// nothing is as simple, I worship, you're my temple //
The movement he’s searching for is completely ruined by the High-land cows that appear, a small huff of annoyance leaving him (because yeah, no tumbleweed so obv very rude), and Asta certainly knows when not to bite off more than he can chew. So ignoring the doe and the cows in the hopes for something easier to tackle, that wouldn’t turn this into an event that would last all fucking day, he shifts his weight a little before he decides to descend the hill.
Before he takes his first step, though, he feels his fiancé move against his shoulder – the gore crow taking a moment to push off his shoulder with a surprising amount of weight for how little Danta weighs in that shift to begin with, and as he takes to the sky Asta’s foot finally drops to take the first step down this side of the hill.
The cane shifts in his hand, pressing into the still cold ground when he hears the caw and looks up in time to watch Danta descend toward something of interest. He picks up his pace, reaching the spot after a few long moments (he’s only slightly breathing heavy from the increase of speed), he laughs a little when he sees the ominous cloudy eyes of the quicksand moss. It’s a strange brown patch among the greenery starting to try and poke its way through, and Asta takes note of the sharp teeth that stick up in the worst case of an underbite the Butcher thinks he’s ever seen.
“Well, better than nothing, wouldn’t you say Danta darling?” He purrs, shaking out his shoulders briefly before he’s drawing up the cane, taking a moment to debate whether to use the whip form or the regular bladed edge of the cane. He decides on the latter, and as he resets his grip, the Butcher shoots a wink toward the gore crow. “Shall we?” Already knowing Danta was smart enough to get out of the way the second Asta’s lifted the cane, the Butcher wastes little time in slamming it down upon the quicksand moss with the bladed edge, intending to slice it almost in half. It works and sprays up a little flare of moss edges and brown, black fluid, and already Asta finds a fair amount of satisfaction in it.
Quicksand Moss: 18/47
Before he takes his first step, though, he feels his fiancé move against his shoulder – the gore crow taking a moment to push off his shoulder with a surprising amount of weight for how little Danta weighs in that shift to begin with, and as he takes to the sky Asta’s foot finally drops to take the first step down this side of the hill.
The cane shifts in his hand, pressing into the still cold ground when he hears the caw and looks up in time to watch Danta descend toward something of interest. He picks up his pace, reaching the spot after a few long moments (he’s only slightly breathing heavy from the increase of speed), he laughs a little when he sees the ominous cloudy eyes of the quicksand moss. It’s a strange brown patch among the greenery starting to try and poke its way through, and Asta takes note of the sharp teeth that stick up in the worst case of an underbite the Butcher thinks he’s ever seen.
“Well, better than nothing, wouldn’t you say Danta darling?” He purrs, shaking out his shoulders briefly before he’s drawing up the cane, taking a moment to debate whether to use the whip form or the regular bladed edge of the cane. He decides on the latter, and as he resets his grip, the Butcher shoots a wink toward the gore crow. “Shall we?” Already knowing Danta was smart enough to get out of the way the second Asta’s lifted the cane, the Butcher wastes little time in slamming it down upon the quicksand moss with the bladed edge, intending to slice it almost in half. It works and sprays up a little flare of moss edges and brown, black fluid, and already Asta finds a fair amount of satisfaction in it.
Quicksand Moss: 18/47
Astaroth
// and heaven, hold your gates open, all the hell we've been through //
