It was not a time when the world kicked and screamed. Rather it was a moment of quiet contemplation, when Helovia accepted itself for what it was: large, impossible to navigate, and decidedly strange.

This forest was no exception to these characteristics of the land. It did not hum with energy as the evening approached, but rather existed in utter silence. These woods, dark and seemingly impenetrable as they were, understood what they were. They knew their place in the world and in the land that no one could understand, they just weren't going to share what it was with any who walked through it.

Ashamin and his companions were counted among those numbers. The three of them moved easily through the dark. The Clovenheart's time as haruspex and his companion's nocturnal habits had kept him up many nights and afforded him sharp vision in hours such as these, if only at the cost of dramatically wrecking his sleep schedule. His diurnal lifestyle was erratic and strange, but so was the world he operated in. In context, it seemed normal enough.

What didn't seem normal was the quiet. It clung to Ashamin; his heartbeat and breath pounded in his ears. The faint clinking of his amulets and bear god necklace became a clattering. The sparks flickering from his tesla coil seemed suddenly like a noisy buzz. Only his armor, a blanket of cream, seemed to dampen things as it muffled the sounds of his movement and slowed his steps.

Rakt and Lochan led the way, winding around large puddles that would inevitably be encountered later. The younger of the pair let out a low call at the sight of another, and Ashamin perked up. In the near distance, her outline faint in the shadow, was another. In the quiet he was eager to make some noise, and it felt a waste to carry his armor and not put it to use.

Without hesitation he matched Rakt's enthusiasm and spoke into the dark, hoping to draw the figure closer and challenge their skill. "Stranger," the Clovenheart called into the wood, "would you care for a spar before night falls?"



""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart

She didn't hesitate, so Ashamin shouldn't have either. He didn't really--certainly not like he had in the past with Torleik or the wild blood bay stranger--but he also didn't move quick enough.

It wasn't that the mare was faster than him. She'd been quick to accept his invitation but not as quick to charge forward as he would have been. He imagined the clumsiness of wings in woods as dark and close as these could not be a convenience, perhaps they were weighing her down.

So no, it wasn't that she was faster. The mare was smaller than he, so that might have been expected, but Ashamin had been training well and overtime his stride had transformed from something tentative to a long and graceful extension of his strength. He carried himself forward with honor every time he stepped. Did the mare?

The Clovenheart wasn't sure. How could he be, when he didn't know her? Clearly such thoughts did not pin her mind down to the earth with the burden of hesitation, though. That was why she caught him off guard, in the end. She was confident, and surprisingly so. When she charged towards him she revealed armor, and suddenly the shadowy figure he'd been unsure of but willing to fight was a well-guarded threat. The light that burst from the summoning blinded not only Ashamin but his companions; since all three were more accustomed to the dark than light, what that may have aided her caused them to falter.

Thus, Lochan could not serve as the watchful eye like usual. All three of the stags staggered back, blinking furiously. Was it magic that she used against him, or was the armor an item like his own? Had she not even been wearing it before?

Ashamin didn't have time to wonder. Though the pegasus' feigning was clever, it didn't make a difference now that the painted buck struggled to see. He did not move right or left, did not try to calculate her intent, he only moved back. His forehand lifted off the ground for a fraction of a second and his back hooves shuffled away from the source of the light, narrowly missing a puddle. One step further and the Clovenheart would've been in trouble.

It was then, just before his hooves fell back to the earth and as he wildly tossed his head about, that the mare's teeth caught the flesh of his neck. Given his change in positioning she hadn't hit her mark, but the stag had been too distracted to avoid her entirely. A dull grunt pushed its way through his teeth as the pain surged through him, and blood--unforgiving and new--peeked through thick scrapes on the right side of his neck. They traced a few grisly looking lines above his shoulder, towards the front of his figure, but the image was worse than the external damage. What would really hurt the Clovenheart would be the bruises--the burning, ugly wound of them that would protest every time he turned the other way to stretch the muscle there. The pain was bad, but Ashamin had felt worse. As sparks burst from the blood to slowly knit him back together, Ashamin cursed her for aiming where his armor didn't cover; then again, he couldn't blame her for being smart.

There was something good, too, about the hurt. It was familiar, a shock to his system; it could, for just long enough, provide him with clarity. His breathing relaxed and he could hear it, loud in the quiet of the wood. Rakt and Lochan returned to themselves as well, and thankfully just in time. Rakt had already been shaking his head in confusion, but now when he tossed it he saw an attacker headed straight for him. Young as he was, Rakt refused to be caught off guard. He dodged the bird easily by throwing himself to the left and then leaped up at an angle, aiming to catch the falcon in the thorny trap of his antlers.

Just as Rakt returned to his warrior ways, Lochan returned to watching. What he saw was the mare's next move in its nascent moments, and what followed was a warning to his bonded. Ashamin saw the wing in his mind as a feathered black streak and dodged the best that he could, all while steeling his mind for his next move. His hindquarters swung to the right (and away from the puddle) as he tried to position himself like a wall before her. The fang he wore expanded to form a mask and, without mercy, he lunged forward to try and grab the arm bone of her wing as he had when fighting Einarr.

Hopefully this time, with speed and the Bear God on his side, he might be more successful.

""

ASHAMIN

The Clovenheart