The utterance earns a dry, bitter huff of laughter from Sheik, even as it soothes his bruised pride. Because he does, doesn't he? He understands what it means to be the one left behind, the one who couldn't do enough, the one looking at the broken pieces of the world and having to fit them together despite missing the one central piece that would make it all make sense.
Would you break time for her? The question sits heavily upon his tongue.
He does not ask it.
He charges forward instead.
Again and again and again, they clash against one another, their blades and their grief ringing out across the wildlands. Sheik is a whirlwind, throwing himself against Link with fist and foot and dagger, a far cry from the respectable combat of a knight, yet despite his earlier warnings, he never finds himself tempted to draw from the more dishonorable tricks at his disposal. Perhaps because he knows the outcome of this battle doesn't truly matter (they have both already lost), perhaps because Destiny is unfair enough already and a Princess of such should demand better. Regardless of reasoning, there was only one way this was ever going to end.
Sheik pants, brow slick with sweat and dirt in his hair, knocked to the ground once again. He's lost track of how many times that has happened, but he knows he's given almost as much as he's gotten, at least. Fist digging into the earth, a curse hissing past his teeth with the effort, he once again demands his body to get up—
... But it doesn't. There's only so much energy pure tenacity can provide, and it hurts too much, inside and out, in body and in mind both. The arm pushing himself up gives out, and he collapses upon his side like a puppet whose strings have been cut. A moment passes like that before he rolls himself on his back, breathing heavily over his lowered cowl.]
no subject
The utterance earns a dry, bitter huff of laughter from Sheik, even as it soothes his bruised pride. Because he does, doesn't he? He understands what it means to be the one left behind, the one who couldn't do enough, the one looking at the broken pieces of the world and having to fit them together despite missing the one central piece that would make it all make sense.
Would you break time for her? The question sits heavily upon his tongue.
He does not ask it.
He charges forward instead.
Again and again and again, they clash against one another, their blades and their grief ringing out across the wildlands. Sheik is a whirlwind, throwing himself against Link with fist and foot and dagger, a far cry from the respectable combat of a knight, yet despite his earlier warnings, he never finds himself tempted to draw from the more dishonorable tricks at his disposal. Perhaps because he knows the outcome of this battle doesn't truly matter (they have both already lost), perhaps because Destiny is unfair enough already and a Princess of such should demand better. Regardless of reasoning, there was only one way this was ever going to end.
Sheik pants, brow slick with sweat and dirt in his hair, knocked to the ground once again. He's lost track of how many times that has happened, but he knows he's given almost as much as he's gotten, at least. Fist digging into the earth, a curse hissing past his teeth with the effort, he once again demands his body to get up—
... But it doesn't. There's only so much energy pure tenacity can provide, and it hurts too much, inside and out, in body and in mind both. The arm pushing himself up gives out, and he collapses upon his side like a puppet whose strings have been cut. A moment passes like that before he rolls himself on his back, breathing heavily over his lowered cowl.]
This... This bout is yours.
[Forgive him for not sounding thrilled about it.]