Somehow, time unfroze itself. The coil landed with a soft plash in the water of the Basin's core. What came next was an immortal, un-animal sound. Ashamin's entire body responded in a way that was beyond control. Every thought was reduced to instinct. The prey response screamed at him to run as his skin shivered and his eyes rolled to show their whites. He gnashed his teeth as if he were a foal again, trying to keep danger at bay. Even his tail, responsible for the flight of the coils, showed signs of fear as it began to slowly tuck.

What was the painted buck scared of? Not just the cry from the lake but the cause of it, too: himself. Ashamin feared what he had done, what he had become.

Even with eyesight sharpened by nocturnal nights, shadows made fear stronger. He could see little of Mortuus but occasional glimmers of light on water; his opponent blended well. Sound was the reigning sense, and Ashamin couldn't scrub that scream from his ears.

Panicked, he looked back for Lochan but the companion was gone. Disappointed so completely, the cerndyr had apparently turned back and returned to their cave. How had Ashamin not realized, how had even his bond been forgotten? He felt frozen, as if he had been caught alone in a winter storm and no one was coming to help. He needed something like rage to ignite a warmth in him to stay alive. He needed exactly what Mortuus gave him.

Ashamin's emotions fluttered with uncontrollable heat when the insults came. He had nothing to say, nothing to do but snort and snap his teeth in visible threat. Ashamin had not long been prideful, was not one to diminish the strengths of mares (Ki'irha had given him a beating,) but insult of any kind did not sit well with a beast as honorable as he. The obnoxious rambling, the incessant outburst from the friend turned opponent, did nothing but help the haruspex pinpoint the genesis of Mortuus' attack and and encourage him to forget his fear. With sound returned to him, the demonic howl out of his mind and replaced with diatribe, Ashamin used it as best he could. Every splash in the water was a warning. By the time Mortuus even took his first step on the earth and aimed for where Ashamin had stood, the blood-marked buck was of the way, choosing to swing out and dart left at a 45 degree angle, flashing gold scars in the night.

Seconds ago he had been scared, seconds before guilty. What had he been before that, insane? To enter this spar at all, to challenge a troubled healer older than himself, his friend, was unconscionable, unforgivable as far as honor was concerned. So why had he done it, and given in so easily to Mortuus' demands and taunts? There was no precedent for such infantile responses, nothing from his youth or time in helovia. Why, after so many years fearing the wolves, was he becoming such a traitorous predator himself?

Prey to predator, predator to prey, and back... with his companion gone there was no one to keep him in check. His reason was gone, a wild and uncontrollable sort of insanity overtaking him. How could he explain this when the fight was done? What would there be to say, if he couldn't manage to apologize?

As Ashamin's body swung, as his head flew back with defiant strength, so too did his necklace. The golden chain held more weight than it appeared to--the fang held more power. In that immoral moment, with no one to stop him from abandoning himself, Ashamin summoned that power without hesitation.

What followed was a display unique to the Bear God as the fang transformed to a mask, a skull affixed to Ashamin like a trophy. With so many at his side, with more strength than he'd ever imagined he could have, Ashamin had once defeated a god. Who was Mortuus to think Ashamin fought poorly, to assume that he could not beat a mere scourge?

With nothing but fire in his eyes, the haruspex turned on Mortuus Nox. His body flew and his heart pounded as he leaned back to his right (forgetting, in rage, his bruise from before) and aimed to slam Mortuus' right side, curling his neck in the same direction to try and snap his teeth--strengthened by the magic of the Bear God--upon Mortuus's croup. There were some stallions who could be insulted, who would take harsh words with their bellies exposed and their tails tucked.

Ashamin was not one of those stallions.

""

there is a design,
an alignment to cry of my heart
to see the beauty of love
AS IT WAS M A D E TO BE