He is expecting the violence and no small part of him prepares for it. He braces himself for impact. Readies himself for what he is sure is coming. The feel of claw and tooth. The way she knows how to lunge and go for the softest parts. He knows that he could use magic to defend himself, but he is not certain that he will. Not certain that he will not once again offer himself up for her to ravage—to take out whatever fury is building in her in the hopes that it will expunge the poison from her system.
Even when he knows that she is a wildfire and more kindling will only add to it.
A muscle jumps in his jaw as she screams at him and he only shakes his head no, refusing to remove the piece of him that he has left in the back of her mind—the part that blossoms slowly, unfurling at its own pace. But what comes next surprises him and the shock widens his eyes as he sees her shift and then attack herself. There is panic that blossoms in him as he lunges forward without thinking.
First as a panther himself, the form a familiar one. Gold as he always is, his spots remaining. He reaches for her, trying to knock her off balance, and when her feelings of rage and confusion slam into him, he shifts once more. But this time, it’s something without form. It’s golden and slick, a shadow that coats her. He wraps himself around her, latching onto the snow white of her coat and slipping between her own paws and ravaged body. He absorbs each blow and feels it cut through him, only repairing the parts that she slices open long enough to bear the blunt of whatever blow is sure to come next.
And as he touches her, he heals what he can.
The shadows of him sink into her flesh and stitch her together, cauterizing the self-inflicted wounds.
It is exhausting, and more intimate than he expected, but he holds on, and with whatever conscious thought is left, he whispers into her mind. “I’m not leaving, Maze,” this time, her name is not said with a coy smile or a flourish off the edge of his tongue. It’s steady as clings tighter to her, taking her blows.
“And I’m not taking it back.”
so as our grief falls flat and hollow upon a billion blooded seas
all our worst ideas are borrowed (you do and don't belong to me)
@Mazikeen