[ his hand is warm, so warm — is it because she's freezing? is it because of her blood slicking his palm, still flowing? there is nothing to say to his demand, nothing she can say at all.
it slows, though. the warmth and the blood loss and the relief of her heart still beating as the moments stretch out soothes her, and she stops flailing, stops clinging. relaxes into his grip, head tipped willingly back into him, her body leaned against his.
idly, it occurs to her that she has never seen this much blood in a challenge before. but then, she has never seen a challenge between two people so acutely capable of destroying one another, either.
the grief is a distant thing. set aside for later. she is light-headed with illness and blood loss and exhaustion, but she is alive. because of him.
reaching up shakily, she touches her hand to the one wrapped still around her throat. not to stop him, just to rest is there, palm flat. as if conceding its place there, conceding his hold. there is a peace in that, however temporary.
finally, she nods. food is a fair trade, she thinks, for a life. ]
no subject
it slows, though. the warmth and the blood loss and the relief of her heart still beating as the moments stretch out soothes her, and she stops flailing, stops clinging. relaxes into his grip, head tipped willingly back into him, her body leaned against his.
idly, it occurs to her that she has never seen this much blood in a challenge before. but then, she has never seen a challenge between two people so acutely capable of destroying one another, either.
the grief is a distant thing. set aside for later. she is light-headed with illness and blood loss and exhaustion, but she is alive. because of him.
reaching up shakily, she touches her hand to the one wrapped still around her throat. not to stop him, just to rest is there, palm flat. as if conceding its place there, conceding his hold. there is a peace in that, however temporary.
finally, she nods. food is a fair trade, she thinks, for a life. ]