The right speed, the right angle, the right place, the right time: all of these factors contributed in guiding the haruspex's body to crash into his opponent's. His aim was true, his skill building with every jerk and tense of muscle. The impact caused him to shudder with something he couldn't describe, something perhaps like success. Though an ache would bother him later, for now the shock of the impact left him without injury.

Instead, he felt pain begin to burn in his chest where she had hurt him before. He cursed silently to himself at the sensation dawning upon him, but would not let it be too great of a distraction. As Rexanna stumbled away from him and tried to regain her balance, he was alert, ready, and waiting.

No matter the speed such legs could have given her on the open plains, here with the wind and sunset hugging them tightly together, giving them never more than a moment's breathing room, he could anticipate her movements. The turning of a body in such tight quarters was, as Ashamin had learned from experience with Rikyn, something slow enough that it could be easily outmaneuvered. The haruspex snorted as she turned to face him, striding forward without turning and giving himself enough room to avoid whatever would come next.

He looked back--saw her body rise up unhindered--and frowned. Perhaps his attack had not been as effective as he had thought. Still, her awkward positioning and the time it had taken her to regain her posture gave him the opportunity he needed to get far enough away to avoid her completely.

Still, Ashamin didn't want to stray far. Whatever it was fueling this fight--for surely it was more, now, than a simple spar--was strong. His body felt stiff, his long tail was erect and raised like a banner. Carefully the haruspex positioned himself, turning his back to Rexanna's lifted forelegs. He let his weight shift to his front, bunched his hindquarters, and kicked back at them with a buck composed of more force than, were he himself, he would have used.

That seemed to be how everything was now for Ashamin, though: stronger than it should have been. As of late he had been changing, growing. Almost a year in this land and it showed. His muscles rippled, his gaze grew stern, his stride confident and long. As he threw back his head, the haruspex looked for Rexanna in the shadow of the day. Where was she, in relation to him?

Why, now, did they feel so suddenly close? And why, then, did this closeness lead to violence, of all things?

Ashamin remembered himself suddenly as a colt. He had been weak, insignificant, and dependent. He was no longer those things, he was no longer a child. Still, always, he was the painted buck, but now he was painted in blood and age. He felt strong and masculine, filled with the urge of a stallion and with blood hotter than fire.

He watched Rexanna--the way that she moved like a thief's slackened bow in the night, how he was in contrast a warrior's sword. What then happened, when sword met bow? How far did that string draw back, how deadly was the strike of its missile? Or would it simply fall to the earth, collapse beneath its own weight? What was the meaning of a magic like that, of a closeness like the one that urged him to bridge the gaps between himself and this mare?

She was not of his world, not even within his orbit. She held lovers of every kind other than Ashamin, or at the very least of every kind other than what he had been. Whether he was the same stallion now... that depended on who you asked. But what did Rexanna see, when she looked at him now in the heat of this fight? Did she see the humble haruspex or the warrior with the beat of a war drum in his breast?

Slowly he reached out like fingers to feel for her heartbeat. Slowly, slowly, he wanted to know the intimacy of her. How many beats had he pinned down and analyzed, all without thinking of the life and blood pumping through them? The most vital system in the body was before him to hear, to understand, and yet he had only ever listened. But not now, not in this fight and this passion and this certainty of needing to prove who he could be, who he maybe had already become, would he be so passive. This was what he was searching for, this was what he was missing.

Heat.

""