WC:325:
Saluce watched her anger bubble, still trying to figure out what in the hell there was left in this relationship except anger and hurt. The words that flew from her mouth even as he still clung to trying to reason and explain his point of view had only angered her more. But he guessed it was better to voice it and air it out then to let it continue to fester. What had happened to allow this to go so far, he had proclaimed to her to try and make it up to her but the way was still unclear? There was no clear path for him to take to fix himself, his views or to see her as she was. His blues lidded over for a moment as she screamed at him, closing them for just the briefest of moments.
Would his own father have spoken to his mother in such a fashion? From the stories he had been told he had never raised his voice to her, never physically intimidated her and had always loved and supported her. And it hit him even as deft ears perked upon hearing her sudden movement, he had never really given himself to her wholly, oh he had spoken the words but to give himself to her with no strings, he hadn’t. And as eyes opened to see her frenzied form careening toward him his mind didn’t spark with a strategy or move to preform to get him away from her strike.
Blues just watched as if it transpired in slow motion, his able body except for its injury capable of taking her punishment, and her claws found their marks. Pain stung quite clearly from his shoulder and then from around his neck. His blues blinking only once, hind legs flexing as they dealt with the weight of her form for the briefest of moments before they gave out and his form slowly fell to lie on his side. If she wanted his life then there it was laid out before her.
Image courtesy of Frau Böb@Flickr; table by the Mentors!
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