wolflong

Should he do it? Just forfeit the match? To admit before the crowd that their prince was too weak to fight back? After everything that had happened to him, he had no pride left, nothing to lose. Maybe it was better to accept his failure and resign himself to his shame. Lying on the ground, he raised his arm, about to surrender, but stopped, thinking back to a conversation he had with Tarnas. It was during the year of training, the two of them sitting around the campfire on an autumn night. Seraph was staring deep into the flames, into the light and warmth, but all he felt inside was cold darkness.

The ref raised his arm. “Welcome to the fifth round of the tournament! We start with our remaining winged combatants, Roc and Ingram!” As the audience cheered in anticipation, the two foes glared each other down. Normally, Roc would enter the ring with a stoic scowl, sharpening his mind for battle while spitefully feeding on the boos from beastman haters, but this time, he was smiling.

Without another word her dad wrapped his big hands around her left foot and got to work. Gently, but firmly he warmed the soles of her feet, squeezing just hard enough to release the pressure without hurting her. Using his thumbs he pressed along the arch of her foot and squeezed each of her toes while folding them forward and back. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a trained masseuse this was doing wonders in helping her relax.