He should have done that, but it felt so satisfying. Heath continued, though the punches and jabs that he gave were lighter. He focused on the position of his knuckles, the speed of his arms, and the combination of each hit. All he saw was the bag, no one before him in wait of a beating. The black accented male danced lightly on his toes, fluttering like a butterfly.
There was much for him to be happy about, the days he spent alone were few and Heath could not find a happier time in his life. The things that had happened between he and Jac were done, finished by the woman that they fought over. A queer fight it had been, since Jac was more a father to the young woman then anything and she had confirmed again and again that Heath was honorable. Still he had yet to speak with the King, and the more time that past the more realistic letting the past fade away became.
A voice came to his ears between the call of the bag, and the hybrid swung his head around to meet the sight of a strange woman. The green clad fey stood before him, and he struggled to catch the swinging the bag. Finally the bag settled and he could let go, Heath turned and honey colored eyes watched her. Her scent was of the pack, but some how familiar in a way he couldn’t remember. His first question was why she was in the stables, but it was more polite to simply say,
“Hey”