// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //
Danta hasn't brought a tent, if only because he imagines their lady Dygra is serious about the out in the open part of the requirement. He has brought a lot of other things, though, jangling away in the pack he's slung over his shoulders as he follows Asta deep into Angel's End. "I hate to say it, but you may very well be right." He sighs. Sleeping in shifts, most likely apart, sounds like a bad time for however long it takes to complete this quest.
But for Asta, he'll do anything and then some, and it's with a brief smile to the butcher that he joins him in climbing the slope. The Maverick, of course, has roamed all over the Climb, but no one can see every single inch of a region, and he certainly doesn't recognise this particular space, however significant it might be for the man at his side. The rusted, warped looking spike is a surprise - a very unwelcome one, in fact, as Danta realises where it's from, and he winces and sets his pack down as he moves to Asta's side.
"And tomorrow, we'll be gone," he reminds him gently, reaching out to brush soft and careful fingers over his shoulder. "Before we do anything further, you wouldn't mind indulging me for a second by closing your eyes and covering your ears? Tightly, if you can. I'll let you know when it's safe."
Providing the butcher has no issue in following his instructions, Danta takes a deep breath and steps away a few feet, before his shape warps into something small and black and feathered. There are plenty of gore crows out here already - he's recognised the signs of them, and their little hidey holes - and it might not help much, but if the Maverick can establish a degree of not-to-be-fucked-with in a language he thinks they'll understand, all the better.
But for Asta, he'll do anything and then some, and it's with a brief smile to the butcher that he joins him in climbing the slope. The Maverick, of course, has roamed all over the Climb, but no one can see every single inch of a region, and he certainly doesn't recognise this particular space, however significant it might be for the man at his side. The rusted, warped looking spike is a surprise - a very unwelcome one, in fact, as Danta realises where it's from, and he winces and sets his pack down as he moves to Asta's side.
"And tomorrow, we'll be gone," he reminds him gently, reaching out to brush soft and careful fingers over his shoulder. "Before we do anything further, you wouldn't mind indulging me for a second by closing your eyes and covering your ears? Tightly, if you can. I'll let you know when it's safe."
Providing the butcher has no issue in following his instructions, Danta takes a deep breath and steps away a few feet, before his shape warps into something small and black and feathered. There are plenty of gore crows out here already - he's recognised the signs of them, and their little hidey holes - and it might not help much, but if the Maverick can establish a degree of not-to-be-fucked-with in a language he thinks they'll understand, all the better.
Dantalion
// the little death that make you feel alive //
Horns: Diamond - they look very similar to #2 in this image.
