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    Summary

    Before Gallatin has even finished his sentence, Cahir's knife is cresting upwards towards his throat. It is kinder, thinks Cahir, to allow his friend to have his last moments before death be ones not of fear - even if not giving him a fighting chance feels overwhelmingly unfair. Sickening, even.

    And then it's happening. His blade is sliding into Gallatin's throat, a look of betrayal etched into the elf's eyes while he struggles to breathe as blood floods his trachea and down his neck-

    Except that's not what happens at all.

    No, instead, in a stunning twist of fate and a show of skill that he thought not even Gallatin was capable of, Cahir's knife is ripped from his hand by the blade as it nears Gallatin. It is, perhaps, easier than it otherwise would be as surprise slackens his grip, but the show is impressive nevertheless.

    Of course, Cahir barely has time to have that thought before the look on Gallatin's face darkens and he is being unceremoniously slammed up against the wall, his own knife now pressed to his throat.

    Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

    Language:
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