KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
The floor was different from the well-trampled ice and snow of the outdoor training ground he was used to. Pain throbbed through his side with every movement, and he had yet to check how much he was bleeding... the ribs were always painful and quick to flow, so he wasn't too worried, but it would weaken him if he lost too much blood.
He was surprised at how well things were going, all things considered. Korbin wasn't flat on his back already, after all. Weaver was bleeding too, though he wasn't overjoyed by that. He was able to land a kick on her leg and to his surprise she withdrew, trying to cut him off with a wall of fire. It was so unusual to be able to drive her back that the young raven acted on pure instinct, some predatory need to keep after that fleeing prey.
Like a fool, or an idiot, or a man with intent, he covered his eyes and charged straight on through the flame rather than back off. Quickly, like one might pull a finger through the flames of a candle without feeling the heat. There was a slight odor of singed hair and wool, but unless she had made the wall a lot thicker than it looked from where he'd been standing, he would get through with little more than a few blisters.
As he emerged on the other side, Korbin aimed another blow with the reversed dagger, again trying to punch her in the gut. It was precarious as he couldn't see where exactly she had placed her own weapon while out of sight, but it felt somehow vital that he didn't hesitate, didn't hold back.
Like he'd reached a turning point, a cross roads, and all sorts of things could go wrong if he let up here and now.
It was nonsense, of course.
He was surprised at how well things were going, all things considered. Korbin wasn't flat on his back already, after all. Weaver was bleeding too, though he wasn't overjoyed by that. He was able to land a kick on her leg and to his surprise she withdrew, trying to cut him off with a wall of fire. It was so unusual to be able to drive her back that the young raven acted on pure instinct, some predatory need to keep after that fleeing prey.
Like a fool, or an idiot, or a man with intent, he covered his eyes and charged straight on through the flame rather than back off. Quickly, like one might pull a finger through the flames of a candle without feeling the heat. There was a slight odor of singed hair and wool, but unless she had made the wall a lot thicker than it looked from where he'd been standing, he would get through with little more than a few blisters.
As he emerged on the other side, Korbin aimed another blow with the reversed dagger, again trying to punch her in the gut. It was precarious as he couldn't see where exactly she had placed her own weapon while out of sight, but it felt somehow vital that he didn't hesitate, didn't hold back.
Like he'd reached a turning point, a cross roads, and all sorts of things could go wrong if he let up here and now.
It was nonsense, of course.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
