southern comfort's comforting, isn't it?

all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach

"Ah, touche," Danta concedes with a theatric nod and a half-bow of concession, because Asta is absolutely right - when haven't they been trying to one-up each other, whether it's in a fight, through acts of love or (in Asta's case especially) coming home the most torn apart by something. "Well, you win this round I suppose," he continues; his tongue is nowhere near silver enough to match the butcher's compliments, and so instead the Maverick nestles against his side under his arm, letting him lead them onward.

"Mm, maybe next time," he agrees of the bone flower, gazing fondly down at it before remembering to keep an eye on where his feet are going, lest he trip and drag them both down to the sand. Normally it would be something he found thoroughly entertaining, but just like the butcher, he doesn't want to delay the time between now and when they get to lock themselves away.

Grumbling at the parts of the beach that do seem more quicksandy, Danta nevertheless hurries them up to the doors of Wildering House, breathing a long sigh of relief when they finally arrive. "I declare a draw on the race home," he says, grinning. There's still the race up to their room, but he'd consider himself the winner no matter who got there first.

Dantalion

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep 'em on a leash