He doesn't bother getting up once he can breathe again, his gaze fixed on the sky above. "You actually want me to practice after all that?" he murmurs.
The vines nearby finally disperse, dissolving into tiny motes of darkness that disappear.
"I've never felt like that before." He wants to feel it again, and that alone is terrifying.
"Of course I do. If I kept having to leap in to defend you to prevent all of my hard work from going to waste, I imagine your pride couldn't take it." He inspects himself for injury, wincing a little as he touches a spot where the fire had burned him even through his barriers. Heat radiates from the spot as he does something to it, though it's unclear what.
He lifts his head to give Ekkehardt a strange look, then finally starts to push himself into a sitting position. He winces, the cut in his shoulder making itself known. "That's it? That's all you have to say? I said I would tear into you with my own hands!"
"You say that like I've never been threatened before. And if you really wanted to do it, then you would have at least tried harder."
He reaches out, stopping short of touching the other man, and there's another burst of heat as the injury seals itself near-instantly. It still hurts, but the bleeding has stopped, leaving little more than a scar.
There's a pause before he speaks again. "I could have cut your throat instead of your shoulder, but I didn't. So we're even, I would think." The admittance is casual.
Avery was lost to the fight, neck deep in bloodlust, more monster than man. Sure, he's always enjoyed battle. Vanessa had always been his number one goal, but he had never once shied away from a fight or adventure, searched it out even.
But this... This had been different. And Ekkehardt shrugged it off as though it was nothing. Healed him. Called them even.
He just didn't get it.
"Right," he sighs out, and rubs his forehead. "Um. Thanks." He waves a hand. "Not for the whole 'not slitting my throat thing.' Pretty sure that part's obvious. The shoulder. Healing it, I mean."
He waves a hand again, his tone casual. "This is hardly a fight to the death, so it would be irresponsible of me not to fix what I've caused." At least, for him. For others, it's more a battle of incapacitation.
"You seem a bit confused," he says, looking him over. "Though I suppose you didn't expect me to be a healer, so I forgive the assumption."
He opens his mouth and closes it again, repeating the action several times before he's finally able to speak. "Well... yes but that's not the biggest thing here.
I just don't get you. How are you okay with how I acted? I was hardly better than some... some bloodstarved beast there! And you blow it off like nothing happened?"
He merely shrugs. He's taking this whole thing much better than Avery is, apparently. "What's done is done. Making you feel guilty for it is foolish. And it's not a sin to enjoy yourself in combat."
He shakes his head. "Put another way...does thinking about all those you killed in defense of your kingdom feel better if you stained their hands with your blood without feeling anything? Death is death."
If it's not a sin, it sure feels like one. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "I feel like I at least owe them some guilt, but..." But even before all of this, there had only been triumph.
Maybe something's been wrong with him since the very start.
He glances at him for a moment, and then sighs. "Well, do what you like. Wallowing in self-pity and bemoaning your feelings is an unproductive activity, but if it truly makes you feel better, I suppose I can't argue it."
He'd almost said unattractive, which was technically true but an odd choice of word to pop into his head. He puts it out of his mind.
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The vines nearby finally disperse, dissolving into tiny motes of darkness that disappear.
"I've never felt like that before." He wants to feel it again, and that alone is terrifying.
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He reaches out, stopping short of touching the other man, and there's another burst of heat as the injury seals itself near-instantly. It still hurts, but the bleeding has stopped, leaving little more than a scar.
There's a pause before he speaks again. "I could have cut your throat instead of your shoulder, but I didn't. So we're even, I would think." The admittance is casual.
no subject
Avery was lost to the fight, neck deep in bloodlust, more monster than man. Sure, he's always enjoyed battle. Vanessa had always been his number one goal, but he had never once shied away from a fight or adventure, searched it out even.
But this... This had been different. And Ekkehardt shrugged it off as though it was nothing. Healed him. Called them even.
He just didn't get it.
"Right," he sighs out, and rubs his forehead. "Um. Thanks." He waves a hand. "Not for the whole 'not slitting my throat thing.' Pretty sure that part's obvious. The shoulder. Healing it, I mean."
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"You seem a bit confused," he says, looking him over. "Though I suppose you didn't expect me to be a healer, so I forgive the assumption."
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I just don't get you. How are you okay with how I acted? I was hardly better than some... some bloodstarved beast there! And you blow it off like nothing happened?"
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He shakes his head. "Put another way...does thinking about all those you killed in defense of your kingdom feel better if you stained their hands with your blood without feeling anything? Death is death."
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Maybe something's been wrong with him since the very start.
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He'd almost said unattractive, which was technically true but an odd choice of word to pop into his head. He puts it out of his mind.