hold me tight or don't

// there's shadows on the walls //

Regretting it as soon as he's done it, Danta nonetheless keeps his wings for long enough to know that he's rattled the sense back into the butcher - or at the very least doused the bloodlust with sheer terror - rufflling his feathers to make himself as large as possible. Clacking his curved beak and shaking himself off once the fyrhund has scrambled beneath the bed (a feat Danta will find impressive shortly, given the size of the canine) he slowly shifts himself back and climbs down from the dresser, hissing at the blood pumping from the wounds in his calf.

Luckily there's still enough water on hand to deal with it, the Maverick easing himself to sit down on the ground as he cleans and heals the bite, leaning back on one hand and breathing heavily, the adrenaline still singing through his blood. "I'm sorry," he pants when he thinks he has breath enough for it, glancing across to the dark space beneath the bed. "I always swore I'd never use that shift against you. But I think we both know you would've killed me just then."

Raking bloody fingers back through his hair and only then realising that he's covered in fresh streaks of crimson, Danta lets out a long sigh. "I think I'd better shower before being around you. You don't... you can stay where you feel safest," he says, climbing to his feet.

Dantalion

// of moments far too troubling to recall //