[Let her stumble, then. He's since gotten his knees under him, so the kick lands somewhere meaningless, some taut bunching of muscle that he barely feels, and he doesn't release her hand for it, but a few pulls after. Only once their eyes have met again—his eyes burning black, the unwavering crush of his fingers—only then does he let go.
Then his hands meet the floor, and he moves as though he might be sick, heaving deep breaths; but the stone receives instead an unrestrained howl of rage, full-chested, thick and ragged as raw flesh.
From elsewhere in the dungeon, an unknown voice echoes back, none too politely advising him to be quiet. Some distant prisoner bays like a dog. A guard's armoured footfalls come only close enough to let them see into the cell, just a few peevish glances from corner to corner to judge the urgency—of which there seems to be none—before they're gone again.
no subject
Then his hands meet the floor, and he moves as though he might be sick, heaving deep breaths; but the stone receives instead an unrestrained howl of rage, full-chested, thick and ragged as raw flesh.
From elsewhere in the dungeon, an unknown voice echoes back, none too politely advising him to be quiet. Some distant prisoner bays like a dog. A guard's armoured footfalls come only close enough to let them see into the cell, just a few peevish glances from corner to corner to judge the urgency—of which there seems to be none—before they're gone again.
Meanwhile, the Darkling wilts.
He may need a moment.]