Ashamin blinked at the unexpected splatter of red as he moved from his cave to the clearing before it. Had he really been sleeping so long that the sun was already setting?

The sun painted Rexanna in brilliant hues, highlighting her gold and turning his large white patches into pink swaths of color. They were beautiful together. Not as a pair, but as two simply existing in the same space. This whole scene, it was beautiful.

The haruspex struggled to adjust to his misunderstood concept of time; only when Lochan sleepily poked his head out of the entrance to the cave did Ashamin really believe that night was drawing near. The reminder filled him with a new energy. This was his time, these were his strongest hours. So when Rexanna deferred to him he did not protest. He felt a need, a welling urge, to show her that he bore enough skill to begin their spar. It was foolish to still feel as though he needed to show he was worthy when it was clear to so many that he had earned his place in this herd as an adviser and fighter, when he bore scars of experience, but he could not shake it.

Eventually he would learn, wouldn't he? Or would he always feel so desperate and lacking? He had pleased Rexanna well enough with his words, but what about his actions? The buck turned to face her, swallowing the unconscious nervousness that in his throat as he did so.

His tail, an absurdly long snake tipped with a coil, dragged across the ground before he found the resolve to lift it. It flew up high like a banner, making him taller even than he would be in a rear, and then smacked down to strike the frost beneath him. It was a signal of beginning, perhaps, but one accompanied with a smile. He had no intentions to make this a violent spar, he just wanted to be accepted. He wanted to prove himself useful, that foolish, painted buck.

Given that his Ashamin's intent was not ill he approached with kindness, moving slowly and clearly--giving her time to perhaps anticipate his attack. It gave him time, too, to size her up. She had a build unlike his own, one more agile and athletic as if she were naturally better suited to combat than he. But he bore lean muscles from practice and war, had begun at last to fill out. His sarong was still with Lochan on the ground at the entrance to his cave, his mask was delicately strung around his neck on a chain. He trotted towards Rexanna, facing her head on, and cast her a faint smile before picking up his pace and angling his head to the left, trying to snap at her neck or chest as he hopefully crashed into her front.

The chain she wore was bright, a hypnotic target even though he didn't mean to grab hold of it. Still he found himself leaning towards it as he tried to bite, drawn in by its glittering charm. Had she always been so adorned? Ashamin looked back at his own figure from the corner of his eye--had he? Lochan stood watching at the front of his cave, he saw that clearly when he cast his eyes back forward. Lochan the brave and loyal, who would strike at any second, join in whenever needed. It was strange how so little time here had given him so much.

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