The Clovenheart, The Little Eye, & The Blood

Paradox’s expression and cry—something between scorn and fear—was enough to tell Ashamin to stop. By the time she was gone from him, so far that he was charging at full speed, he knew for sure that he should just let her go.

Let’s go back, though, to the moment when his teeth closed over the flesh of her hip. In the split second before, he’d watched the mare injure her leg, but there had not been enough time for him to pull away and give space to recover. His grip was firmer than he wanted, so his mouth went quickly soft. When he pulled away, the retreat was so gentle that it felt to him as if it had been from a kiss.

In his haste, the Clovenheart found his hind legs shuffling to his right, thus angling his front towards her hindquarters. His thoughts, though, were too muddled with the echo of her outcry to think about his own safety. As a result, Ashamin was not able to prepare himself for her attack. He had little opportunity to guard against the onslaught of her hooves, and it was all he could do to throw his head in the air and place himself in a shallow rear.

The whites of his eyes rolled in surprise, but Ashamin supposed he shouldn’t have been so shocked that a mare as quick as Paradox would be able to recover so quickly. If not for the shifting of his position after biting Paradox or the quick raising of his forehand, Ashamin was sure the mare would have struck his jaw.

As it were, Ashamin was not far enough to avoid her entirely but was not so close that he took the full force of her buck. Her hind hooves struck just below the base of his neck, each pressing against his chest. For the first time, he found himself dramatically benefited by the thick flesh and fur that had grown along his underside. A combination of his distance from Paradox, her lesser strength, and the bulk of his neck mane buffeted the blow, so though a chunk of hair flew off into the sand and a solid bruise began to form, he did not feel too winded.

When Paradox’s hooves returned to the sand, so too did Ashamin’s. With the added weight and constriction of the antlers along his spine the rear had been difficult to maintain; it was something he was not yet used to balancing. His chest hummed as electricity moved within him, reaching out with soft fingers to heal the vessels that were blue and broken beneath his glowing chest. The Clovenheart took the moment to recover, and upon seeing Paradox’s expression turned his attention to himself instead. Had he not looked down, perhaps Ashamin would not have noticed the specks of blood pressing through a thin scrape over the bruise. The muscle ache would hurt more than the scrape, which was already slowing its lackluster flow and sporting little healing sparks, but he couldn’t help but let his mouth part some at the unexpected sight.

Though perhaps he heard her retreat, and knew that there was no use in saying anything more, Ashamin spoke before looking up. “Good job. You responded quickly,” was all he told Paradox at first—a quiet compliment almost whispered from lips that still felt tender and strange after biting her. “But next time,” was all he could say before he looked up and saw her: a figure retreating across the shore.

He would have said “Next time don’t kick with an injured leg,” but there wasn’t any time. Annoyance rose in his breast but he did not have the time to tamper it down with his magic the same way that he had emboldened the mare.

Given how soon she’d run off, Ashamin wasn’t sure it had worked.

No, the moment she ran off his advice changed and he screamed it out, his voice feeling weak as he pressed it into the air. “Next time don’t run away!” was all he could manage as he ran forward, his hooves feeling as if they were pulled into the sand with every step. Ashamin saw Rakt following out of the corner of his eye, aiding the Clovenheart expressly against his wishes. Still, Ashamin couldn’t complain when he felt one of Rakt’s spirits bless him with heightened speed so that he might better gain on the mare. When he saw Paradox stop, he angled to approach her right and attempted to slam his left shoulder against her side. Ashamin forgot about the antlers branching out from his back that could accidentally cut her. All the Clovenheart could think about was the buzzing, healing bruise in his chest that burned with his labored breath.


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ashamin, lochan, & rakt