Take this body home

// I wish I had a reason //

However little Maea's heart is in the fight, Danta makes up for it tenfold. And whilst he knows she isn't pulling her punches, exactly - that really would be disrespectful, and he'd not stand for it - the sluggish movements and quiet reluctance to properly engage is enough for him to know her blood isn't up. No matter; this isn't for her, not really.

Feeling his paw connect just as her hind legs come up, the Maverick leaps back to disengage before those equally sharp claws can get caught against his underbelly. Snarling, whiskers twitching back and his ears flattening against his head, he prowls a neat circle around her as if to reassess the situation.

Only when she gets her feet back beneath her does Danta launch himself at her a second time, aiming to sink claws into her flank and to fasten his jaws against the back of her neck. This was how it had gone after all, right? Again, and again, until Asta could no longer get up.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

Maea

And I never know what to say

'Til I'm already walking away

While it wasn't the point of the fight to gain insights, once she opened herself up to these realizations they didn't stop coming. Like the fact that she could keep fighting despite all those sucking, awful emotions. The motions were ingrained, spinal reflex that kicked in whether she was having fun or not, whether she'd rather be anywhere but here... which actually wasn't true. Another flash of insight, that; emotions weren't truths. Maea was sure someone had told her as much at some point, but not until now did she fully understand what it meant.

Was it strange, to be gaining confidence in the middle of a beatdown? Just like her, though. She'd never done things the normal way.

Unfortunately for the both of them, Maea had quite a bit of endurance and the stamina to go on far beyond what was wise. Claws carved furrows in her skin, teeth punctured the scruff around her neck, and before long her pale coat was stained with blood. The ground hissed and smoldered where she landed, the molten steel of her stripes freckling green grass and mosses in shades of brown and black like charred pockmarks.
And still she got up. With bullheaded stubbornness,  again and again and again until her body screamed in agony – because while she wasn't fighting her best fight, she was going to keep showing up until she no longer could. Call it what you will - justice or revenge or penance, it didn't matter - she was here, facing it.

Wanna punch you in the face

But I won't, but I might, but I won't

// I wish I had a reason //

Danta doesn't know what he'd call it - it doesn't feel like justice or revenge or penance, not without the original victim of all of this present to see it go down. But it is a sort of catharsis, something that unlocks and releases a part of himself held taut ever since his meeting with Maea back in the Temple so long ago. Something that meets all of her stubbornness and endurance and stamina with dark glee, almost willing her to get up every time he surges forward to meet her again.

But that is the crux of it - he's here until the point of no longer being able to, and whilst his fur and muzzle is stained with a mix of her blood and his own, whilst he's limping with one front paw as he circles her again, clearly he's waiting for her to come and face it all over again. A low growl rumbles in his throat; he doesn't know how long it's been, but the woods around them is silent but for the babble of water from the river.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

Maea

And I never know what to say

'Til I'm already walking away

Time might as well have ceased to pass as far as Maea was aware. The world had condensed into the ground immediately beneath her paws, the cluster of rocks behind her back and the orange menace before her. For a while longer she kept coming, and each time it took a bit longer for her to catch her breath, to get her feet beneath her and summon the will to rise. Pain grew from flashes of agony into a maelstrom, as bruises layered atop bruises and the number of cuts, scrapes, bites and scratches grew in number. A cut above one eye turned her face into a mask of blood, partially blinding her; the woods were quiet, save for the huff of strained breath, the occasional yowl of pain and another thud as a body connected with the ground.

There was no real defeat in the moment between flight and failure. Only the slight stagger as she struggled to get up one more time, and the empty gasps for air when her legs caved and finally wouldn't support her anymore. She didn't intentionally release her shift; it slipped from her grasp and like her body was a lake into which a boulder had been plunged, her form rippled and changed back into the ancient body she had been granted.

And what a mess she was. Bloody, bruised, hair and limbs caked with dirt - and she kept trying to rise, despite her blacjening eyes being glazed over, nearing unconsciousness. It wasn't over until Danta said so. Until he was satisfied... she would. Not. Quit.

Wanna punch you in the face

But I won't, but I might, but I won't

// I wish I had a reason //

Also breathing hard from the exertion - just because they're fighting and he's winning doesn't mean it costs him nothing after all - Danta's stance is one that suggests he'd also very much like to keel over and call it quits. But then tigress becomes bloodied, pale Ancient, and the Maverick's jaws part to roar his outrage in her direction, as if to tell her to shift back and keep going, to tell her that they weren't done.

But they are, he realises, even as she continues to try to rise, and as the Maverick prowls slowly forward, four paws become two feet until he's left panting hard and standing over her. "I believe you," he says, his voice almost a whisper, one arm limp at his side and his hair matted with blood. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you. It's not my forgiveness you need, anyway. I take my lead from Asta with this. Fine, though. I believe you."

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

Maea

And I never know what to say

'Til I'm already walking away

Up was down, left and right had switched places, and from a place high above - or was it deep below? - Danta's whisper slipped sinuous as a serpent into her consciousness. Maea had to fight back a sob of relief; he believed her. He believed her. Nothing was over and nothing had begun but at least that much this pain had bought her.
"Th-thank you," she slurred, voice nearly gone, much like his was. "Thank you, thank you..." It was enough. It was plenty. More than she deserved, and absolutely enough to make her determined to extend the apology to Asta the first chance she got. No more of this waiting - there would never be a good timing to catch, anyway.

Slumping down on the mossy ground, finally she allowed herself to surrender to exhaustion. As blood slowly dripped from her nose, all thoughts ceased and some stillness took over that wasn't quite peace nor entirely relief – yeah, catharsis was a good word for it.

Wanna punch you in the face

But I won't, but I might, but I won't

// I wish I had a reason //

Danta's lip curls - he hadn't expected to feel so oily after this, standing over the bloodied Ancient and hearing her thank him for it. It's true that there's some wicked part of him that relishes this, something dark and bone deep that has never had such power before to abuse it, but gods, it's not as satisfying now that they've traded fur and claws for human sensibilities.

Huffing out a few more breaths and touching his good hand to the torn arm as if to test it for breaks, eventually he grumbles and steps back away from her. "Goodbye, Maea," he mutters - because neither of them ought to have expected Danta to reach out any sort of olive branch here.

And so, with the song of the Crimson Cataract gurgling in the background, the Maverick leaves her to lick her wounds, limping back off into the forest.

In the distance, a pack of wolves begins to howl.

~FIN

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //