[It's a narrow thing, but he twists to the side even as he comes down on top of her, the arrow missing his target as he straddles her waist, pins her down with the weight of his body. He barks out a rough and brutal laugh and as he leans in close he's panting, chest rising and falling in quick little starts but it's not from exertion no, not from the previous pain that's already gone out of him, gone up in smoke along with his wounds-- it's all visceral animal excitement, the desire to riptearmaim, to kill.
It won't be painless, it won't be quick.
His hands find her ribs and they press down, meaning to break them, one by exquisite one.]
no subject
It won't be painless, it won't be quick.
His hands find her ribs and they press down, meaning to break them, one by exquisite one.]