the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
The dome is enough of a deterrent that the vortex of crows avoid from getting singed, spiraling around it for a few moments longer before fleeing back to the crevices and recesses of the rock, blinking with beady eyes from the cover of their typical nests. Astaroth on the other hand, curls in, knees drawn up, side pressed heavily into the bedroll when Danta’s voice reaches him. He continues to try and measure his breaths, eyes shut tight as he stubbornly presses his bloody hands into his eyes to staunch any of the tears, hiding away from the Maverick to the best he can.
He would fight off a pack of fyrhunds for him. He realizes he’d do anything for him. He’s going through this mostly for him, too.
He doesn’t feel the blanket draw up around him, doesn’t feel the way Danta floods his warmth into him. But he does hear the question, pressing his palms into his face enough for him to be able to sniff and seem like a semblance of who he is, before he twists a little to reveal the hand in question to the Maverick. The fire glints against the ruby red, watery in some places where tears have streaked through it, and amongst the middle of his palm sits a deep cut. Red and puffy and not doing a great job at clotting, the butcher’s attention flickers briefly from Danta to the dome of flame for distraction, choosing to say nothing than let his voice betray him.
He would fight off a pack of fyrhunds for him. He realizes he’d do anything for him. He’s going through this mostly for him, too.
He doesn’t feel the blanket draw up around him, doesn’t feel the way Danta floods his warmth into him. But he does hear the question, pressing his palms into his face enough for him to be able to sniff and seem like a semblance of who he is, before he twists a little to reveal the hand in question to the Maverick. The fire glints against the ruby red, watery in some places where tears have streaked through it, and amongst the middle of his palm sits a deep cut. Red and puffy and not doing a great job at clotting, the butcher’s attention flickers briefly from Danta to the dome of flame for distraction, choosing to say nothing than let his voice betray him.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
