driyaad
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When his nose was finally clean of blood, his lungs filled themselves with the familiar scent of her skin. He could only describe it as biblical, like incense creeping through the air from a thurible.
A dog he was. How he wished to heel, to kneel at the alter of her flesh and bone. To feel crimson fingernails thread through his hair. To crumble before her. Destroyed, as blessed as the sacred ram. Deep down, it was all he could hope to be.
But he was alone. And she was gone. Pulled from the clutches of his praying, shaking hands. Worst of all, he was left with a single order.
Keep Dawn safe.