The Clovenheart

I'm here now.

She was, of course, as taciturn as ever. The clovenheart did not spare a frown on her tone, nor did he expect something softer out of the mare. Just because he had changed didn't mean he expected others to do the same, even if it might advance them. And she was right, after all; she was here now. Ashamin supposed that, after all that he'd been through, that was really what matters. Perhaps all this time when he'd been training and reinventing himself--some days as someone better, some days as someone worse--Phantom had been right there, barely moving between distant planes. In all that time Ashamin had been putting himself at the center of attention, Phantom had been operating liminally, staying just out of sight. Maybe she'd been smarter that way--better off, at least.

Ashamin snorted when she referenced his two companions, and found himself shaken out of the contemplation of their differences. "Those" looked up at her, Lochan with his eyes wide and watching, Rakt with his gold stones narrowed and almost cutting. Neither appreciated being referred to so bluntly.

"These are my companions, Lochan and Rakt," Ashamin said with his cheek still bare and awaiting her touch. He flickered his gaze from one to the other as he spoke their names; "they are cerndyr, though both wildly different in character." His long tail curled and slapped the earth when he went silent, if only so that he would not have to suffer through quiet with her. Rakt, sensing Ashamin's unease, lowed faintly and irritably.

When Phantom accepted his greeting Ashamin was visibly relieved. His shoulders, which he had not realized were tensed, relaxed. His neck contracted and lifted as his head returned to face her fully and from farther away. She had been cold, her skin not so much unwelcome as it was unexpected. She'd almost felt dead.

"I've been better than I might seem," the Clovenheart countered quickly, a bit of confidence flaring up. "I've earned these scars fighting kings and gods, and I've won far more times than I've lost. I don't consider that to be faring ill," he said to clarify. He was proud of what he'd done, for the most part anyway. He'd earned no visible scars from his more cruel encounters, they haunted him in other ways. Ways like dreams of dead children at night, crying out in a rhythm that matched a heartbeat. Like echoes of taunts in his head.

Like the inability to look his own reflection without watching dismay fall across his features.

"But I'm glad to hear you're well, all the same. Have you left the Basin as well? I hadn't seen you there for some time, when I said my last goodbyes," Ashamin said abruptly, trying to change the subject in his own head. He looked out over the woods with dark eyes, and swiveled his large ears to hear the distant crashing of the blood falls. Anything to distract, to forget, to hide from his own mistakes.

""

ashamin, lochan, & rakt