Ashtaroth doesn't play anymore. She can see the Rites on the horizon, the Auction, the Fates. Gone are the days of leading her sisters on unplanned adventures; she interacts with her littermates in more private setting, and she wears a different personality for each of them. She and Lotus still explore at the height of the moon-- that, she hopes, will never change-- but the weight of expectation has fallen upon her shoulders, and her back arches with the load. Maybe Feizin isn't so misguided in her dutiful studies.
   Perhaps not. Despite her best efforts, Ashtaroth has not secured a bond, and she loathes the advantage an Auction could give her Bonder. She will outshine any who would have her. She will impress all who look upon her accomplishments. She will catch Anamelech's eye again.
   She isn't heavy enough to sink in the sand, and although her growth spurt has hit and her height rises, Ashtar's measurements only shrink. She binds muscle to her bones, runs until her pads bleed, works until it hurts. Oukoku-Kai needs no fat, and if she is to made the example of their ideals, neither does Ashtaroth.
   Dry tongue longs from her mouth, swipes sun-baked nose to no avail. Horse heart punches at her sternum, rhythmic and impossibly fast. Resigned to its cage, but unwilling to let her forget its discontent. Knees give out as she makes her way to the river: she has stopped not just before her limits, but surpassed them, as she will continue to do, until she is sated or dead.
   The wolf collapses at the shoreline, chest heaving wildly, eyes closed in exhaustion. Ashtaroth may be weak in this moment, but she will be stronger for it.