hold me tight or don't

// there's shadows on the walls //

A fyrhund is a big fucking dog to have pouncing around a single room, Danta can tell you that for nothing all of a sudden. As such, however quick he wants to try and be, even with his Dart ability, there's only so many places for him to go. Tripping over any number of items of clothing is a very bad move, but it's what the (still inebriated, in his defence) Maverick does, and he goes down hard at the same time as the fyrhund's jaws close around his leg.

Grating out a curse and resisting the urge to kick at the canine's rocky skull - it'll likely only tear the muscle in his calf more, and it won't work besides - Danta realises the only option available to him with a cold slosh of guilt in his stomach. "For fuck's sake," he hisses, and whilst he's glaring at Asta, there's some form of apology in the expression, before he's also shifting.

His form grows smaller, however, and the flask of fountain water hits the wooden floor as Danta slips away, clad in the dark feathers and gnarled talons of a gore crow. With one foot tucked up from the injury, Danta nonetheless spreads his black wings wide and parts his beak to caw at the fyrhund, trying to hop up enough to get airborne and perch on the dresser.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //