DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Despite a lack of war, Deimos’ duties still prevailed and continued. Rather than dragging his feet to the office in the council hall or distracting himself within the barracks, he’d sequestered himself at home, in the annals of their own library, going through lists after lists, parchment after parchment. But it was much more comfortable here, amidst the contentment of the crackling fire, a cup of hot tea, and the designs pressed across the desk. Not amidst exhaustion or heavy burdens, but along the lines of future intentions, of requests to be made in spring.
“Training again,” he murmured to himself, striking that off his list – knowing full well that their soldiers were wholly capable, and he wanted them better, always a shield, always ready, always strong, determined, and mighty. Then, there’d be more projects, manevers, and agendas for upcoming seasons.
[FIN]
“Training again,” he murmured to himself, striking that off his list – knowing full well that their soldiers were wholly capable, and he wanted them better, always a shield, always ready, always strong, determined, and mighty. Then, there’d be more projects, manevers, and agendas for upcoming seasons.
[FIN]
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
