The rain had finally come.

Ashamin was lucky to find himself back in the Blood Falls and in his makeshift home before the worst of it hit, but by the time he dragged himself under the red canopy he and his companions were still soaked. It had been dark to begin with up in this northern corner but now that night had encroached it was even darker. Lochan had guided them home, given that his eyes were the most well-adjusted to the dark, but now that they were there he was the first to lay himself down.

The Clovenheart didn't miss the Aurora Basin—The God of the Spark had sort of been right about that cold—but he did miss having a roof over his head. He'd grown accustomed to living in caves, and this gloomy forest was certainly a change of pace.

Then again, the rocks hadn't afforded him much light, either. And as dark and reddened by that bloody tinge these woods were, at least he didn't have a mystical mirror of time constantly pressuring him when he went to sleep. Rakt and Lochan much preferred this manner of dwelling, too. The cerndyr were better suited to these woods, and Ashamin liked to see them leap and dart around the trees. They seemed, well... happy.

For so long, with Ashamin's troubles and the troubles put upon him, that had been a rare feeling. Even now, as rain filtered through the trees and dropped onto their heads and Ashamin's collection of items, they were happier than they'd been in quite a long time.

The Clovenheart ran his nose over the now wet spinal piece the Moon Goddess had presented him with, trying to memorize the feeling of the runes etched there. It felt like some sort of secret, some sort of code that he'd been tasked with breaking. He knew they were familiar, but every time he tried to sound them out there was no effect. Now, in the rain, his long tail slapped against the wet earth with dissatisfaction. He wasn't giving up, but for the time being he'd need to wait and reconsider what the runes might be carved to say.

For now, Ashamin was content to watch the rain.

""

ASHAMIN

Poem

image credits

@Seanan, for you!

Why can't he ever escape these damned labyrinthine trees!

It seems that no matter where Seanan roams in Helovia, he is hedged in by darkness and growth.  It seems to him that someone had been much too lenient in the creation of this place.  It is verdant and decadent and unchecked.  And now it is wet.

It is not that rain is unknown in the desert.  Nor is it that he has not encountered such rain in his travels since departing those golden sands.  It is just that where he comes from rain is sacred and scarce.  They stand in it, huddled close together, letting the water sluice the dust from their coats.  Sometimes they run, leaving the basins and valleys for the heights of the dunes when the water thunders unexpectedly down some formerly dry channel.  Few had been lost to the treacherous births of new rivers, soon to die when the sun burned the clouds away.

Here though the water is relentless and it is old.  There is nothing rejuvenating about it.  It is not new or rare or precious.  It is just wet, and he hates it.  Not for the first time since arriving here, he feels as though he is drowning.  He snorts to keep the water from his nostrils as it runs down his muzzle.  Even the dense canopy of leaves overhead cannot keep the rain out.  Too sunken in his misery, Seanan does not even register the strange quality of the darkness, the verdant growth turned red as blood.  He moves slowly, head low, watching his steps in the eternal gloom.  His night vision is not excellent but he is pale, and it is at least somewhat easy to see his own hooves even in the dark.  

In the darkness he scrapes against another tree trunk.  With a sharp squeal of rage, finally tired of the confinement and the damp he lashes out with both hind hooves, back arching and curling.  One of his hooves clips a tree while the other strikes empty air and he stumbles to keep his balance.  The ground feels as though it heaves and buckles beneath him in the dark, trying to hold him down.  To keep him still.  

He jerks his front hooves free of the earth and rears, lashing out at shadows.  His head draws back, challenging, eyes wild and showing white all around his blood-tinged irises.  With a crack his head strikes a low hanging branch and he drops back to all four hooves, legs splayed wide.  And he is still trapped.

Still drowning.

Listen.

Lochan's voice rang through the Clovenheart's mind, causing him to lift his head swiftly and peer out into the darkness of the woods.

Ashamin didn't hear anything. Not through the pounding of the rain against the bloody trees and not from so far away. What is it? He questioned, dark eyes slimmed beneath a furrowing brow. What was it that he was always missing, that Lochan could always catch? He didn't need to be envious of the little eye's senses because their bond allowed him to share in them, but he did find himself incredulously surprised at times.

As if to show that he too knew what was out there in the woods, Rakt stood swiftly and shook a combination of stardust and rain out from his thick coat. He, the blood, moved forward first. It only took a few short leaps forward for him to begin to camouflage and disappear into the woods; Ashamin and Lochan had no choice but to follow him or lose him in that sea of red.

Rakt was not yet able to communicate through any sort of mental speech but he did have his magic, and with it he summoned a pale, thinned out figure of a starry deer. It ran to Ashamin, granting him the enhanced speed he needed to catch up with his two companions as they ran ahead. He darted through trees like the two deer would, careful to duck and dive as he needed to to avoid branches. There was a brief moment, a hesitation, as he recalled his items and feared he'd not be able to find the way back to their camp, but Lochan flashed a painting of their camp and a trail to his bonded and assured him it would be fine. Remember, the cerndyr's thought bloomed. Yes, Lochan would remember the way.

So the Clovenheart followed the two cerndyr through the rain with confidence and wings on his hooves until he reached the one that they'd sensed: a stallion, so pure of a white that he practically glowed in this darkness. But so pure of one, too, that his coat seemed to soak up the sickly pallor of blood.

And whoever he was, he was not happy. Something seemed to trouble him—cause him to kick like a mule and rear like some lioness cornered. But all that distress fades away when Ashamin saw the troubled stag's eyes: the color of a rose but flooded with the insidiousness of white. Ashamin, bearing eyes that were uninterrupted black and so rarely broken by fear, knew the kind of horror that lead to such an expression.

"Stranger, it's alright!" The Clovenheart called out as he broke through the shadow of the trees and brought himself into the path of danger. This was a much larger and very upset stallion—not always a wise one to face. "It's alright, you're safe here!"

And though perhaps he was wrong, perhaps this stallion that Ashamin faced was not scared at all, he still needed to say the words—if only for himself.

""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

image credits

Ahh I loved your post @Seanan. You write so beautifully. Did you want to be tagged? (I prefer a message on skype or none at all—I'm j.s.n.y. on skype if you wanted to add me, just say it's you in the request.)

His skin shivers, trembles, jumps.  Water dances from it with every twitch and spasm but it isn't enough to completed shed the day's deluge.  He shakes his head, trying to clear away the spot lights and throbbing pain from his impact with the branch, briefly disoriented.  The shock has not calmed him, only transmuted the sudden outburst into something that turns internal, winding tighter and tighter- a spring compressed until it might-

Something moves.

The white stallion's head jerks up and he dances back from the sudden appearance of another, barely registering the words at first.  His rump hits the tree he earlier kicked and he shies sideways, a quick skirting of dainty hooves that nearly seem to tangle on one another.  His eyes flit from the stranger to his two companions, creatures that seem not unlike the deer he has seen in passing in his travels.  There is something other about them though, and the black pools of the other stallion's eyes do not leave Seanan comforted.

He doesn't strike out though.  He has nothing to defend here, there is no reason to fight.  Sides heaving as though he has run for miles, the white stallion simply watches the painted in silence for a long moment, struggling to recall enough speech to respond.  How does he explain the fear of the cage and of drowning on dry land?  Further, how can he say this place is safe?  How does he know?  What proof is there that somewhere from which you cannot flee, where the trees crowd around like demons in the darkness, is safe?

He can't articulate these thoughts.  His muzzle parts briefly, as though to speak, then the broad ivories snap shut with a decisive click, half a warning to the other and half frustration at himself.  So wrapped up in his own head, he hardly notices his height advantage over the other.  It makes little difference when it is notices, marked and ignored as inconsequential.  It would be a disservice to many he had held dear to think that someone smaller than he could not still best him in physical conflict.  

He lifts his front hooves from the ground again, but this time it is little more than a harsh stamp, an attempt to dispel the frustrated adrenaline that keeps his mind whirling.  

"Who could be safe in this damned lake?"  The words escape him explosively, staccato and interrupted by the heaviness of his breathing and the frustrated snap of his teeth.  His body remains bunched, tight, caught between the stranger, his companions, and the trees around him.  his skin jumps and trembles but he does not shiver from cold.  He can barely feel the chill of the rain over the fire of his blood and the fearpanicrage that screams in his head.

OOC:// I don't mind either way, and thank you!  I'm still getting the hang of him.  I'll add you to skype when I get home- I'm wilsonkellie

There was a moment when Ashamin questioned the other white buck's sanity. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, or maybe it was when he called the woods by the falls a lake. As if in disbelief, as if needing to check, the Clovenheart looked down to be sure that they both stood on (relatively) dry land. When he saw nothing but earth beneath them, a small shiver ran along his spine.

Who exactly was Ashamin dealing with here, and what mental state was this stranger really in?

Bolstered by his two companions, Ashamin did not back down. The other stallion's voice was rage or distress, something that forced the words to form a harsh explosion, but The Clovenheart would not retire his comforting ways even as the shrapnel of those words struck him. "Someone that isn't alone," Ashamin replied quickly, the words almost a bit too biting despite their kind intent. He couldn't help but sort of match the white one's fire; it wasn't hard to get the Clovenheart geared up.

Lochan nudged the painted buck, pressing his white fore-marking to the stallion's leg as he often did, as if to soothe him. Rakt sent bloody splashes to his bonded, as if to remind him to not give into the other's fire. Together, the sensations balanced him out into something calm and determined, but still forgiving.

"I am Ashamin the Clovenheart; these are my companions, Lochan and Rakt. I know this land is strange, but I assure you I, at least, mean you no harm. I might be able to help you, find you some shelter or assuage your fears, if you would give me the chance."

His long tail curled and twisted, somewhat anxious as he awaited the larger buck's reply. It was a big if given the stranger's current mood, but Ashamin hoped he might be able to help him regardless. Wasn't that a whole part of his mission out here in these wilds: to share his knowledge with others, to help them? The Clovenheart considered mentioning all that to the white stallion, considered citing the others he worked with as evidence that he wasn't all bad, but he doubted that his new company would be so receptive to that information right now. No, the fewer people involved in this scene—whatever it was—for now, the better, he suspected.

So he watched, black eyes wide and attempting to appear kind despite the red reflecting from all around him, and hoped. Whoever this stranger was, Ashamin didn't want him to be scared like this. He had known the feeling himself, and he knew how wretched and heart-twisting it was.
""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

image credits  

I added you on skype, @Seanan. :)

Seanan

As the sun set on another, you fell through dying dreams
but could not catch them...

Someone who isn't alone.

The sharp words seem to strike some chord in the stallion and he abruptly stills, hooves bunched tightly together and neck arches, blood-tinted eyes fixed on the stranger who would say such a thing.  Did he think that the absence of lonliness was the same as safety?  What an infantile, naive train of reasoning.  seanan snorts his derision, thin white tail lashing back and forth behind him, the strands catching on brush here and there before being jerked free.  Still, some lucidity comes back into his eyes though his ears stay pinned back to his skull as the other introduces himself.

"Company does not preclude danger."  The words hiss between his teeth. He is offended by this strangers assumption that his fears can be so easily placated- or that he is afraid at all.  And he certainly isn't afraid of him.  He is angry and that is not the same.  Seanan lies more easily to himself than he does to others.

How long has it been since he's been righteous enough to be offended by someone?

Bit by bit, he realizes that he is acting like something that he is not anymore.  He has no right here to claim offense, nor is he interested in challenging to defend his honor.  Here he has no honor.  No dignity.  He lost that along with everything else.  Along with the rubies, gold, and silver of the desert.  The jet and pearl and mahogany.

While he doesn't exactly react, there is some stiff acceptance of the Clovenheart's words now.  The distraction of another allows him to draw his mind from the confinement and the damp, focusing instead on the conversation at hand.  His skin still jumps and trembles under every fresh drop of water.

"I am Seanan."  He pauses for a long moment, as if it is still something of a struggle to string together the words, now bereft of anger.  Instead they are quiet, as rage dissolves into the misery of a creature who does not like the water being wet.  "If you know somewhere to get out of the rain, that would be... helpful."  He strains to keep the language mild, reining in the largess of emotion.

"Speaking"

AND I COULD NOT CATCH YOU.

Image credit to MedEvac71 on flickr.com

"Company does not preclude danger."

As soon as the words were released from his company's lips, Ashamin's kindly offered smile cracked into a shocked and curious grin. So the stranger was smart, too. And the Clovenheart was glad to see him calm, as well. With the fire inside dying down a bit, Ashamin was able to see a bit more clearly rather than be blinded by the indiscriminate rage and distaste of the white one.

The white one whose name, he quickly learned, was Seanan. Ashamin's two companions perked their ears at the name, Lochan committing it to memory dutifully and Rakt acting as if he'd already forgotten it (but of course knowing it very well.) The painted buck at first only nodded, needing to respond to the first thing said before the second.

"True, we often find ourselves meeting enemies in the dark. But even they can keep us safe from solitude and the haunting of our own minds. Left unchecked, time alone can be even more dangerous, don't you think?" The question was a scholarly one, not unlike those Ashamin had bandied about in the Basin. Now, as an absolver, it was a secondary duty but one that he still considered important, especially when in the company of one with such a sharp wit.

He shrugged then, red shoulder rolling and black one aching, as if to indicate moving on. "It's a pleasure, Seanan," he said simply, honestly. With a faint nod and a mental command he indicated to Lochan that the cerndyr show them the way back to the denser wood they'd discovered to some sort of shelter near where Ashamin himself had settled, if not the very same.

"Lochan can take us to a drier part of these woods," Ashamin explained before moving to follow his companion. Rakt was reluctant to follow but did so at his bonded's behest; he would be able to explore the woods later. Around them the rain fell thick and relentless, so Ashamin was not keen on sticking around to let Rakt explore and leave Seanan, well, drowning.

The Clovenheart didn't wait long before striking up conversation. "Are you new to Helovia, Seanan? Just if you don't mind me asking. Most who belong to the herdlands here don't often stay out in the storms that Birdsong brings, is all," Ashamin mused as he queried. "Having consistent shelter is I suppose the benefit of being confined by laws and borders," the Clovenheart said with a side smile tossed back to the other stag.


""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

image credits

"No."

His reply is quick, clipped, and hard.  Time alone is not without it's dangers, but it is not more dangerous.  It is, he thinks, not that dangerous at all.  Bot physically at least.  How easy is it to measure the dangers of the mind against the dangers to the body?  He does not try.  He focuses instead on what is simple, visible.  It is the invisible that he will eventually be called to answer for but for now he chooses to ignore that, push it aside.

Seanan does follow though, a ghostly shadow behind the smaller painted stallion.  He shortens his strides, steps mincing so that the distance between them is maintained.  He would have to take a full stride to be within reach and the Clovenheart- Ashamin- would have to back up or turn to reach him.  He is jealous of his space, and the closeness of the trees bothers him.  While he listens to the other speak he cannot quite keep his attention from the close crowding wooden bodies.  Once he lashes out with a single hind hoof, scarring the bark of one trunk.  It did little to make him feel better, but it was better than doing nothing.

"I have not been here long." His reply is calmer now that they are moving though, as if the simple act of locomotion is enough to give his nerves some passage, beaten out into the ground beneath his pale hooves.  "I have never lived in a place where it rains so much.  Nor where the trees grow so thick."  

He eyes one such tree as if it might creep closer, eyes briefly rolling to flash white again.  But on the whole his face has regained some expression of sanity, if still threaded with paranoia and suspicion.  The comment about herds catches his attention again and his ears lift slightly from his skull, curious.  "Is that how you think of a herd, Ashamin?"

The stranger's name feels strange on his lips and for a moment he regrets saying it.  Perhaps like the distance he keeps between them, avoiding his name would prevent closeness.  Still, the word is in the wind (or at least, it is in the water), and cannot be retrieved.

Ashamin did not expect the terse denial, but when it arrived he also didn't feel particularly surprised. He snorted lightly, not in disapproval so much as acknowledgement. Seanan did not seem eager to discuss the topic further, given his lack of explanation, so the Clovenheart chose to let it rest with nothing more than a shrug. He considered commenting on Seanan's honesty, but the painted buck doubted the stallion was fishing for, or would perhaps even pleasantly receive, compliments.

He chose instead to watch his companions bobbing through the wood and listen to the stallion tell his tale, even if it was brief. Ashamin had guessed as much that Seanan was new; when he admitted his unfamiliarity with the weather, his violent outburst before made a bit more sense.

"I grew up in dense woods, but the weather was too cold to see much rain; what fell came down as snow," the buck mused of his lost home. He'd never been part of a herd, so the solitude that had haunted him may have escaped Seanan, but neither of them were acclimated to the rain. Even though Ashamin had lived in Helovia for some time now he had spent his time in the Basin, where the cold was familiar and the rain just as scare. Here, though...

Ashamin's long tail dragged, leaving a thin trail in the mud and staining it. Lochan had paused for a moment to choose a path, but moved forward again with renewed confidence. Ashamin followed but he too, paused, when Seanan spoke his name.

The Clovenheart had not realized what his comment might sound like to another, and reconsidered it now that he was faced with it again. How did he think of herds? Certainly not so negatively, but then again... well, he had been raised a wanderer. To return to those roots and leave the Basin behind felt undeniably right.

His dark gaze turned to seek out Seanan's, and he smiled softly as if he had lost something in the process of gaining something else. "Herds are good, for some. I spent much of my time in Helovia as a part of one, thinking that was enough." He sighed, looking back at his companions, his eyes travelling across their wet backs and watching as the rain sluiced through their fur. "I found I needed more, even if it meant holding my own out here. Funny enough, though, I've found the wilds aren't as lonely as they are made out to be; I've met a few others that value freedom and knowledge as much as I do, formed a collective of sorts."

Another pause, a few steps forward as Lochan took a sharp turn to guide them all beneath a denser canopy and drier place. The Clovenheart was glad to be freed of some of the wet when he looked again at Seanan. "I think herds have value. I think life as an outcast, forming your own network, has the opportunity for even more," he said with a fixed glance on the other stag. Once again he held his tongue, holding back further comment or an offer before Seanan could have a chance to reply to this.

""

""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

image credits

Careful, careful. The white stallion focused on following the Clovenheart through the wet woods, eyes fixed on the tail that dragged a path through the mud in front of him. He could feel the mud slicked on his own legs and the flecks of it hanging on his belly where the rain hadn't had the chance to wash it away. There was plenty of rain to make mud, but it seemed never really enough to was clean.

"It rained sometimes. Short, violent storms, usually heralded by heat lightning and winds that whipped the sands into a frenzy until you couldn't see your own hooves, even in broad daylight." His ears swiveled forward, fixed on the other stallion as he spoke of herd and freedom. Freedom? It seemed a strange thing to be concerned about. If you weren't trapped, then weren't you free? He had never seen the social obligations of a herd as a hindrance to that but then, he'd never lived without. Even as a young stallion driven from his home herd to learn his independence, he'd known where bachelor groups roamed. He had quickly found one and made his place in it. It was simply how things were done.

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as they finally entered into a dryer patch of woods. His whole body shook like a dog, trying to relive itself of the excess weight of moisture. It didn't do terribly much, especially since the cover wasn't total. Still Seanan felt a little better. He considered the other's point. It was.... foreign to him. Like many things here. The front of his muzzle scrunched delicately as he rolled the idea over in his mind.

"A collective." The word is a statement, carefully neutral. He was still trying out the idea, not sure what he thought of it. "There are reasons why one might choose to remain apart." Obviously, he had his own. He paused to think a moment longer, carefully choosing his words.

"It seems to me that such a network or collective is essentially a herd without the social obligation." There. he thought that conveyed what irritated him about the idea. Outcasts working together- that is a herd, no matter if it isn't called one or has no lands to call it's own. Not naming it as it was simply absolved those involved of the social obligation to care about each other beyond selfish need. Still, he could see how such a group could be useful. After all, he had no desire to bind himself to a herd (he wanted no herd but his). The aid of those who were more familiar with the land could be of use though.

He almost smiled. It was, essentially, the exact thing he'd just been irritated with. It was selfishness that drove his interest in the network, and the appeal of not being obligated.

"Though I suppose I could see the appeal."

Seanan's mind was bright, his conversation bold and welcome. Ashamin watched him carefully through the reddish gloom, blinking the last stray raindrops from his eyes and licking a few stray ones from his lips. He hadn't realized that, despite all the water flowing from the sky around him, he was sort of thirsty.

Still, he'd hold off on venturing to find still water for now. Seanan had him fixed like some object of scientific admiration. Ashamin's days as a scholar had been duller than this conversation. It was a debate that, unlike Sikeax or the earthen mare's, didn't drive him absolutely mad.

"There are," Ashamin conceded when Seanan brought up the benefits of living apart "which is why I still do. Those I lend my knowledge to are just that: those I would teach, those who I support in their endeavors to learn and defend themselves. But we come and go, we travel as apart as any other."

He paused. It wasn't as if Seanan was wrong, because there were definitely aspects of a herd in the Unbound. "Perhaps you are right, and perhaps someday the lines I see now will blur beyond recognition. The herdlands here will not remain as they are forever, and I can't say for sure that the Unbound of us won't rise up to take our places in a new regime. But for now, we are independent," the Clovenheart steeled his gaze some, as if to match Seanan's neutrality. His beard dripped with old rain and his bones felt old and stale, as if he had been walking unceasingly for many years. "And should you wish, Seanan, you could count yourself among us."

Behind him, Rakt and Lochan met each other's gazes. They held a staring contest in the encroaching dark, expanded their bright eyes wide to take in all they didn't know. In their own way, they were always playing out the world they saw.

""

""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

image credits

He does not comment on being part of some new regime.  That has no appeal to him.  He has no interest in battling others for land or anything else really. Though some small part of him reminds him of outlet he has found in sparring with certain individuals.  That is different though.  No matter how rough a spar becomes, it is different than a challenge with a cause.  He had no desire to have any cause but his own.

The invitation itself doesn't really come as a suprise to the white stallion.  He cocks one ear towards Ashamin, the other swivelling to listen to the forest around them.  There is a subtle tension that has never left his body, life in his muscles that prevents him from being still.  He does not shuffle though, as would be his normal attitude.  Instead it becomes briefly a slow prance in place, dropping his weight from one front hoof to the other.  His hinds stay steady, unmoving.  It's not exactly impatience that causes him to fidget but rather a natural instinct to move.  More, he likes the feeling of his muscles in action and the impact of his hooves against the earth, even earth as spongy as this.

Did this other think that herds were a product of land?  That they required territory?  Interesting.  Perhaps it was a product of the different places from which they had come.  While Seanan had been proud of his land and it's heart, his herd would have survived if they had needed to move elsewhere.  If they had any warning-

He shakes his head and his rosy gaze snaps back to Ashamin from where it had wandered. "And what would be required of me, if I were to accept? What binds might I expect as one of the Unbound?"

His voice is light, a touch of humor coloring his words where there hadn't been before.  It seems a bit pretentious to him.  There is no cooperation without social contracts.  If you are not bound by similar social contracts it would make it hard, if not impossible to cooperate.  Still, he could use such resources as these.  It would do him good to learn more about the land he dwelt in now.  He would be here for at least a short while.

Somehow, Ashamin felt as though he was getting closer to reaching the stallion. The red-tinged white of his coat seemed less bright, less intimidating; the expression on Seanan's features, his tone, turned to humor rather than a cold and guarded rage. Perhaps Ashamin exaggerated these expressions in his own mind, but he was an emotional buck and a scholar. Was it really so strange for him to analyze the inner workings of another's heart with such delicate care?

Seanan's question was reasonable and good to hear. It was not a rejection, and Ashamin supposed that was the first step. Besides, he liked someone that questioned things rather than blindly accepted. There were things one had to know about a situation before involving themselves in it, he had learned this the hard way.

He paused before responding, his eyes suddenly gazing into a dark distance and his expression suddenly fallen. If only he had listened to the mare's heartbeat before attacking. The reality of how close he had been to knowing was too clear, too close even as he tried to push it further away.

Always, always, he could have been better.

But with no way to turn back time, Ashamin did what he could to focus on the present. Urged by Lochan's steady reminders that he was good, the Clovenheart looked back to Seanan and offered a comforting smile. "All I would ask is that you be willing to share the loyalty and knowledge that you posses with others who have agreed to do the same," Ashamin said with a clear voice but a conscience clouded by memory. "In exchange, you would be gifted with the same. Call that social bondage, if you will, consider it no different than a herd, but know that you would always be allowed to maintain whatever freedom you wish to possess."

A pause, a slight sigh and shiver as a cold, stray drop landed, split, and rolled down beside the scars on his hindquarters. His two companions turned to look over Seanan, the stallion who questioned. "I understand your hesitation, and I appreciate your consideration. It is not good to go into things without thinking, and what I offer may not seem any different than what many already have. But I can assure you, I have found the alliance of the wilderness to be much more reliable than that of any herd."

And as he thought of Thranduil the Laurelin and the God of the Spark, of the ones he'd once called Lord, he knew that (if nothing else) to be true.

""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

image credits

The trees were red.

He had been listening, really. He still was.  Sort of.  But the white stallion had suddenly noticed the scarlet light around them.  Perhaps the clouds had thinned and allowed a little more light through.  Perhaps some distant lightning strike had increased the illumination for some reason but now Seanan saw it.  Rose colored eyes drifted from Ashamin's face, travelling instead up-up-up to the canopy above.  His ears cocked curiously, nose wrinkling when a drop of rain splatted flat on his muzzle.  One ear lolled to the side, towards the painted stallion to indicate that he was still paying some modicum of attention.

With the adrenaline driving him, Seanan's attention wandered.  The red light seeped to paint his coat almost the same color as his eyes (he'd seen them before, in the calm reflection of an oasis).  

'freedom.... alliance...'

It was silnce that recalled Seanan to the other's presence after perhaps too long a pause in which he was distracted by the surroundings.  The lean stallion had half-turned, surveying the trees as though he'd never seen them before.  He had take no time earlier to understand the strange beauty of this place.  It was alien, even more so than the rest of this land- oh right.

He replayed the conversation back in his head quickly as his turned, almost sheepishly, back to face the smaller unicorn.  "That sounds useful, so long as I could leave should I want to."  

Most of the imperious tone was gone from his voice, left only soft, good-humored words.  He would not mind learning a bit more. Though he had little of his own to share.

Ashamin was undeniably a bit relieved when Seanan's voice softened. He wasn't sure if it meant Seanan was truly feeling less combative or if it meant he'd stopped paying attention, but the Clovenheart would settle for either. At that point all he wanted was to hear words from the pale stallion's lips, for the silence that settled between them did so all too comfortably. The painted buck became all too aware of the rain and the woods, the bloody look of the land that they found themselves in. Without Seanan's conversation to distract him, the stag felt a hint of something like paranoia and his mind started to wander. Wander to the mare with the baby not born, to his mistakes, and to his choice that had led him here.

Ashamin tried, at least, to remind himself that this decision was a good one. Founding this collective, bringing together other like souls, could not do harm, could it? Ashamin was trying to better the world, if only to atone for his mistakes and the moments of monstrosity that had overtaken the kindness most knew him for.

Seanan's acceptance wasn't as clear as expected, but it was one. Or... at least the Clovenheart thought it was. He smiled anyway, hoping his assumption was correct, and nodded with respect to the rose-eyed stag. His eyes reminded Ashamin of Hotaru.

"Of course, all our members come and go as they must. Welcome, Seanan. I'm glad to have one as curious as you as my ally," Ashamin said, nodding then to his companions. They in turn both cast dire looks to Seanan--looks that pledged loyalty. If Ashamin would pledge to protect Seanan, they would do the same.

Then again... maybe the white stag didn't need much protecting. The buck remembered the ferocity with which the stallion had kicked at the trees, and wondered if he brought any of that passion to the battlefield. "You know, many of us choose to study and practice the art of defense as crusaders. Given the circumstances of how we met, I'd be curious to see what you know," Ashamin said, careful not to offer his own knowledge. While it was true that he knew his fair share, he wasn't sure if Seanan was in a learning mood. The stallion was a bit, well, moody, after all.

"Would you maybe care for a spar, Seanan?"

""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

image credits

I'm thinking we can go right into one from here if you want? You can go ahead and make your first post an attack and just link to this thread at the bottom and describe our current setting for the judge, no need to make a non attack post (unless you want Ashamin to make the first attack.) Or we can set it later if Seanan says no, maybe?