I WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU
They had rolled, and danced the dance of teeth and hoof. When it was all said and done, the fairy had healed them. She always would for those who made practice.
Killdare accepted the mending of his face, the jagged line sealing shut with a touch. He allowed the ache in his muscles to be spirited away, but as the gentle fairy made to heal the bite on his haunch- he gave a great stomp and shook his head. He would keep the small token, let it scab and heal to leave what it would behind. When the fae finished, he dipped his head in thanks, and turned to give the same acknowledgement to Nymphetamine. Later they would likely find each other to discuss their spar, but for now it was back home- back to the daily grind.
Killdare left the mock grounds with a flourish of scale and membrane. Seizing the chilled skies with his wings, and digging his talons against the cold and frost. The bite of winter air was refreshing after the fight, a welcome cool to his boiling blood, and the excitement of war. Let it be known that War, though an ugly thing, was beautiful and intoxicating. There was never enough for men of battle, the thirst ever present went unsatisfied.
Though cloying to a man's heart, there was a fine line of temptation not to cross. Too little War and men frenzied, sick with routine and stillness. Too much War and they were lost, drifting out to sea on wrath, and madness. Too far gone and one became unpredictable. Striking at those they had sworn too, lashing out at Kin. Toe that line always, rest on it, but do not fall pray to crossing it.
The blood was young, but he was eager, and earnest in his learning. At least Killdare could vouch for that much, though the boys convictions still sat on the fence with him. He thought on the fight during his return flight home, landing with a crunch against the frozen ground at the edge of the Chamber's wood. He gave himself a good shake before tucking his wings to his sides, and then he entered the pines to resume his duties.