10-18-2021, 02:24 PM
Each shaky inhale brings with it the scent of blood and causes Mazikeen to sink a little further. She goes through the actions of the fight because she must and because even in this state, she cannot just walk away. A clumsy attack is still an attack. Maybe later she’ll have the capacity to criticize herself but for now, it is enough. She does not fully register when her hooves are back on the ground, distracted instead by the renewed scent of blood when it seeps out of where bone and flesh meet on Reave’s shoulder.
Rational thought returns just long enough for Mazikeen to mourn over how useless she is as a protector if she cannot handle the scent or sight of blood anymore. If seeing it only reminds her of terrible things, like the gurgling noises made by her daughter as she bled out.
And then the tide of her grief rises again as though some force is pulling it. How can she defend herself against her memories? If there is a way, Mazikeen has not learned it yet. All the ways she has learned to manage moments like this are far from her right now; either physically or mentally, she just cannot reach them. Reave slips past her instead of reaching out for a physical blow. Mazikeen almost thinks he does not attack her at all. Instead, the weight of her memories continues to increase until she’s trapped in a familiar maelstrom of grief and anger and guilt.
But she lives through this method of drowning almost every single day now.
And maybe that is why she does not collapse to the ground or even turn her head away even though some instincts scream at her not to let him see the sobs that are shaking through her body. Other instincts and that well-worn stubbornness keep her upright and help her to move. Her stride is awkward and staggered as though her limbs weigh twice what they usually do but she still manages to walk in an attempt to keep herself between Reave and the edge of the forest - and the entities that lie beyond. Her head stays turned towards him as her sides heave with ragged breath; her orange eyes are focused intently on his armoured face. Through the haze of tears, there is an unwavering determination burning inside of her with the mess of everything else.
She will not give up either.
At the very least, whether empty-handed or not, she will make sure the bone-armoured stallion leaves her home before she truly allows herself to fall apart entirely.
Rational thought returns just long enough for Mazikeen to mourn over how useless she is as a protector if she cannot handle the scent or sight of blood anymore. If seeing it only reminds her of terrible things, like the gurgling noises made by her daughter as she bled out.
And then the tide of her grief rises again as though some force is pulling it. How can she defend herself against her memories? If there is a way, Mazikeen has not learned it yet. All the ways she has learned to manage moments like this are far from her right now; either physically or mentally, she just cannot reach them. Reave slips past her instead of reaching out for a physical blow. Mazikeen almost thinks he does not attack her at all. Instead, the weight of her memories continues to increase until she’s trapped in a familiar maelstrom of grief and anger and guilt.
But she lives through this method of drowning almost every single day now.
And maybe that is why she does not collapse to the ground or even turn her head away even though some instincts scream at her not to let him see the sobs that are shaking through her body. Other instincts and that well-worn stubbornness keep her upright and help her to move. Her stride is awkward and staggered as though her limbs weigh twice what they usually do but she still manages to walk in an attempt to keep herself between Reave and the edge of the forest - and the entities that lie beyond. Her head stays turned towards him as her sides heave with ragged breath; her orange eyes are focused intently on his armoured face. Through the haze of tears, there is an unwavering determination burning inside of her with the mess of everything else.
She will not give up either.
At the very least, whether empty-handed or not, she will make sure the bone-armoured stallion leaves her home before she truly allows herself to fall apart entirely.