Overall, Ashamin was at a disadvantage. The mare towered over him, bore more powerful and destructive magic, and had composure he lacked. While she kept cool he burned, his whole body filling up with fire of uncontrolled and uninformed hate. Would he respond this way in a conversation instead of a spar? No. But she'd attacked him without honor, hiding in the shadows and ambushing him with arcane knowledge he'd no chance of grasping. I didn't touch you, she chimed like a child, as if Ashamin were too stupid to connect the mare to the magic. The water and heat had heralded the coming of another, he would have to be a horrible seer to not recognize that. But fine, she could understimate his intelligence as much as she wanted, he would still know where he stood. He had no sympathy for a fighter like that, even one who by all accounts could strike him down easily.

But he could stay standing; he could resist, persist. Whether it was his body or his mind that gave him this, he was thankful either way. And though she may have had a mind quick and clever enough to think of intricate attacks, her body did not follow. His teeth clamped on her neck and his body pressed forward. The success was enough to make his own heart beat faster, wherever it was.

And his eyes, too, were wide and always watching. So many nights spent searching the mirror had sharpened his vision in low light. His grip on her neck released to let him move freely, so as she reared so did he--not matching her height but tossing back his decorated head and horn down and to the right so it was safe from her kick. She could not catch him that easily.

Whatever she may have thought, he was no fool.

When his heartbeat found its way into her chest he could feel its energy fade in his own breast. He felt cool, relaxed, and focused--his warrior's spirit doing its work, too. Like a sniper he could strike between heartbeats for accuracy. After moving his head he snapped his teeth, striving again to bite but this time at her chest, and threw forth his tail like a whip. What sort of damage could his coil cause if it managed to make contact with this mare's exposed knee?

There was a beautiful irony in the idea. As he tried to bring the two gold coils in contact with the bloody white of her bone he thought of his God, the one whom she'd fought against. From everything she said, it became clear she had no clue who he was or what he was saying. He took it from a distant view, trying to decide if he should be sympathetic as he always was and give her some freedom, or if he needed to strike back even harder. What was right--the former--was very clear.

So just as he was about to suggest a reprieve for the both of them, her wide, winged body landed and the ground beneath Ashamin's two grounded hooves sputtered in warning. He should have landed and run then but he wasn't certain he had time. He wrenched his heartbeat from her breast, returning it to him fully, and let the surge send him unsteadily away from her magic. His muscles bunched and he tried to focus, to tuck his forelegs perfectly underneath and before his chest as his father had once tried to show him.

Like this, Asha, Veril had said tenderly. His father had never taken his eyes off of Ashamin, not for any second in one of those airs--or ever. But now Ashamin struggled to remember exactly how to move his body, now only slightly less awkward than when his father had failed to train him. Ashamin couldn't even remember the name of the maneuver, let alone exactly how to do it.

He felt young. The world seemed to slow as the ground rose up. The darkness of the night and the persistence of the black sky became the only things he could rely on. That, of course, and his father.

Too little and too late, Ashamin leapt forward and to his left in a mangled courbette. The moving ground beneath him wrecked his balance, and the hooves that had been positioned to leave from solid ground instead launched themselves off the edge of uneven pillars. He cursed as he landed--somehow on all four feet. But the front left ankle rolled ever slightly on impact, and though the Haruspex knew the strain on it was temporary it was enough to waylay him for now. He looked back on the scene, his body now drifting from hers as his stumbling landing faded into stillness. What was left now?

""