I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Another gust of the cold wind blew, and the insects scattered amidst their ambiguous saunter – one heading straight for his fur. In another time he could’ve laughed for the ridiculousness of it all, but instead he bent his head and permitted the bug to land amongst the top of his Stygian crown, clinging onto the sable fibers, otherwise unmoving and still. Listening all the while, in the habit of fiends who found themselves eternally at a loss.
He could hear her moving, the pulse of everything else reverberating through the snow. Something ran behind his mind and stuck there, nettled and brambled – perhaps frustration, vexation, exasperation for how she’d pinpointed herself or marred him in the aftermath. I did not say fix. I said help. A grind of his jaw, painfully human failings, while the insect ran a few more tunes from its bell. You are not broken, Ru. And where he couldn’t mend or soothe or assuage or heal like so many others, he could only lend his strength, his shielding tactics.
The Sword ignored the quip about giving. He hadn’t relinquished much of anything lately – save for Noah’s quiver. He had very few left to even offer his hands, fortitude, or might towards now. Maybe that hurt more.
Deimos didn’t understand the multitudes behind Remi either – considering how he’d tried to find some way to talk to the other man without thorns. Or that he even had a place in the twins’ lives. I would not threaten your children. She must’ve known that. Perhaps she meant it more as a sentiment passing through. Otherwise, he truly didn’t know where they stood.
As for the others, with their little makeshift band of refugees, they seemed all right. Frustrated, wanting to return home, but waiting out portions and pieces of life. Cordelia and Noah are fine. Though he was called away to Stormbreak for some reason. We are going to meet up with him in Torchline.
He could hear her moving, the pulse of everything else reverberating through the snow. Something ran behind his mind and stuck there, nettled and brambled – perhaps frustration, vexation, exasperation for how she’d pinpointed herself or marred him in the aftermath. I did not say fix. I said help. A grind of his jaw, painfully human failings, while the insect ran a few more tunes from its bell. You are not broken, Ru. And where he couldn’t mend or soothe or assuage or heal like so many others, he could only lend his strength, his shielding tactics.
The Sword ignored the quip about giving. He hadn’t relinquished much of anything lately – save for Noah’s quiver. He had very few left to even offer his hands, fortitude, or might towards now. Maybe that hurt more.
Deimos didn’t understand the multitudes behind Remi either – considering how he’d tried to find some way to talk to the other man without thorns. Or that he even had a place in the twins’ lives. I would not threaten your children. She must’ve known that. Perhaps she meant it more as a sentiment passing through. Otherwise, he truly didn’t know where they stood.
As for the others, with their little makeshift band of refugees, they seemed all right. Frustrated, wanting to return home, but waiting out portions and pieces of life. Cordelia and Noah are fine. Though he was called away to Stormbreak for some reason. We are going to meet up with him in Torchline.
DEIMOS
