the evidence is on my body
but I never complain
but I never complain
Danta’s words are both there and not - like a haze he has to wade through in order to focus on them. His jaw works as he hears the mention of stitches, though he hadn’t expected anything less. He knows it was deep. He knows it had been a gut instinct and had taken a decent amount out of him, and it was also likely that the blood despite the intention of the bloodbane (and success with the lump of feathers in the short distance between them and the rockery) that the corvids are still interested.
He's limp and malleable, at least, for Danta to wrap the cloth around his palm, and despite the tight set to his jaw he does close his eyes finally from the flame, still measuring his breaths if only so he doesn’t hyperventilate. Over halfway was great news, even if it still sank the stone in his gut to know they still had to be out here longer. “No.” He says slowly, carefully, testing his hoarse voice. His head shakes momentarily after, and he resists the urge to chew on the inside of his cheek.
Twisting slightly, the butcher still remains as small as his tall frame will allow him, tugging up the blanket above his shoulders to hide his back away underneath it as he faces Danta, still pointedly avoiding him, throwing up his glamour if only so he can force himself to bury his face and front against the Maverick, refraining from having to look out at the expanse. Maybe here he can pretend they’re back in their den and this was all just a terrible nightmare.
He's limp and malleable, at least, for Danta to wrap the cloth around his palm, and despite the tight set to his jaw he does close his eyes finally from the flame, still measuring his breaths if only so he doesn’t hyperventilate. Over halfway was great news, even if it still sank the stone in his gut to know they still had to be out here longer. “No.” He says slowly, carefully, testing his hoarse voice. His head shakes momentarily after, and he resists the urge to chew on the inside of his cheek.
Twisting slightly, the butcher still remains as small as his tall frame will allow him, tugging up the blanket above his shoulders to hide his back away underneath it as he faces Danta, still pointedly avoiding him, throwing up his glamour if only so he can force himself to bury his face and front against the Maverick, refraining from having to look out at the expanse. Maybe here he can pretend they’re back in their den and this was all just a terrible nightmare.
Astaroth
i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing
