Back at the battlefield, the titan was hungry for further bloodshed. He was a glutton for punishment, and dealing out pains of his own. He knew that the only way to keep his skill was to fight, and fight again. He needed to keep his body limber, and in practice, to dull his senses of pain so he could ignore all but the most dire of wounds.
Never again would he let himself fall in battle, as he had that day he had fought to protect Deathbelle, when his mistress had thought him dead from his wounds. With Marshall in the air above him, he moved across the barren territory and towards the sound of the call. He found the pure white wolf, with eyes like winter blues, as she sought out an opponent. Marshall’s attention was already on the much smaller, but faster bird, as Sirius stopped before the wolf. “You are after a spar?” not that he needed to clarify, why else would she be here?
Bloodletter
