, this beast and his bonded seemed noble enough. Still, he would want to see for himself someday. Half thinking, half talking, he said in a low voice, "Someday, we should take our honor into a spar. It would be good to learn from another with a warrior's heart."

Ashamin couldn't help but chuckle at that, his own string of words and the suggestion they carried. It was a nervous laugh and a small one--not the hearty, boasting, throaty rejoicing of a hardened warrior. Who was he to call himself a warrior? Was it promising himself to Einarr's ways that had brought this up in him, or the pungent memory of the pain where Torleik's horns had impaled him?


No, he wasn't a warrior yet, or maybe even ever. He was just a young Haruspex with admiration for those stronger--a broken-hearted wise one with a limp that had yet to fade. He wondered if it ever would. He regretted saying anything at all.


There was silence for a moment as the walk continued and he lead Caleb and his companion closer to the cave. This time, when he spoke up, it was intelligently and as he had always used to do: only to answer a question.


He remembered the discipline of childhood: only speak when spoken to.


He cringed with a mixture of love and regret, and turned to face Caleb with a faint, weak smile. "The winter will ease with time. Frostfall has just begun, and with it we've been gifted a particularly unkind wind." Ashamin couldn't help but look East, as the mirror had told him. East to the source of that foul, cold wind. What had the mirror been trying to tell him?


And why wasn't he smart enough to figure it out?


Luckily, the buck didn't have much time to despair. From behind them came the flicker of an image, and Ashamin, perhaps jumpier than usual with his frayed and sleepless nerves, snapped to attention. But it wasn't an intruder and it wasn't a threat standing back at the border where they had been: it was Thrnaduil, that sneaky bastard of a lead, his friend.


The sound of the leads' voice, the only sound, of course, that had heralded his presence at all, woke Lochan. Ashamin couldn't help but show his surprise as the black cerndyr yawned and pressed his hooves to Ashamin's chest through the cloth. Four little white milk teeth revealed themselves; the white mark of the eye on his brow crinkled with the effort of moving, and the white eyes blinked open for a moment. As Lochan's head fell, sloping and curious, out from the side of the sarong to look at their new company, Ashamin spoke: "Thranduil, my lord, a pleasure to be found by you this morning." He was careful with his wording--one never found the golden man, they were found and apparently, sneaked up on. That was becoming yet another quirk of this herd that Ashamin was willing to accept without question: Thranduil's remarkable stealth. Ashamin noted faintly that Haldir was not present, and at the same moment he realized it, his little 'panion rolled back over and into a deeper sleep. Apparently Lochan had only roused in the hopes he might find his friend.

He took his lord's question with reserve and quiet consideration. There was an accusation lying in Thranduil's phrasing, and it was not lost on the Haruspex. But Ashamin, even with his new promotion, knew he was in no place to defy authority. And so, with a respectful nod and a beckoning, his electric-tipped tail urging the Laurelin to follow them back to the warmth of the cave, he spoke the truth. "This is Caleb--he was quite respectfully waiting at the border and seeking acceptance into the herd as a Soldier, I saw no harm in inviting one so eager to join our ranks and come stay warm by the fire."

Would it be enough for his herd lead? Ashamin measured his confidence, distributing it carefully in each of his words, struggling to sound in control. "I invite you to the warmth of my cave as well, Sir," He added for good measure, in case his body language had not been clear enough. "The fire from our previous meeting still burns."

And it was true, that lamp still sparked by the watcher's electric gift still shone.

But again, the Haruspex wondered: would it be enough?

[[For @[Caleb], @[Thranduil] ]]

Ashamin