Lived unbruised,
we are friends; and I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Sigh no more.

It was her heartbeat that gave it away. Ashamin felt his hooves strike her, saw her side yield to him out of the corner of his eye, but he did not register the true pain he had caused until he heard her heartbeat. The impact of his hooves on her ribcage was instantaneous, the retreat of them quick as they landed back on the earth and propelled him forward. Ashamin heard the pain register, though, felt her heart within those wounded ribs, and realized his mistake.

In his panic, the painted buck had lashed out at her without thinking. He had assumed it would simply keep her at bay, that she could outmaneuver him, but perhaps her lesser endurance was something he had underestimated. Or maybe she was just tired. Wasn't he? As he ran, as his tail dragged on the ground and his side began to ache from Ki'irha's previous impact, he could feel that. He was tired.

Their dance was becoming dangerous, now. It was growing old. As the two of them racked up injuries and the casual demonstration turned more desperate, Ashamin felt less and less like the fight should go on. Lochan was out of sight, long gone. As far as the haruspex was concerned, their demonstration had no audience. There was no one to learn from this but the two of them, and, well... what were they learning?

The coughs that followed pulled on the haruspex's heart. They were just like Zandora's. The memory of that fight came back to him and he staggered, lost his step, forgot where he was and that he needed to keep running. He was slowed, he wanted to look back. Though the logical part of him knew better, emotions were running high. Whatever feelings he had for the corporal surged and, after a few moments of hesitation, his face turned to see her to make sure she was ok.

Turned out, she was more than fine. The moment Ashamin looked back was the moment her horn slashed, drew across his hide and brought with it shivers of pain. He felt the corporal's horn slice across his gaskin and his leg buckled, turning out beneath him. The cry that came from within him was without hesitation. It was unbridled, a pure screech-like neigh of hurt. It was the most pain he'd felt in this spar, the most serious of her attacks. His leg twitched and shivered as it dragged behind him. Ashamin struggled to stop his forward motion, to cease the motion of his forelegs so perhaps he could at least stand, but the inertia of his form flung him forward. It was enough for him to keep from falling flat on his face, and when the buck finally stopped and held his bleeding leg up from the earth he was shaking with shock.

He couldn't move. Just like when Torleik had stabbed him through, Ashamin was frozen in his tracks. He could not retaliate. He could not fight back. Ashamin's tail fell and sent out another round of sparks, his mind grew dark. Somewhere in his mind he knew he needed to fight back. Somehow he needed to respond.

For a moment, though, there was just quiet. There was nothing to do but look out over the cold expanse and feel the pain in his leg biting him like bear trap. There was nothing to do but pay homage to the skill of the corporal, who even as she tired had struck him with skill.

Carefully, painfully, Ashamin turned. He looked at her with cold coal eyes, searched for an understanding as his leg dragged and pulled itself up in a pained, clenched fold. He just stared. In his mind, the memories and echoes of two coughs plagued him. He was haunted by the hurt of Torleik's horns, so like this sliced pain that caused his leg to bleed.

Quiet. Breathing. These were the things that took up his time. Ashamin threw his face forward, let his jaws part, and tried to snap somewhere at her front. There was no heart in the attack, however. This, this spar and this pretending that they could hurt each other without feeling the hurt themselves, was done. In Ashamin's eyes was the pain of unexpected, mutual betrayal. It was an unwarranted feeling, perhaps, but it was in his heart nonetheless.

Whatever had happened, whatever would happen, no matter how much blood he had lost or retained, Ashamin knew this: he was done with this dance. It was time to be honest.

""