Lochan was so often Ashamin's savior. Now more than ever, the small cerndyr's keen pair of eyes kept Ashamin safe. With the mists obscuring the scene Ashamin could see nothing of the stranger that his companion had uncovered--a lapse in his senses that he would quickly regret ignoring. The painted buck should have been more careful, should have waited to see the opponent before challenging, but the eagerness inhabiting him had gotten the better of his reasoning.

So Ashamin stood, hoof outstretched, awaiting the response that would come too late. Not all were as straightforward as Einarr, not all as willing to introduce and explain as Torleik. His spar with the psycho-babbler (Isopia) had taught him that, if nothing else.

When the warning came it was a flash in his mind: a crude picture drawn by Lochan that reflected the eyes of the tigress at his back. Ashamin heard the growl, understood his mistake. He had not challenged another unicorn, no. The figure in the mist was a predator--perhaps some distant relative of the feline rift god that it had taken so many to subdue. Ashamin tried to snap back and face it but there was simply no way to combat a tiger's flexibility or speed. Even with Lochan's aid, he could not walk away unscathed.

The haruspex slammed his white cloven hoof back into the muddy, heavy sand. It was silent, every move muffled by the soft pattering of rain and the dulling cushion of the shore. These were no rocky slopes; Ashamin was far from the hard, frozen ground he was accustomed to. A tigress, though, had soft pawpads possibly designed for such terrain. How could he compete? Lochan's warning gave Ashamin a second to prepare, but the environment took the advantage away. As the haruspex tried to run he felt the ground shake, saw the ghost of a grey shadow parting the mists, and watched helplessly as his hooves sank weakly into the shuddering sand. However, the buck did not have time to wonder about the approaching shade--did not have a second to wonder if perhaps there was another attacker in the mists that had turned the shore into quicksand--when the tigress landed.

When the tigress landed, Ashamin's already sinking form shook. The addition of weight, the digging in of claws, the sheer bruising impact of it all was staggering. An unfettered cry forced itself out from between the haruspex's black and white lips, echoing through his clenched teeth as he steadied himself on his forelegs. His hindquarters, having taken most of the weight, were the hardest to right. They folded under the onslaught, and Ashamin held onto a grunt as he forced them to straighten beneath him. The motion was like a muffled scrabbling, something that was muted and made ineffective in the sucking sand.

The only advantage, the only positive spin, was this: though the tiger had dragged him almost to the ground; reduced his height; caught him off guard; and latched onto his back with killer claws; Ashamin was pulled under the aim of the grey shadow and true attacker. The horn of the already taller enemy missed him completely the moment that Ashamin's body lowered, the moment his head had drawn down to his chest in agonized instinct. Protect the heart, hide the face from the jaws that would snap and tear flesh from a skull. The painted buck's heart beat loudly, adrenaline coursing through him as streams of blood fell from the puncture wounds and dripped down his flanks. He could hear nothing but the blue electric beat, could put no effort into launching an attack of his own.

Thus, as he so often did, Lochan stepped in as Ashamin's savior.

Without command, the dark cerndyr's mists mixed with those already covering the shore and wove through the patter of the rain. They dove as if animal, hopefully reaching the unicorn attacker and muddling their thoughts. In the meantime Ashamin inhaled, molded his own heart with his spark and warrior's spirit magic to harness the adrenaline and drown out the hurt, and swung his body leftwards. If all went as planned, he might fling the tigress from his back and to the earth in front of its commander. The haruspex could hear none of the opponent's words through the pounding of the blood in his ears, could think nothing of "smart tactics" as he struggled to be rid of the snarling load. There was no time to see or listen, not enough visibility in the misty rain and the splattering of wet sand for Ashamin to make heads or tails of how he compared to his enemy. The painted seer only felt the blood, falling hot from his sides and running through his veins. It was all that he could handle.

""