Redsand Canyon down and out over the mount

He might've come out of this more bruised, but it was he that drew the most blood. The realisation settles into him, frigid. Impressive, she says.

What a sick joke it is-- that physical violence is as foreign to him as simple playtime is for Finley, but in the end, he had been ensnared by his biology. By thousands of years of evolution. This is just what you are. Your hands were never clean.

Thank you. He says, breathless. Then at length, You too. Fatigue grabs at him, shackles his feet to the ground. His muscles burn with lactic acid. If Finley had come away from this with some strange satisfaction, Colin was left only with a vague confusion. He recalls how just a few seconds ago his mind had been serrated and sharpened simply by fighting, and notes how edgeless and noisy it has become, now at rest.

He turns wordlessly to limp back down into the canyon. His steps are slow and deliberate-- if she wished to catch up and grab his attention, she very well could.