[Training] renewed blades

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame It wouldn’t be the first, nor the last, that games had gone awry. He merely hadn’t anticipated the amount of harm that would come to him so readily after afflictions, after knowing he needed to take it easy; but such had been the way of the land lately, and being incapable of sensing it rendered him foolish once more. The beast granted himself a few more moments of recovery time, where his lungs didn’t ache, but rising from the ground drew a smarting, wincing shake of his frame. Morgan didn’t really need to apologize; his errors had been his own, and he wouldn’t bear a grudge for the way things had gone. But he didn’t readily shift back into his towering form, preferring the hound for the moment, uncertain if he’d be able to make it all the way back up to the Palace on wounded, bruised bones – Which was when Zuriel came charging in from the side-streets, ears pinned, senses bombarded with every manner of ill will. His stare went from the Warden to the unicorn, resigned to the lecture bounding through the bonded contortions and adornments, half-listening while she bent her horn towards his fur and started the notion of healing. Attention deviating and wandering, he could only nod at Morgan’s proclamation – the fun ceasing, gone for the moment. A sharpened bark indicated no hurt feelings, no matters of belligerence or rancor, before a wag of a tail, platitudes of gratitude, and he and Zuriel hastened back towards the Palace, a little more wary, but determined too (more advantages to be gained from these preceding notions). {FIN} master of nothing place; of recoil and grace